From Troy to Tehran, the Troyjan horse still shapes global politics – Kadira Pethiyagoda

Troyjan Horse

The false promise tactic deployed at Troy, and which Odysseus regrets, mirrors one used by Western and Northern Europeans from the 15th century onwards to colonise the world. Although deception is inherently woven into warfare, the scale and systematic nature of colonial deception set it apart. – Dr. Kadira Pethiyagoda

The defining themes in Christopher Nolan’s new epic are trust and regret. The main character, Odysseus, regrets many things, but perhaps most overarching is his regret at the fundamental breach of trust that was the Trojan Horse. The Greeks exploited the trust of the Trojans in order to obtain a victory they were unable to win on the battlefield.

Matt Damon’s Odysseus laments this lie as helping to plunge the world into darkness, a mistake that may be made again in the distant future (differing from Homer’s original). Damon’s character was correct. Two and a half millennia later, Western and Northern Europeans would use deception as a key tool to dominate the world. The trust of indigenous civilisations and peoples would be breached over and over again in order to defeat and subjugate them—from the Spanish deceiving the Aztecs to the British surreptitiously taking control of Indian kingdoms they had promised to ally with.

Throughout the Odyssey film, we are told of Zeus’s law, xenia, the welcoming of strangers—an act underpinned by deep trust. Odysseus holds the principle of trust dear, even plucking his bow to warn prey when hunting. But the backstory to the Odyssey is one of deception. The Greeks told the Trojans that the enormous wooden horse they had left on the beach was an offering to the gods and a peace offering to the Trojans. The Trojans, presumably trusting that no one would cynically exploit sacred rituals, brought the horse inside their fortified gates. The Greeks, some of whom had been hiding in the horse, then proceeded to open Troy’s gates from the inside so that the city could be ransacked and the kingdom toppled.

Both the ancient Greeks and Trojans were Mediterranean, polytheistic peoples who interacted more with the civilisations of West Asia than they did with the tribes of Western and Northern Europe. The ancient Greeks engaged in more diplomatic, economic and cultural exchange with ancient India (e.g. Greco-Buddhist art) than with Bronze Age Britain. Nevertheless, the tactic deployed at Troy, and which Odysseus regrets, mirrors one used by Western and Northern Europeans from the 15th century onwards to colonise the world. Although deception is inherently woven into warfare, the scale and systematic nature of colonial deception set it apart.

In the 1500s, after landing in Central America, the Spanish conquistador Cortés pretended to be an ambassador sent by the world’s most powerful king to deliver greetings and establish trade. He knew the Aztecs would adhere to their codes of conduct, preventing them from attacking a peaceful envoy. The Aztec ruler Montezuma welcomed the Spaniards, lodging them in the palace of his late father. Within one week, they had taken Montezuma hostage inside the very same palace. Within one century, 56 million indigenous people had died as a result of European colonisation of the Americas.

Colonisers would go on to use several Trojan horse-style tactics. Merchants, surveyors and missionaries gathered strategic information before conquest. The Great Trigonometrical Survey mapped the Indian subcontinent, providing military and administrative knowledge. The British East India Company arrived in 1608 as a trading enterprise. By the late 18th century, it had become the dominant political power. The British often posed as allies of one South Asian kingdom in its struggles against another.

At Plassey, they secured the defection of Mir Jafar and other elites, defeating Nawab Siraj-ud-Daulah. British troops presented themselves as providing ‘protection’ for local rulers, who ultimately ceded control over foreign policy, becoming effectively dependent. Under the guise of law, Governor-General James Broun-Ramsay, better known as Lord Dalhousie, invoked the Doctrine of Lapse to annex states such as Satara and Jhansi because adopted heirs were ‘unrecognised’. By the time they left, the Empire had extracted an estimated $64.82 trillion from the Indian subcontinent.

