The End of Certainties: A diplomat’s guide to a world of interdependence without trust

WHAT DOES ONE SAY TO the graduating class of the world’s premier institution of international affairs? I had to answer that question for myself when I had the honour of addressing the 92nd Commencement of the Fletcher School at Tufts University. I began by telling the day’s graduates: “This occasion marks a significant milestone in your lives, one that reflects both what you have achieved and what now lies ahead. What lies ahead is not a neatly scripted future, but a series of unfolding questions to which you will be expected to supply your own answers. On such a day, one does not presume to instruct, but to reflect, and to offer a few insights shaped by experience.” I stood before them in that spirit.

To find myself back at Fletcher, 51 years after I first navigated its corridors as a student, is to be reminded how profoundly a place can imprint itself upon a life. Fletcher did not merely equip me with credentials; it furnished me with a way of thinking about the world and my place within it. To deliver the Com­mencement address was both a joy and a deeply personal homecoming.

I first arrived at The Fletcher School as a 19-year-old from India in 1975 full of curiosity and not entirely sure what lay ahead. I was by far the youngest student at the School and the only one with no work experience other than a long list of extracurricular activities and published articles. But that made me all the more receptive to new learning. Fletcher did what the best institutions do: it altered the way I thought about the world, and quietly instilled in that process a sense that learning must ultimately serve a larger public purpose.

In the years that followed, I completed not one but three degrees here, culminating in a doctorate at the age of 22. (Yes, Fletcher taught me to push the envelope, and I haven’t stopped doing that ever since.)The Dean had already graciously listed the milestones I cherished in and beyond the classroom, reflected in distinctions such as the Robert B Stewart Prize for the Best Student, being elected a student representative, and helping found the Fletcher Forum of International Affairs, which, decades on, contin­ues to sustain conversations on global issues.

But what Fletcher gave me went far beyond credentials. It remains, in my view, a rare institution, one that combines intellectual rigour with a genuine engagement with the world as it is, and as it ought to be. It is no exaggeration to say that whatever I have been able to accomplish since, whether at the United Nations (UN) or in Indian politics, has its roots in the education I received here. Those lessons have stayed with me ever since, in every role I have been fortunate enough to undertake.

The Fletcher School was founded in 1933 as “an act of hope in a time of despair and a boost to internationalism at a time of isolationism.” It described its students as those “committed to maintaining the stability and prosperity of a complex, challenging and increasingly global society”. Ninety-three years later, that mission statement holds up pretty well.

Fletcher is a place where you study the world as it is, while being trained to think about the world it is becoming. If Fletcher taught us to make sense of the world, it must be said that the world today is offering rather more to make sense of than it once did, for we are living through a moment of turbulence and transition in the global order. What we are witnessing is not merely change but an interregnum, an uneasy passage between an old order that is fading and a new one that has yet to coherently take shape. The rules-based system that many of us once took for granted is no longer as stable or as universal as it appeared. Norms that once restrained power are increasingly treated as optional, and the language of international law now sounds more like aspiration than obligation. We inhabit an age in which principles are often proclaimed universally and applied selectively. The certainties that under­pinned international relations for decades are giving way to a more fluid and, at times, more unpredictable landscape.

In this changing environment, where international relations are less often guided by shared norms, we are witnessing a renewed emphasis on power and competition in pursuit of strategic advantage. Increasingly, domains that were once seen as neutral are be­ing drawn into the logic of rivalry, with economic choices and technological capabilities alike acquiring strategic weight and politi­cal consequence. States are acting with greater assertiveness, sometimes taking risks that would once have seemed unthinkable and employing every instrument at their disposal, economic, technological, and political, to secure advantage. It is, in many ways, a return to a more transactional, and perhaps more brutal, form of global politics.

At the same time, the forces of globalisation have drawn us closer together than ever before. Our economies, our technolo­gies, and even our societies are deeply interconnected. This interdependence has brought immense opportunity, but it has also introduced new vulnerabilities. What was once seen as mutual dependence is now often viewed as strategic exposure, prompting nations to rethink supply chains, partnerships, and long-held economic assumptions. We are both more interconnected and more divided than ever. The old idea of doux commerce—that trade would promote good relations between countries because of mutual economic benefits and mutual dependency—has given way to ‘near-shoring’, tariffs and the weaponising of dependencies. The belief that the accountant’s ledger could finally replace the soldier’s bayonet has given way to one where the handshake has been replaced by the choke­hold. This is a world, as I argue in the latest issue of the Fletcher Forum, of interdependence without trust.

