From Greenland to Gaza, the White Man's Burden makes a comeback

From Gaza to Greenland, Iran to Venezuela, imperial projects are rebranded as “security” at the expense of Indigenous freedoms, writes Randa Ghazy.

Voices
Randa Ghazy
26 Feb, 2026


Decisions about land, sovereignty, and resources are debated in distant capitals, while those most affected are treated as secondary actors in their own history. Their voices, once again missing from Western media, writes Randa Ghazy. 

British imperialist businessman Cecil Rhodes once claimed that “[The English people] are the first race in the world, and the more of the world we inhabit, the better it is for the human race.” This statement, I feel, perfectly embodies the so-called “civilising mission” behind every British colonial endeavour in history.

It was such scientific racism that legitimised imperial expansion: under this logic, having one’s homeland annexed by the British empire was not dispossession, it was an advancement for humanity itself.

For a time, many of us believed this ideology — with its ethical cover for exploitation and brutality — had been consigned to the past. Not anymore.

In the past few years, the genocide in Gaza and the de-facto annexation of the West Bank have reminded us that imperial expansion has not disappeared; it has merely been rebranded. Much of the Western political establishment continues to frame such projects as matters of “security,” “stability,” or “shared values.” And in 2026, leaders like Donald Trump and his allies have revived colonial tropes with striking openness.

Profit-making, wrapped in the language of a “civilising mission,” that echoes Rudyard Kipling’s 'White Man’s Burden', underpins how foreign intervention is sold to the public — whether in Iran, Greenland, or Venezuela. Meanwhile, legacy media often provides reassuring framing: strategic necessity, geopolitical chess, and national interests. Whilst leaving out the human side of the story.

Greenland is a revealing example. The dominant concern among Western liberals was Danish sovereignty, not Greenlandic self-determination. European leaders expressed solidarity “with the Kingdom of Denmark and the people of Greenland,” subtly conflating a colonial administrative structure with the will of an Indigenous population.

As critics have noted, supporting Denmark in the name of international law risks reinforcing an imperial conception of international law — one that arbitrates between empires rather than empowering colonised peoples.

Much of the coverage focused either on Denmark’s legal claim or on Trump’s bombastic style. Trump “wants” Greenland, he “needs it” for security. As Republican Senator Eric Schmitt told the BBC: “Europe should understand that a strong America is good — it’s good for Western civilisation.”

But what does “Western civilisation” mean in this context? Civilisation for whom? And at whose expense?

The Greenlandic Inuit — the Indigenous people of the territory — were largely absent from the conversation. Palestinians are conspicuously missing from the so-called reconstruction discussions around Gaza that are taking place at the ‘Board of Peace’, all whilst aid remains severely limited, and Israel is continuing to encroach on the Strip as the yellow line going further west.

Decisions about land, sovereignty, and resources are debated in distant capitals, while those most affected are treated as secondary actors in their own history. Their voices, once again missing from Western media.

This rhetoric was echoed when US Secretary of State Marco Rubio addressed the Munich Security Conference on 14 February. He urged European allies not to be “shackled by guilt and shame” over their “culture and heritage” and to help the US “revive the West’s age of dominance”. He received a standing ovation.

Soon after, the State Department’s official X account proclaimed that Western civilisation stretches “from Athens to Rome to America” and must embrace its “noble legacy” to reverse its decline.

Yet, few seriously believe that the motivation behind acquiring or threatening to invade Greenland is the defence of Plato or the Parthenon. It is about resources — oil, methane, uranium, nickel, titanium, tungsten, zinc, gold and diamonds — Greenland’s vast and largely untapped mineral wealth.

And this is how colonialism has always functioned, through threats and political pressure, economic domination, and extraction of land as well as labour for the benefit of the coloniser. It is not an archaic system, it is a recurring pattern.

Iran offers another telling case. Western outlets provide extensive coverage to opposition figures such as Reza Pahlavi, son of the deposed shah, while often devoting far less space to the diversity of political voices within Iran itself. The country’s complexity — its ethnic plurality, its ideological divisions, its deeply fragmented diaspora — is flattened into a binary: regime versus liberation through Western pressure.

History should have served as a warning. In 1953, US and British intelligence services intervened in Iran, restoring Mohammad Reza Pahlavi to power after the nationalisation of oil. At the time, US Secretary of State John Foster Dulles justified intervention partly on the grounds that the “free world” could not be deprived of Iranian oil. Strategic resources, once again, were framed as moral necessity.

Today, calls for regime change are often presented as humanitarian concern. Yet the devastating impact of sanctions on ordinary Iranians — and the extent to which economic pressure fuels unrest — receives comparatively little attention. Criticism of Tehran’s brutal repression is necessary and justified. But that should not become a gateway to manufacturing consent for foreign military intervention.

The same double standards are evident elsewhere. Venezuela is framed primarily through the lens of oil and geopolitical shifts. Cuba is discussed through sanctions and containment. Gaza is analysed as a security dilemma. Rarely are the people at the centre of these crises given sustained, primary attention.

The “rules-based international order” is in retreat, while occupation, annexation, or collective punishment are becoming the norm, whether it’s Russia invading Ukraine, Israel annexing Palestinian territory, the US treating Latin America as its ‘backyard’.

Western media cannot single-handedly reverse this trajectory. But it does have a responsibility to decentre imperial narratives, to foreground Indigenous and local voices, to resist the false framework of “civilisation versus chaos.” Journalism should challenge power — not echo it.

Because at its core, this debate is not about civilisation. It is about who gets to define it.

If “Western civilisation” is truly grounded in democracy, human rights and self-determination, then those principles must apply universally — not selectively. They must apply to Greenlanders deciding their own future, to Palestinians seeking freedom and safety, to Iranians navigating their political destiny, to Venezuelans controlling their own oil, and to Cubans living free from the weight of sanctions.

Otherwise, we are not witnessing the defence of civilisation. We are watching the rehabilitation of empire — repackaged in modern language, amplified by media megaphones, and justified once again as a gift to humanity.

The question is not whether history is repeating itself. It is whether we are willing to recognise it — and refuse to participate in its next chapter.

Randa Ghazy is an Italian Egyptian journalist and writer based in London. She has published several books with Italian publisher Rizzoli, including "Dreaming of Palestine" at the age of 15, which has been translated into 16 languages. She has worked as a TV producer at Pan-Arab network Al Araby TV, and led the Gaza media response at Save the Children International, where she held the role of Middle East, North Africa and Eastern Europe Media Manager.

Follow Randa on X: @ghazy_r on Instagram: @randa_ghazy

Have questions or comments? Email us at: editorial-english@alaraby.co.uk.

Opinions expressed in this article remain those of the author and do not necessarily represent those of The New Arab, its editorial board or staff.