In Sri Lanka, unable to defeat the Kandyans in the First Kandyan War, the British posed as liberators to persuade local elites to turn against their king in the Second Kandyan War. They promised that their Buddhist religion, customs and domestic power would be protected—that nothing would change except that they would pledge allegiance to the British Crown. These promises were not kept. Within three years, dissatisfaction contributed to the Uva-Wellassa Rebellion, or Third Kandyan War, which the British suppressed with scorched-earth tactics: land confiscation, deportation of people, and widespread destruction of crops and villages.

Following the Indian Rebellion of 1857, the British Crown increasingly justified imperial rule under the moral Trojan horses of ‘good government’ and the ‘civilising mission’. They painted themselves as the benevolent protector of India’s women from oppression via sati.

Today, covert action is often the preferred initial method of warfare by major powers. In the 20th century, many NGOs and media entities entered countries with apparent humanitarian agendas, only to act as Trojan horses for the foreign policy goals of the states that influence them. Prior to the Libya regime-change war, a foreign-educated researcher claimed that Gaddafi’s troops had been supplied with Viagra to undertake mass rape to justify intervention—something later found to be baseless. In India, the Centre for Policy Research had its foreign funding credentials revoked after allegations that funds had been used for ‘undesirable purposes’. Most recently, during peace negotiations, the US decapitated Iran’s leadership.

In the Odyssey film, Odysseus warns that the Trojan Horse tactic and the ensuing shattering of trust and xenia would lead to the end of the era of civilisation. In Game Theory’s Grim Trigger strategy, an initial betrayal of trust by one player triggers permanent mutual distrust and the restructuring of others’ behaviour. Today, theoretically honourable doctrines such as Responsibility to Protect have had their legitimacy permanently hobbled by deceptive intentions. Trust between states is non-existent.

However, the very fact that the world’s indigenous civilisations and peoples were often trusting enough to be deceived by such tactics demonstrates that another way of thinking may be possible—one that returns moral codes to the conduct of world affairs.

Dr. Kadira Pethiyagoda is a former diplomat, political advisor and geopolitical strategist.

Robert Clive meets Mir Jafar

India missed making an informed civilisational argument in Oslo – Hindol Sengupta

Governor-General of Norway, Ulrik Frederik Gyldenløve, with his slave boy Christian Hansen Ernst.

The Norwegian journalist asked why India should be trusted. The civilisational answer was sitting right there, unharvested: trust a civilisation that has never started a world war, never built a slave empire, and never enriched itself by selling the fuels that now threaten the poorest nations on earth. – Hindol Sengupta

Faced with a belligerent Norwegian commentator asking why India should be trusted, and questioning the country’s human rights record, the spokesperson for the Indian Ministry of External Affairs reached for India’s history as a civilisational state.

But in the responses talking about the discovery of zero and yoga, among other things, the point did not land. The defence was not without merit. But it was strategically incomplete, tonally defensive, and squandered what was, in fact, a rare and powerful opportunity.

There were many strong points, derived from the civilisational argument, that could have been made. And here are some of them.

First, the question itself should have been reversed. India is not a supplicant. It does not seek to present its ‘credentials’ to Norway, a country that has barely a fraction of the population of Delhi NCR. The question should have been redirected precisely at the premise of the question. The issue was not whether India is perfect. The issue was who Norway was to ask, and more precisely, what standards of ‘trustworthiness’ the questioner herself represents.

India’s civilisational history teaches us that in at least 5,000 years of history, it has never developed a comparable overseas colonial empire to those of Europe, did not build its modern wealth on settler-colonial extermination abroad, nor exterminate indigenous populations. It never operated a transatlantic slave trade. It never carved up other countries at a conference table. It was, in fact, the colonised, not the coloniser, drained of trillions of dollars in wealth by the British Empire.