Overlaying all of this is a convergence of crises that define our present moment. What we are witnessing is not a series of discrete crises, but a pattern where disruption in one corner of the world reverberates in another, and where global shocks increasingly overlap, testing the resilience of our institutions and societies. We inhabit a world of what then late UN Secre­tary-General Kofi Annan once described as “problems without passports”, pandemics, climate change, cyber threats, financial contagion—challenges that no nation, however powerful, can resolve alone. Their impact is profound, and their scale serves as a reminder that we still need to find ways to cooperate, in the interests of our common humanity.

And yet the mechanisms of collective action are themselves under strain. Multilateralism, which once offered a means of ad­dressing shared challenges, now struggles to command the same confidence or cohesion. Institutions and norms created in another era are being questioned not only for their effectiveness but for their legitimacy, even as the need for cooperation has never been greater. Nations are, more often than before, turning inward or choosing more selective forms of engagement. The result is a more fragmented system of global governance, where cooperation is harder to sustain. Some are even calling for abandoning multilat­eralism and the UN system. But as the former Soviet Ambassador to the UN in the early 1960s, Yakov Malik, used to say when such ideas were advanced in that era, “hearing calls to give up the UN reminds me of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. One day, Adam finds that Eve is becoming indifferent to him. So Adam says to Eve, ‘Eve, is there someone else?’“ Think about that for a min­ute: Is there an alternative that can bring all the countries of the world together on a common platform? Of course there isn’t. This is the only UN we have got, and we have to make the best of it.

In response to this uncertainty, we are also seeing a growing emphasis on self-reliance and strategic autonomy. Countries are seeking to strengthen their domestic capacities, to reduce depen­dencies, and to assert greater control over critical sectors. This reflects a quiet but significant shift in thinking, where resilience is beginning to matter as much as efficiency, and where the abil­ity to withstand disruption is seen as a form of power in its own right. This instinct is understandable, but it also reflects a world in which trust is more fragile, and the future less assured.

SO, I TOLD THE CLASS OF 2026: This is the world you are graduating into, one not easily defined by clear alliances or simple narratives. It is a world of blurred align­ments, where nations pursue pragmatic partnerships rather than fixed loyalties, and where it sometimes seems that the only rule is that there are no rules. This world demands an ability to navigate ambiguity, to hold competing ideas in tension, and to make decisions in the absence of complete certainty. Adaptabil­ity, awareness, and a willingness to engage with complexity will not merely be useful qualities, they will be essential ones.

There is also a subtler shift underway, one that is less visible but no less consequential. The contest today is not only over territory or trade but over ideas, narratives, and the authority to define them. Information travels faster than ever, but so does disinformation and ‘fake news’. It’s said that if you are not on social media, you are uninformed; if you are on social media, you are misinformed. In such an environment, the ability to discern, to question, and to hold on to your intellectual integrity becomes indispensable. The challenge is not merely to know more but to understand better—to be able to relate claims to contexts, to have the substantive knowledge to separate fact from fiction, propaganda from prejudice.

At the same time, the lines between the domestic and the international have grown increasingly blurred. Decisions taken within nations now carry immediate global consequences, just as global developments shape domestic realities in profound ways.

The challenges we face do not respect borders, yet the solutions we pursue are too often confined by them. The issues you will con­front, whether in public policy, business, or civil society, will demand an ability to think across boundaries, to connect the local with the global, and to recognise that the two are, in truth, inseparable.

And yet, for all its uncertainty, this is also a moment of possi­bility. Periods of transition, however unsettling, create space for renewal and for new forms of leadership. They call for individu­als who are willing not only to respond to change but to shape it. For if this era is defined by disruption, it is equally defined by the opportunity to rebuild a more balanced and inclusive order. When the Suez Crisis erupted 70 years ago and the UN Security Council was bitterly divided, Secretary-General Dag Hammarskjöld invented peacekeeping, using the neutral armies of the smaller and middle powers. It wasn’t mentioned in the UN Charter, but it saved the day. When the US first threatened to bomb Baghdad in 1998 over non-compliance with weapons inspections, Kofi Annan got onto a plane and flew there to persuade Saddam Hussein to comply. (I was with him on that trip.) In both cases, by giving the antagonists a ladder to climb down, these unscripted interventions defused crises. Not everyone can be in the position of a Hammarskjöld or an Annan, nor be inclined to risk their positions by attempt­ing something unprecedented. Many would have considered such efforts ‘delulu’. Still, in your own areas of work, I told the graduating class, “You can vow not to be custodians of paralysis, but agents of imaginative action. Push the envelope! Much of your finest work might never make the headlines, but it will en­dure in solutions found and quiet compromises away from the flashbulbs. Wear, then, your anonymity as a badge of honour.”

