General

Power is changing its form. The traditional image of a nation standing tall behind its borders, projecting strength through armies and diplomacy, now faces a quieter, more widespread type: power without borders. The kind that moves through fibre-optic cables, trade routes, data centres, and remittance channels. The type of power that isn’t held solely by states, but also by networks, corporations, and even individuals. As someone who has spent a few decades navigating the intersection of business, policy, and development, I’ve seen this shift firsthand. The Ghana I work in today is not the Ghana of my childhood. Our future now depends not only on political decisions made in Accra but also on boardroom discussions in London, commodity prices determined in Chicago, and algorithms operating in California. The network of interdependence that once linked only diplomats now connects everyone, including traders, tech start-ups, farmers, regulators, and even influencers. This reality is at the heart of what modern political thinkers call transnationalism, the concept that power and influence now flow across national borders through multiple channels, influencing outcomes faster than most governments can react. From Power Over to Power Through Classical realism, as we’ve explored before, treated power as a contest, a rivalry among sovereigns in an anarchic world. But in this era of interdependence, power has evolved from power ‘over’ to power ‘through’. Today, influence relies less on domination and more on participation. The countries, institutions, and companies that succeed are those that can integrate into broader systems without being consumed by them. In business, we refer to this as leverage. In diplomacy, it’s soft power. In life, it’s interdependence. Consider Ghana’s digital economy. A local fintech app might process transactions for small shops in Kumasi, but its servers are hosted in Europe, its data analytics outsourced to India, and its regulatory frameworks guided by global anti-money-laundering standards. The company’s success is woven through a web of foreign and domestic actors, each indispensable, and none in complete control. In that sense, sovereignty now feels more like stewardship than ownership. You don’t possess power; you maintain it through collaboration. The Networked World of Modern Power If realism was about states and armies, transnationalism is about networks and flows. Trade, technology, finance, and migration have become the new instruments of influence. The most powerful entities today, such as Amazon, Google, Visa, Huawei, or even the African Continental Free Trade Area (AfCFTA) Secretariat, wield power not by ruling territories but by managing connectivity. In Ghana, this has been clearly evident in both agriculture and finance. When cocoa prices fall, it’s not merely a matter of local production. It’s a ripple in a transnational value chain involving buyers in Amsterdam, factories in Zurich, and logistics routes through Abidjan. When MTN or Vodafone changes mobile-money fees, the decision affects millions of livelihoods and even the informal credit ecosystem. These are examples of economic governance without government, where rules are set not in parliaments but in corporate boardrooms and international regulatory bodies. And this isn’t necessarily bad. Power spread across networks can foster resilience, provided the links are based on fairness and mutual strength. However, it also means nations can no longer pretend that isolation equals control. The Private Sector as the New Diplomatic Actor In this new order, entrepreneurs, banks, and investors have become de facto diplomats. Every cross-border transaction is a micro-act of foreign policy. Every logistics contract, export agreement, or ESG-linked bond shapes how Ghana interacts with the world. At Maxwell Investments Group, we frequently negotiate with partners whose decisions are influenced as much by international climate finance policies as by local economic priorities. A farmer in Tamale growing soybeans today may find her profitability affected by EU carbon standards or American trade subsidies, frameworks she’ll never read but must live under. That’s transnationalism at work: invisible rules, real consequences. That’s also why business leaders must now think like diplomats. We are no longer just market players. We are interpreters of global systems for local realities. Understanding the politics of power, like who sets the rules, who benefits, and who bears the cost, is as essential as understanding balance sheets. Interdependence Is Power So here lies the paradox. Dependence, when structured well, can become a source of power. A nation deeply integrated into trade networks, global supply chains, and knowledge systems can be more influential than one that stands alone. Ghana’s membership in the AfCFTA, its partnerships within ECOWAS, and its growing involvement in green finance initiatives show that interdependence, when managed wisely, enhances capacity. The aim is a healthy balance of economic independence and the ability to engage without subservience. Africa must take this lesson seriously. True independence today means having the power to negotiate your dependencies. To remain relevant, you must be needed; to earn respect, you must be dependable. The nations that will flourish in the next decade are those that learn to turn interdependence into their advantage. The Fragility of Connection But interdependence also comes with vulnerability. When systems are closely connected, shocks spread faster. A cyber-attack in Singapore could disrupt Ghanaian banks. A drought in Argentina might increase bread prices in Accra. A trade policy in Brussels could alter Africa’s industrial future. The COVID-19 pandemic revealed this clearly. Borders shut, supply chains halted, and suddenly the invisible channels of global interdependence became visible and fragile. For businesses, this requires strategic humility. No firm, regardless of size, can fully insulate itself. At MIG, we have learned to view diversification not as a luxury but as a vital survival strategy across products, partners, and even regions. In an interconnected world, resilience is the new power. When Non-State Actors Lead One of the most profound shifts in modern power is the rise of actors that are not states at all. Technology companies, advocacy networks, diaspora communities, and global NGOs now hold influence comparable to medium-sized countries. In Ghana, look at how diaspora remittances surpass foreign aid, influencing entire neighbourhood economies. Or how digital influencers can amplify or damage brand reputations

