By Timothy Loftus, Editor & Publisher | Sergeant Bluff Advocate
(SBA) - I really did think this was something we had settled a long time ago. Imperialism felt like one of those history-class words that belonged safely in the past, right alongside faded maps, old uniforms, and grainy black-and-white photos. We were supposed to have learned the lesson, when powerful countries decide they have the right to take land, resources, or control from others, it rarely ends well for anyone involved. Yet in 2026, here we are again, circling back to ideas that sound uncomfortably familiar.
If history teaches us anything, it’s that imperialism has always been sold as something noble. The British Empire talked about bringing order and civilization, but what it often brought instead was hunger, repression, and an economy built to benefit London at the expense of places like India and Ireland. Railroads and ports were built, but they existed mainly to move raw materials out and troops in. When Britain finally let go of its empire, it didn’t walk away stronger. It walked away exhausted, poorer, and still dealing with the consequences generations later.
Germany’s experience was even shorter and more brutal. Its colonies in Africa were treated as places to be exploited quickly and harshly. In Namibia, the German government carried out what historians now openly call genocide. That empire didn’t make Germany safer or richer in the long run. It fed a sense of entitlement and militarism that helped push Europe toward World War I. When the dust settled, Germany had lost its empire and gained nothing but destruction.
Russia followed a different path, but the results were similar. For centuries, Russian leaders expanded outward, insisting that controlling neighboring regions was necessary for security. From the tsars through the Soviet era and into the present day, that logic has justified taking away the independence of others. What it has delivered instead is constant unrest, resistance, and long-running conflicts that drain resources and isolate the country from the rest of the world.
Japan, too, thought empire was the answer. Determined not to be pushed around by Western powers, it built its own empire across Asia. The official line was liberation and shared prosperity. The reality was occupation, forced labor, and violence. Japan’s imperial ambitions ended in total defeat, widespread destruction, and a national reckoning that reshaped the country from the ground up. Empire didn’t protect Japan’s future. It nearly erased it.
France and the Netherlands tell the same story in different accents. France spoke about culture and enlightenment while tightening its grip on Africa and Southeast Asia. Algeria alone cost France years of war, deep political turmoil, and lasting social scars. The Dutch became wealthy by exploiting Indonesia’s land and labor, but when Indonesians demanded independence, the Netherlands fought a losing battle to hang on. The money didn’t last. The damage did.
The pattern is hard to ignore. Imperialism strips countries of their sovereignty, takes their resources, and leaves behind resentment and instability. Even when it seems to benefit the powerful country at first, the long-term costs almost always outweigh the gains. Empires don’t end cleanly, and they don’t end peacefully.
That’s why it’s so unsettling to hear imperial-style thinking creeping back into American rhetoric and policy. The United States was born out of resistance to empire, yet it has never been immune to the temptation of power. Over time, America learned to exert influence without officially calling it empire—through military bases, economic pressure, and political intervention. The language was usually about freedom, security, and stability. The outcomes were often far messier.
Lately, the tone has shifted. Talk of Canada becoming the “51st state” might be brushed off as joking or political theater, but it reflects a deeper problem. Sovereignty is being treated as something flexible, something that can be ignored if the power imbalance is large enough. The same goes for renewed interest in Greenland, usually justified by strategy or resources. That kind of thinking sounds less like modern diplomacy and more like something pulled straight from the 1800s.
Nowhere does this feel more serious than in Venezuela. Officially, U.S. actions are framed around stopping drug trafficking, fighting corruption, and restoring democracy. In practice, many people see a familiar pattern, a resource-rich country under pressure, a government Washington doesn’t like, and oil sitting at the center of it all. It’s hard to ignore the perception that the real winners of this pressure wouldn’t be ordinary Venezuelans, but U.S. oil companies and the political and corporate insiders connected to them.
The pressure doesn’t stop there. Colombia and Mexico are regularly warned, pushed, or threatened under the banners of drugs, security, and migration. Those are real problems, but using them as leverage to dictate policy to neighboring countries chips away at their independence. History shows that this approach doesn’t fix root problems. It creates resentment, weakens institutions, and locks the United States into conflicts that never seem to fully end.
Supporters of these policies argue that the world is dangerous and that powerful countries have to look out for themselves. That’s true—to a point. But imperialism isn’t strength. It’s short-term thinking dressed up as realism. In today’s world, destabilizing one country doesn’t stay contained. It spreads through energy markets, migration, regional conflict, and global instability.
There’s also a cost at home. When a country claims to support democracy but undermines it elsewhere, people notice. Trust erodes. Cynicism grows. Over time, the values that are supposed to define the nation start to feel hollow. Empire doesn’t just damage the countries being pressured—it slowly eats away at the character of the country doing the pressuring.
In 2026, imperialism isn’t just outdated. It’s reckless. The biggest challenges we face don’t care about borders or flags. Climate change, public health crises, and economic shocks can’t be solved by taking control of someone else’s land or resources. They require cooperation and respect for sovereignty, not dominance.
History has already given us the warning signs. Britain, Germany, Russia, Japan, France, and the Netherlands all believed they could manage empire better than others had before them. Every one of them was proven wrong. The damage to the world—and to themselves—lasted far longer than any profits or power they gained.
The United States now stands at a familiar crossroads. It can lean into this old way of thinking, using pressure and power to get what it wants, or it can choose a harder path that respects other nations as equals rather than targets. One path leads to more instability, more resentment, and more global chaos. The other won’t deliver quick wins or flashy headlines, but it offers something far more valuable, a chance at real stability.
