The Necessary Resilience: How to Defend Western Society in the Age of Permanent Conflict
The distinction between peace and war has gradually blurred. States can be attacked without a single shot being fired: through cyber sabotage, disinformation, economic coercion, manipulation of energy dependencies, data control, and interference in democratic processes. Conflict is no longer a parenthesis between two periods of peace, but a permanent, widespread, and multidimensional condition.
The resilience of Western societies has become an essential component of national security. It is not merely about protecting critical infrastructure or the armed forces’ ability to sustain a conflict. It concerns the overall stability of society: trust in institutions, cohesion among citizens, the quality of information, the continuity of essential services, and the willingness to bear the costs necessary to defend a common interest.
But how does one build a resilient society in an era that seems to have progressively eroded the very social and cultural conditions on which resilience should be based?
Zygmunt Bauman has described modernity as a “liquid” condition, in which social structures do not retain their form long enough to become stable points of reference. Work becomes temporary, bonds are revocable, identities are fluid, and affiliations are reversible. Duration is perceived as a constraint, while the possibility of constant change represents the new measure of freedom.
Time itself breaks down into episodes. The present takes precedence over the past and the future; appearance over substance, visibility over competence. The tourist and the gambler represent the two emblematic figures of postmodernity. The former passes through places without belonging to them, while the latter relies on chance to suddenly change his circumstances. Both live primarily in the present and view stability not as security, but as a limitation.
Citizens, too, thus risk becoming mere consumers of experiences, information, and political proposals. They do not participate in building the community but choose a product; they do not join a collective project but react to a series of stimuli; they do not evaluate the government based on a long-term perspective but on the immediacy of the emotions it evokes. The individual, freed from many traditional ties, may end up feeling like a stranger even to himself: formally freer, but lacking the continuity necessary to give meaning to his own experience. And a society composed of isolated, uncertain, and mutually distrustful individuals may be economically dynamic and technologically advanced, but it remains strategically vulnerable.
Unfortunately, resilience cannot be built once an emergency has already begun. It is forged during peaceful times, when the threat seems distant and the necessary investments may even appear unnecessary or excessive.
Resilience is, first and foremost, a political and moral construct—rather than a military, industrial, or technological capability—because it requires a shared memory, a sense of belonging, an awareness of threats, and a willingness to make sacrifices to defend something that is perceived as one’s own. Its main foundation is trust.
Citizens must be able to trust the institutions, the quality of the information they receive, and the competence of decision-makers. They must understand the reasons behind the decisions and believe that the burdens are distributed fairly. Above all, they must identify with the political community for which they are being asked to bear those costs. A people can accept even very heavy sacrifices when they consider the authority demanding them to be legitimate, understand the purpose of the effort, and believe that no group is systematically protected at the expense of others.
Conversely, even a reasonable measure can provoke rejection when it comes from institutions considered distant, inconsistent, or unreliable. Trust cannot be imposed by decree, nor can it be generated through a public relations campaign. It is the cumulative result of consistency between words and actions, the transparency of decisions, the quality of public services, and the ability of institutions to acknowledge and correct their own mistakes. Political conflict is inherent in democracy. It represents differing interests, brings alternatives to light, and allows for the correction of wrong decisions. A society devoid of debate is not necessarily cohesive: it could simply be a society in which dissent has been suppressed.
The problem arises when political debate turns into identity-based polarization. The opponent is no longer seen as someone who holds a different view of the common good, but as an enemy to be delegitimized. Rather than debating which policy is more effective, people question the other side’s right to govern and, at times, even to belong fully to the national community. Excessive political polarization thus acts as a veritable diluent of resilience. It weakens the bond between citizens and institutions, erodes trust in shared processes, and makes it increasingly difficult to distinguish the national interest from partisan self-interest.