I’ve spent much of my professional life building systems in finance, agriculture, logistics, and insurance, where outcomes depend just as much on strategy as they do on leverage. Over time, I realised that what we call business strategy in commerce and what political scientists refer to as power in international relations are versions of the same underlying truth. That realisation partly led me to pursue a Master’s in International Relations at the University of Staffordshire. I want to understand the architecture of power, not only in markets but also in the world itself. The journey has introduced me to the school of thought known as classical realism, the view that power, not goodwill or treaties, is the organising principle of international life. It’s a framework that strips away illusion and forces a question uncomfortable but necessary for every business, government, or community: what do you actually control? The Roots of Realism Classical realism emerged in the ashes of failed idealism. The optimism of the post–World War I era, embodied by the League of Nations, had promised that cooperation and law would bring an end to war. Then came the 1930s with fascism, invasion, and collapse. To thinkers like E. H. Carr, this was not just tragedy; it was evidence that moral idealism without power is a luxury reserved for the strong. In ‘The Twenty Years’ Crisis’, Carr wrote that to ignore power as a decisive factor “is purely utopian.” He was not celebrating cynicism but rather warning against naivety. Carr’s insight feels strikingly relevant to modern institutions that confuse vision statements for actual power. Power is not arrogance. It’s the collection of tools and structures that make ideals enforceable. Whether in diplomacy or business, you can only act as far as your leverage reaches. Morgenthau and the Human Condition If Carr sounded the alarm, Hans J. Morgenthau built the philosophy. In ‘Politics Among Nations’ (1948), he argued that “politics, like society in general, is governed by objective laws that have their roots in human nature.” Humans, driven by fear, ambition, and the instinct for survival, create states that mirror those same instincts. In a world without a global government, states act much like individuals do when left to themselves; they pursue power to ensure their survival. Morgenthau defined power broadly: “anything that establishes and maintains control of man over man.” This includes force, persuasion, and prestige. It’s a relational force, not just a material one. The relevance to modern business is clear. Market share, information control, and trust are all forms of power. To manage any system, whether political or economic, is to understand those relationships of influence. Morality Through Power, Not Against It Carr’s most unsettling idea is that morality itself is born from power. “Law and morality in international politics,” he wrote, “are functions of power.” The powerful define norms because they can. The weak moralise because they must. This doesn’t mean morality is false; it means that moral codes only endure when anchored in strength. That lesson goes beyond geopolitics. Both businesses and nations often fail when they confuse intentions with actual capacity. A fair system must also be a strong one. In Ghana’s agricultural markets, for example, fairness to farmers only succeeds when supported by logistics, finance, and enforcement, which are all forms of structural power. In that sense, classical realism subtly underpins sustainable development itself. Prudence as the Realist Virtue Morgenthau regarded prudence as the highest virtue of leadership: the ability to choose the lesser evil over the unreachable good. This concept, developed amid the moral chaos following World War II, still shapes mature governance. The realist leader is not heartless. He is disciplined. He understands that idealism without realism breeds catastrophe. That same prudence sustains institutions. At Maxwell Investments Group, I have observed how businesses thrive when they avoid the temptation of instant success in favour of long-term resilience. Realism in politics and realism in enterprise share a core principle: restraint breeds longevity. Bartlett’s Cold War Lessons Historian C. J. Bartlett extended this thinking to the post-war order in ‘The Rise and Fall of the Pax Americana’ (1974). He noted that “the Americans could use power as realistically as any other state, [but] they used it less consistently and wholeheartedly.” In other words, even superpowers struggle with the tension between moral aspiration and pragmatic necessity. That same tension haunts leadership everywhere, whether in the corporate or government sectors. When we preach values but fail to establish systems that safeguard them, our credibility diminishes. Bartlett’s warning is equally relevant to multinationals that vow sustainability without governance frameworks to uphold it. The Invisible Infrastructure of Power What Carr and Morgenthau understood, and what many forget, is that power often hides in plain sight. It is not only held by armies and economies but also in trust, information, and reliability. Nations, like brands, rise or fall on credibility. When trust is broken, even the most powerful lose leverage. This “invisible infrastructure” explains why realism resonates with modern economics. A financial system relies on faith in regulations. Supply chains depend on mutual reliance. The loss of trust, as seen in the 2008 financial crisis, is ultimately a collapse of power, the power to assure continuity. Realism’s Modern Return Today’s headlines reflect the realist worldview. When Russia invaded Ukraine, when China secured mineral corridors across Africa, and when the U.S. fought for semiconductor dominance, these were not moral dramas but realist manoeuvres. Even the climate transition now follows realist logic: nations pursue sustainability not only to save the planet but to secure advantage in the emerging energy order. In this light, realism is not cynicism; it’s comprehension. It recognises that cooperation requires capability, and peace is upheld not by goodwill but by balance. The African Reading of Power For Africa, realism provides a framework for agency. In global negotiations, moral appeals alone are not enough. States need to build leverage through regional integration, infrastructure, and credible institutions. The African Continental Free Trade Area (AfCFTA) is a realist project disguised as an idealist one; it is turning solidarity into