The Fletcher School is, today, more necessary than ever. It is a place that insists on looking outward, on engaging with difference rather than retreating from it, on understanding that complexity is not an obstacle to be avoided, but a reality to be navigated. It brings together people from different countries, disciplines, and perspectives, and asks them not merely to learn, but also to learn from one another.

That is no small thing. In a world increas­ingly tempted by easy answers and narrower horizons, an education that teaches you to think globally, to listen carefully, and to act with a sense of responsibility beyond yourself is not just valuable, it is indispensable. And that, to my mind, is why Fletcher matters.

The students I was addressing stood at a threshold. Behind them lie years of struc­tured learning; before them stretches the far less predictable terrain of lived experience. There will be moments of triumph and moments of uncertainty, and in navigat­ing both, they will draw not only upon the knowledge they have acquired, but upon the values they choose to uphold.

“If there is one lesson I have learnt over the years,” I told them, “it is that the world will rarely conform to your expectations. It will surprise you, unsettle you, and, at times, disappoint you. But it will also offer moments of possibility that you could not have anticipated. The task before you is not to control that uncertainty, but to engage with it thoughtfully and with purpose.”

Knowledge alone is not enough. The world is already full of intelligent people who can identify problems from a safe distance. What matters is the willingness to take responsibility for solving them. In the years ahead, diffi­cult choices will inevitably arise. “When they do,” I said, “I hope you will choose not only what is convenient, but what is right.”

I went on: “You will, at times, be wrong, occasionally, even spectacularly so. You will misjudge people, misunderstand problems, and perhaps find yourself wondering whether you have taken an entirely wrong turn. This is not failure; it is the price of engagement. The true failure lies in withdrawing, in retreating into cynicism, or worse, into indifference.

“You will also discover that progress is seldom linear. There will be setbacks, frustrations and moments when the distance between aspiration and reality seems unbridgeable... Change, more often than not, is incremental, the result of sustained effort rather than sudden transformation. What matters is not that you succeed at every step, but that you remain committed to the direction in which you are moving.

“As you move forward, I would also urge you to define suc­cess as fulfilment. The world will offer you readymade metrics: titles, salaries, designations, but these are external validations that can neither fully capture nor sustain a sense of fulfilment. It is important to ask yourself what kind of impact you wish to have: the problems you want to solve, the communities you want to engage with, and the values you refuse to compromise. A career built solely on accumulation may impress others; a career built on purpose will sustain you.”

Equally important is the cultivation of a parallel virtue: gratitude, not as a fleeting sentiment but as a sustained ethic. The journey of each student has not been theirs alone; it has been enabled by the patience of parents, the dedication of teachers, and the solidarity of peers. To acknowledge this is important, but to embody it is far more consequential. For gratitude, when trans­lated into action, becomes responsibility, the responsibility to extend opportunities where you can, to mentor those who will follow in your footsteps, and to ensure that the doors that opened for you are not quietly closed behind you.

In doing so, you move beyond the nar­row confines of individual achievement and participate in the creation of something larger, a continuum of support, aspiration and shared progress. The true measure of success, then, lies not only in what you accomplish but in what you enable others to achieve. It is in this quiet but enduring transformation, from personal advancement to collective uplift, that your edu­cation finds its most meaningful expression.

“SO GO OUT into the world,” I urged them, “not to control it, because you cannot, but to engage with it, of­ten in the company of those who do not entirely agree with you, to help shape it, and, when necessary, to challenge it.”

I concluded with a simple but enduring thought: the future is not something that happens to you; it is something you help create. You will, in the years ahead, encounter choices that test your judgment, your courage, and your character. In those moments, resist the temptation to drift with circumstance; instead, choose deliberately, act conscientiously, and remain anchored in the values you carry from here. And if, years from now, someone were to ask a gradu­ate what she did with her time at Fletcher, I hope her answer will not rest solely on what you achieved but on what you changed, what changed you, and what you refused to ignore.

My parting word of advice: “If you ever find yourself entirely certain of everything, take it as a sign that you may not be think­ing deeply enough. Stay curious, stay engaged, stay ‘delulu’.”

“I wish you courage in the face of uncertainty, clarity in mo­ments of doubt, and, above all, the wisdom to recognise that the most meaningful journeys are those undertaken not for oneself alone, but for the world we share.”

(This essay draws upon his address at the 92nd Commencement of the Fletcher School at Tufts University)