Preserving NZ’s strategic soul in a dominance-first era

Monday, 2 March 2026

K (Guru) Gurunathan is a former Mayor of Kāpiti. He is a regular opinion contributor.

OPINION: Meet Ophiocordyceps unilateralis, a parasitic Amazon fungus that infects carpenter ants. Once inside, the mycelium does not kill immediately but colonises, spreading its filaments through the host’s body and begins altering the ant’s behaviour.

The ant is compelled to climb vegetation to a precise height. There it clams into a leaf in a final “death grip”. Only then does the fungus mushroom erupt out of the ant’s head, releasing spores onto the forest floor.

While the ant walks under its own power, the decision was not its own. The image is theatrical but also a tool to help connect the dots.

Dot one. In January last year, US Secretary of Defence Pete Hegseth summoned a meeting of senior Pentagon generals. His message was clear: restore warfighting culture, remove hesitation and prioritise dominance. International law was not denounced but reframed to no longer define the guardrail of American force. Rather, it was now merely one factor in an era of strategic competition. Remember Trump’s infamous declaration that Hegseth was no longer Secretary of Defence but Secretary of War.

The earlier US National Defence Strategy placed the “rules-based international order” at its rhetorical centre. The Law of Armed Conflict compliance and civilian harm mitigation were presented as not only identity but obligation. The new posture still retains references to international law but shifts the tone towards speed, readiness and integrated deterrence. Signalling a cultural pivot from law as a foundation to law as an instrument.

The second dot – the rise of artificial intelligence. Modern military systems rely on AI-assisted targeting and predictive analytics, merging multiple systems of military intel into a single battlefield picture and autonomous platforms capable of operating at machine speed.

This is not just automation but what is termed decision compression. Meaning, what once required hours of deliberation can now unfold in milliseconds. In this environment any delay, including legal considerations, is a liability.

In the public eye, New Zealand’s defence posture stands in contrast. NZDF explicitly grounds its doctrine in international law, multilateral legitimacy and UN frameworks. The rules-based order is not branding but strategy.

Our nearest ally, Australia, similarly adheres to the Law of Armed Conflict, even as it deepens technological integration with Washington. The point is, interoperability in 2026 is not about compatibility of radios and joint exercises. Its about shared data architecture, shared targeting systems and shared AI-enabled command systems.

Given this, it is reasonable to ask, in a live conflict scenario, who owns the algorithm? If coalition forces rely on US-AI to identify threats, process intelligence through American controlled nodes, and generate strike recommendations at machine speed, where does Wellington insert its rangatiratanga?

Formally, New Zealand retains political control over deployment decisions. But functionally, escalation windows may close before Cabinet can meet.

Consider now the third dot, where the question sharpens when placed alongside remarks from Donald Trump.

In an interview with the New York Times in January 2026 when asked about limits to his power he said: “Yeah, there is one thing. My own morality. My own mind. It’s the only thing that can stop me.” Pressed about international law, he indicated he did not require it as a constraint.

This may be vintage rhetorical bravado, but in an AI-accelerated battlespace, executive discretion at the apex of the system can assume structural significance. If ethical restraint becomes personalised rather than institutional, and if operational speed outpaces deliberative oversight, smaller coalition partners like NZ face compounded exposure.

Aotearoa NZ does not operate independent global satellite systems. We do not control sovereign AI-targeting networks at scale. In any high-intensity coalition conflict we will depend heavily on the allied architecture of intelligence, logistics and command systems.

While we cannot conclude dependence is subservience, it reveals vulnerability. The risk may not be deliberate American domination but it is structural absorption. When command systems integrate deep enough, behavioural autonomy can persist while sovereign decision making is eroded. The ant still climbs but the decision may originate elsewhere.

This is not an argument against alliances nor an accusation of bad faith. It’s a recognition that technological integration can alter the meaning of sovereignty.

If New Zealand’s strategic identity rests on adherence to international law it must ensure identity is embedded into the operational architecture, not just in policy documents. It means humans-in-the-loop requirements in any NZ-involved lethal action, and preserving independent legal review capacity within coalition agreements. Interoperability cannot eliminate sovereign veto.

If we believe US strategic culture has shifted towards dominance-first thinking and if the AI military technology compresses time available for ethical deliberation, Wellington must actively engineer space for its own judgement.