“We are in the midst of a rupture, not a transition.” Mark Carney’s statement at Davos in January 2026 rings true because the international order doesn’t feel like it is being reshaped in any steady way. Long a fairly robust framework, the rules don’t quite hold as they used to, and interdependence is just as likely to be used as a pressure point as a shared advantage. It is hard to disagree with Carney when he invokes the old Thucydidean idea that “the strong do what they can and the weak suffer what they must”. For many countries, especially those outside the great power core, the space to manoeuvre is narrowing.
But Carney’s argument for a response begins to get uncomfortable, given that it rests on an assumption that middle powers actually form a group that can act together in a sustained way. They don’t.
To begin with, there is no fixed definition of what constitutes a middle power. And even those loosely grouped together don’t share a common understanding of what the problem to be confronted is. Some lean heavily on alliances. Others are deeply cautious about them. Some prioritise security concerns, while others focus more on economic stability or development. Put them under the same label, and they look like a group. Look a little closer, and the differences are hard to ignore.
Take India, which continues to prioritise strategic autonomy and resists being tied too closely to any bloc, even while participating in forums such as the Quad – formerly referred to as the “Quadrilateral Security Dialogue” although even that security-focused label sat uneasily for Delhi. Contrast that with Australia, whose security outlook is deeply anchored in its alliance with the United States and increasingly shaped by deterrence concerns. Japan, for its part, has taken on an active regional role, within clear constitutional and domestic limits. The Quad is often held up as an example of what such coordination might look like, creating space for cooperation on issues including maritime security and technology, remaining flexible by design, avoiding binding commitments, without producing a unified position when major crises hit.
Similarly, Brazil has often framed its role through South–South cooperation, showing little interest in aligning too closely with Western security agendas. Canada, by contrast, tends to work firmly within Western institutional frameworks, placing emphasis on alliance cohesion and multilateral rules. Saudi Arabia has pursued a far more transactional approach, balancing between major powers while prioritising regime security and regional influence. Germany, meanwhile, remains economically interdependent and institutionally embedded in Europe, yet cautious, particularly in security matters.
Thus, the term “middle power” throws a descriptive blanket across a range of countries, but does little to explain how they behave. Applying a single label can make the idea of collective action seem more plausible, and while this doesn’t mean middle powers don’t matter, it is quite different from stabilising the system as a whole.
Coordination requires trust, consistency, and a willingness to accept limits on one's own freedom of action. Those are difficult conditions to sustain, especially in a more competitive environment.
Carney himself hints at the pressures pulling middle powers apart. He talks about the growing push for “strategic autonomy”, countries trying to reduce their vulnerabilities and secure supply chains in a more uncertain world. That instinct makes sense, and the catch is that it also makes coordination harder. But Carney largely speaks to a familiar set of countries, without really engaging the wider range of states that also sit in this “middle” space. The Global South is notably absent in his framing of middle powers, not just in terms of representation, but also in terms of how differently many of these countries understand both the problem and the stakes. For instance, Kazakhstan has explicitly sought to position itself as a middle power, seemingly without recognition.
If states are trying to become less dependent on one another, they’re unlikely to bind themselves into tight collective arrangements. The more uncertain the system becomes, the more governments hedge, and hedging doesn’t produce cohesion.
To overcome this hurdle, Carney formulates middle-power cooperation around shared values such as sovereignty, openness and human rights. In practice, those ideas don’t always translate into the same policies. Countries interpret them differently and prioritise them selectively. Agreement at the level of principle doesn’t necessarily carry through to action.
This is why his concern about the “performance of sovereignty while accepting subordination” is so clear-cut. He’s right to point out that acting alone leaves countries negotiating from a position of weakness. However, it’s a case of correct diagnosis followed by a faulty prognosis. Carney is right about the rupture. The world does feel less predictable, less rule-bound, more exposed to raw power. The answer he offers, however, assumes a level of alignment that simply isn’t there.
Middle powers can work together. They already do. But expecting them to hold the system together, to act as a kind of collective stabiliser, asks more of them than the structure of international politics is likely to allow. They’re trying, like everyone else, to find their footing in a system that is shifting under their feet. Coordination requires trust, consistency, and a willingness to accept limits on one’s own freedom of action. Those are difficult conditions to sustain, especially in a more competitive environment.