Norway, on the other hand, has a different history. Denmark-Norway operated one of the earliest slave trades in the Caribbean between the 17th and 19th centuries. The very prosperity that gives Norwegians their confident moral perch—the sovereign wealth fund, the social safety net, the press freedom rankings—was partly constructed on centuries of resource extraction, colonial administration, and the systematic suppression of the Sámi people, Norway’s own indigenous population, whose language, religion and land were stripped from them by state policy well into the 20th century. As recently as 1997, it emerged that Norway had operated a coercive sterilisation programme targeting “social undesirables”—overwhelmingly the Roma and the Sámi—until 1977.

A civilisation-state argument in Oslo should have begun here: India knows what it is to be judged and subjugated by people who did not first examine themselves.

Norway manages the world’s largest sovereign wealth fund, now valued at over $2 trillion, seeded almost entirely by North Sea oil and gas revenues. It positions itself as a global champion of climate action and environmental sustainability, yet oil and gas account for around 60 per cent of Norway’s total goods exports. Norway is the world’s third-largest natural gas exporter. The country gets rich selling the very fossil fuels that are submerging low-lying countries like India’s neighbour Bangladesh, threatening Indian monsoons, and forcing Pacific Island nations towards extinction—and then dispatches journalists and NGOs to interrogate the democratic credentials of the countries most exposed to climate consequences.

India, by contrast, has committed to 500 GW of renewable energy by 2030, is the world’s third-largest solar market, and is bearing the adaptation costs of a climate crisis it did not create. Per capita, India’s emissions remain a fraction of Norway’s. India’s spokesperson should have asked, calmly and firmly: on the question of who can be trusted with the planet’s future, which country’s record warrants scrutiny?

Norway presents itself as a global peacemaker, home of the Nobel Peace Prize, the Oslo Accords, and the Nansen Passport. These are genuine contributions. But Norway is also a significant arms exporter, selling weapons to countries with documented human rights concerns through loopholes in its laws, and it has faced repeated criticism for approving export licences that its own ethics processes flagged as problematic. A country cannot simultaneously auction off the Peace Prize brand and arm combatants. The question of trustworthiness cuts in multiple directions.

Here lies the most pointed civilisational contrast. Norway, with its vast oil wealth, world-class public services, and near-total ethnic homogeneity until recently, has found it profoundly difficult to integrate immigrants of non-European origin. Its child welfare service, Barnevernet, has been condemned by the European Court of Human Rights in the majority of judgements against it, with documented bias against immigrant families, including Indian families, whose normal cultural practices were criminalised as ‘improper parenting’.

India manages the coexistence of 22 officially recognised languages, hundreds of dialects, every major religion, and a democracy of nearly a billion registered voters, all while lifting more people out of poverty in a single generation than most countries have ever had as their entire population. It is not a perfect record. But it is not a civilisation that needs lectures from a country that has never governed anything remotely as diverse, as large, or as historically in need of development.

The mistake of the Indian spokesperson was not that he pushed back. It was that he pushed back defensively, as if India were a defendant in Norway’s dock. The civilisational argument, properly deployed, does not defend India; it reframes the entire premise. It asks the questioner to justify her own inheritance before auditing someone else’s.

India’s civilisational identity is not a museum of ancient achievements. It is an argument about strategic restraint: a civilisation with long traditions of commerce, absorption, and plural coexistence; one that was colonised; that absorbed even invaders and made them Indian; that has understood, in its deepest traditions, that diversity is not a problem to manage but the irreducible nature of a complex world.

The Norwegian journalist asked why India should be trusted. The civilisational answer was sitting right there, unharvested: trust a civilisation that has never started a world war, never built a slave empire, and never enriched itself by selling the fuels that now threaten the poorest nations on earth. The answer to ‘why trust India?’ is simply this—because India is the country that has been on the receiving end of every accusation it is now being asked to answer for, and is still here, still democratic, still standing. That is the response Oslo needed. It was not given. Next time, it should be. – Firstpost, 20 May 2026

Hindol Sengupta is an award-winning historian and author of 13 books. He is professor of international relations at O.P. Jindal Global University, NCR.

Norway Arms Trader