A turning point in U.S. strategic thought on Asia

The passing of Richard Armitage, Joseph Nye, Henry Kissinger, and just under ten years ago, Zbigniew Brzezinski, marks more than just the end of an era of iconic U.S. foreign policy thinkers. It symbolizes a broader intellectual shift—away from expansive, global strategic frameworks rooted in Cold War imperatives, and toward narrower, regional and tactical defense doctrines.

The intellectual legacy that once prioritized American hegemony through complex balancing across the Eurasian landmass has given way to what Elbridge Colby, a central figure in Trump-era foreign policy, unapologetically calls the “strategy of denial.”

At the core of this transition lies a stark difference in scale, ambition, and underlying philosophical assumptions about America’s place in the world.

In The Grand Chessboard, Zbigniew Brzezinski argued that American primacy hinged on preventing the emergence of a Eurasian hegemon. Eurasia, he noted, was the “chessboard on which the struggle for global primacy continues to be played”.

For Brzezinski, American power was not simply regional or transactional—it was civilizational, rooted in a blend of military might, economic dominance, and ideological appeal. He conceived of power in panoramic terms: shaping the global balance from Eastern Europe to Central Asia, with American troops, values, and institutions carefully maneuvered to box out rivals.

What made Brzezinski’s approach “strategic” was its long time horizon and comprehensive scope. America was to operate as a global empire in all but name—diplomatically embedded, militarily dominant, and economically entwined with Eurasia’s key regions. This strategy wasn’t just defensive; it was proactive. Even U.S. cultural capital played a role in aligning allies and deterring adversaries. In his view, the ultimate threat to American primacy wasn’t a specific country like China or Russia, but the possibility of any power or coalition filling the Eurasian vacuum America left unguarded.

Elbridge Colby’s The Strategy of Denial is rooted in a fundamentally different worldview. While he shares Brzezinski’s concern about great-power competition, particularly vis-à-vis China, his answer is not global hegemony but regional denial. His framework assumes America can no longer do everything everywhere. The central goal is to prevent China from dominating Asia, especially through a fait accompli attack on Taiwan or similar targets. All else—European security, Middle Eastern stability, even global norms—must be subordinated to this single operational priority.

Colby’s method is unapologetically narrow. He argues the U.S. should structure its military posture to fight and win a limited war in Asia, without risking full-scale nuclear escalation. This is not about long-term diplomacy or building coalitions for shared prosperity—it’s about holding ground at specific choke points like Taiwan and denying China the ability to politically subordinate key allies. His logic is defensive and reactive: delay, deter, and if necessary, defeat China militarily in one theater, then stop.

The intellectual chasm between Brzezinski and Colby could not be wider. Brzezinski operated with the confidence of a unipolar power crafting global order; Colby operates with the anxiety of a declining hegemon preparing to fight one war at a time. Brzezinski sought to stabilize an entire continent by shaping multiple regional balances; Colby assumes that the U.S. can’t afford to fail in even a single engagement. What once was an empire of principles has become a fortress of priorities.

This shift is not merely academic—it has real-world consequences. Whereas Brzezinski’s strategic planning encouraged investment in alliances, multilateral institutions, and ideological messaging, Colby’s doctrine leads to a triage mentality. Europe? Let the Europeans handle it. The Middle East? Contain terrorism, but otherwise disengage. Africa? Irrelevant. It’s a worldview where allies are not partners in a vision, but tools in a defense perimeter.

For South Korea, this shift is more than uncomfortable—it’s dangerous. Under the Cold War logic of thinkers like Brzezinski, South Korea was integral to a broader U.S. plan to prevent continental hegemony in Asia. It wasn’t just about North Korea—it was about embedding U.S. presence in Northeast Asia to shape outcomes across the entire region. But under Colby’s doctrine, South Korea is simply one node in a denial network: relevant only insofar as it helps contain China and secure Taiwan.

This leaves Seoul in a precarious position. The strategy of denial offers no long-term vision for regional prosperity or integration—only militarized stasis. And it assumes continued U.S. dominance that may not exist. As Washington’s focus narrows and its willingness to bear costs declines, South Korea may find that its security is no longer guaranteed by alliance habit, but by its own adaptability.

That means independence—strategic, economic, and diplomatic. South Korea cannot wait for U.S. signals to define its posture. It must make its own calculations, develop its own defense capabilities, and cultivate regional relationships, even with difficult neighbors.

Most provocatively, South Korea may have to come to terms with a reality long denied in public discourse: its strategic position is ultimately dependent on China’s goodwill. Geography and economics are not changing. China is not necessarily a military threat—it is South Korea’s largest trading partner and a critical gatekeeper for regional peace. Pretending otherwise is increasingly untenable. If the U.S. sees Korea as a buffer or a pawn, Korea must begin to see China less as a threat, but as an unavoidable part of its strategic calculus.

To compare Brzezinski’s Grand Chessboard to Colby’s Strategy of Denial is to compare empire-building to moat-digging.

The former imagined a United States indispensable to world order; the latter imagines one barely holding the line. In this light, the deaths of Nye, Armitage, Kissinger, and Brzezinski mark more than generational turnover. They signify the burial of a kind of thinking that once tried to mold the world. What has replaced it is less a new strategy than a controlled retreat—realist, perhaps, but no longer grand.

In this emerging paradigm, the world is no longer a chessboard—it is a risk map. And America, it seems, is no longer playing to win. It is playing not to lose.