Every crisis is interpreted through the lens of political affiliation. The assessment of events depends on who reports them; the reliability of institutions varies depending on who governs them; and an external threat may be downplayed or exaggerated not because of its actual danger, but to strike at the internal adversary. Even national security risks becoming a subject of constant electoral competition. This creates a destructive cycle: social fragmentation erodes trust; mistrust fuels polarization; polarization undermines the legitimacy of institutions; institutional weakness prevents long-term decision-making; and the inability to make decisions reinforces citizens’ belief that the state is inefficient or hostile.
A society caught up in this dynamic can continue to function under normal conditions, but its fragility becomes apparent when it must face a prolonged shock. Resilience, in fact, is not merely about reacting quickly to an emergency. It means continuing to sustain an effort even when results are slow to materialize, costs rise, and initial enthusiasm wanes.
The digital environment did not create all these trends, but it has accelerated and amplified them. Platforms have transformed information into a continuous stream, in which speed often takes precedence over verification, and the ability to stir emotions takes precedence over the quality of the argument.
Algorithms tend to show us what confirms our beliefs, reinforces our sense of belonging, and sustains our attention. Outrage, fear, and resentment spread more easily than caution and complexity. As a result, the public sphere risks fragmenting into separate cognitive communities, each with its own facts, its own interpreters, and even its own representation of reality.
The channel-surfing described by Bauman becomes algorithmic. Citizens do not merely change channels: they inhabit an information environment built around their preferences, in which dissent appears incomprehensible or morally unacceptable. Politics follows the same logic. Its timeframe shrinks until it coincides with that of the news, polls, and reactions on social media.
Resilience requires exactly the opposite: continuity, patience, preparation, and investments whose results may only become visible after many years. This gives rise to one of the greatest paradoxes of the contemporary West: we must build long-term collective capacities within societies that have elevated transience to a permanent condition.
This vulnerability is exploited by adversaries. In an era of constant conflict, the goal is not necessarily to convince a population to buy into a particular narrative. It may be enough to increase mistrust, exacerbate divisions, multiply conflicting versions of reality, and persuade citizens that no institution is credible. There is no need to win over public support if one can undermine that of the adversary.
The answer cannot be the creation of a closed, uniform, and disciplined society. Authoritarianism may appear cohesive, but it often hides deep-seated fragilities: fear of admitting mistakes, inflexibility in decision-making, suppression of dissent, and an inability to learn.
Western societies still possess many sources of resilience: pluralism, autonomy, civil society, academic freedom, the capacity for innovation, and the ability to publicly correct mistakes. However, these resources do not function automatically; they must be protected and brought back within a shared framework. First and foremost, we must rebuild the credibility of our institutions.
Next, we must educate people about complexity, helping citizens develop the ability to recognize manipulation, oversimplification, and false dilemmas. We must defend a shared information space in which the pluralism of opinions does not lead to the dissolution of facts. We must also reduce those inequalities that are perceived as unjust, because cohesion cannot exist when one segment of society feels it is systematically bearing the costs of decisions made by others. Finally, a new balance is needed between individual rights and collective responsibilities.
Freedom cannot be limited solely to the ability to leave, change, or withdraw. A community survives in part because of its members’ willingness to stay, participate, contribute, and take on responsibilities. The challenge is not to artificially restor ly the certainties of the past, nor to rebuild rigid identities and closed communities. It lies in rediscovering stability within change: institutions capable of adapting without losing credibility, identities that are open yet not insubstantial, and citizens who are free yet aware of their responsibilities.
Resilience does not stem from fear of the enemy, but from trust in the community one seeks to defend. A society may possess the most advanced technologies, the most modern infrastructure, and the most powerful weapons, but if its citizens do not identify with its institutions, no longer share a common language, and view every sacrifice as an illegitimate imposition, its strength remains merely superficial.
In this era of permanent conflict, the West’s center of gravity does not lie solely in its arsenals or its economic capacity. It lies in the cohesion of its societies.
And it is precisely this cohesion, made more fragile by excessive political polarization, that we must once again regard as a strategic priority.
This was first published in Italian on 21 July 2026 on PRP Channel and is published with the author’s permission.