Some organisations don’t fail because they lack ideas. In fact, this is true for many startups. They fail because they are unable to process the ideas they already have. When we founded Maxwell Investments Group (MIG), we had far too many ideas. And we still do. Each one felt urgent: technology ventures, sustainability initiatives, social enterprises, financial products, tourism collaborations. All of them were good, all of them possible. But if we had chased every one of them at once, MIG would have collapsed under the weight of its own ambition. So we made a difficult choice: to focus. To shelve most of the ideas, not abandon them, but register them and keep them until the company could absorb them. We chose agribusiness as our foundation. It was practical, deeply connected to livelihoods, and gave us a stable base from which to grow. Even now, today today, I keep sketching new ventures and testing side projects, but I’ve learnt to release them slowly, at a pace the organisation can handle. It’s not about stifling creativity; it’s about protecting the current production line. Ideas alone don’t guarantee progress, but executing processed ideas does. What matters isn’t how many ideas you have, but how efficiently your organisation can absorb and execute them. That balance, between creativity and capacity, determines your survival. The Paradox of Plenty could ruin your start, no matter how well you take off. Of course, you need a million other things to also go well, but let’s focus solely on the throughput of ideas for this article. From Ideas to Throughput In MIG’s early years, I believed that creativity itself was progress. If we could dream it, we could make it happen. We still shout “NO LIMITATIONS” at the office. But creativity without control can become destructive. It’s like running too many machines on a single power line; the current drops, and everything flickers. Every organisation has a rhythm, a natural rate at which it can absorb new ideas and transform them into results. Exceed that rate, and progress stalls. That rhythm is what I now call the throughput of ideas. In manufacturing, throughput refers to how efficiently raw materials flow through a production system to become finished products. The same physics apply to strategy and innovation. Every new idea introduced into the system competes for time, attention, and energy. When too many pile up, progress doesn’t speed up; it stalls. The irony is that overload often feels like productivity. Everyone is busy. Whiteboards are full. Meetings buzz with potential. Yet, the busyness hides the truth: little is truly getting done. The real bottleneck in most organisations is its absorption capacity, the ability to turn intention into implementation, not imagination. Creative backlog can be just as dangerous as a production backlog. The Physics of Organisational Capacity Think of your organisation as a production line, except your raw material is human attention. Every new initiative consumes a portion of that finite resource. You can hire more people, but you cannot endlessly multiply focus. Leadership attention is often the tightest bottleneck. Launch too many projects at once, and the very people who need to make decisions are stretched too thin to make any. Systems thinkers refer to this as a capacity constraint. When a system surpasses its processing capacity, each additional input slows down everything else. That’s why large institutions often seem sluggish. It’s not because they lack ideas, but because their internal queues are overloaded. True strategic focus is about matching ambition to available bandwidth, not about shrinking ambition. It’s wiser to complete three strong initiatives than to juggle thirty that remain half-finished. At MIG, I now ask a simple question before approving something new: Can we realistically absorb this without slowing our core operations? If the honest answer is no, the idea goes into what I call the “cooler.” It’s not forgotten; it’s deferred until the system can handle it. The Discipline of Timing A brilliant idea can simply fail because it arrived too soon. Over time, I’ve learnt that innovation is about timing, not just about ideas or effort. The right idea, released too early, can do as much harm as the wrong one. Every organisation has a maximum rate of change. Push faster than people can adapt, and even good initiatives face resistance. The trick is to release ideas only as fast as your organisation can absorb them. This principle, which I call cadence, is the rhythm that unites creative systems. In agriculture, we understand seasons: planting, growth, harvest, rest. In business, the same cycle applies. But many leaders, in their eagerness to show results, skip the fallow period. They plant new initiatives before the old ones have taken root. Pacing innovation is also stewardship. It allows time for learning, feedback, and adaptation. A well-timed idea lands softly, gains traction, and compounds. Maybe, just maybe, patience is the most underrated innovation strategy of all. Building an Idea-Ready Organisation If ideas must be paced, the next question is how to increase the organisation’s capacity to absorb them. At MIG, I have learnt that growth doesn’t simply mean more departments or larger budgets. To me, it means building systems and teams capable of operating semi-independently. When decision-making is decentralised, new initiatives don’t all have to wait for a single executive bottleneck. I am learning to step back for the most part and teaching my team to follow and apply The MIG Way until I am required. That’s what I call building an idea-ready organisation. It’s a company structured for learning and experimentation without losing coherence. Toyota refers to this as ‘Kaizen’, the ongoing, incremental improvement woven throughout the system. Instead of top-down innovation initiatives, every team contributes minor enhancements daily. 3M, an American multinational conglomerate, has the well-known 15% rule, and Google employs the 20% policy. Both operate on the same principle: controlled freedom to explore within defined boundaries. Innovation scales best when structure and culture work together. Our systems must provide clarity, and our culture must provide curiosity. One without the other