The UN turns 80—but can it still lead in a fractured world?

The United Nations quietly marked its 80th anniversary this year—but few are cheering. Born out of the ashes of World War II with a mandate to prevent global conflict, the UN now appears adrift, increasingly irrelevant in the very crises it was designed to confront. Nowhere is this disconnect more stark than in the carnage unfolding in Gaza, where diplomatic appeals from New York have done little to stop the bombs.

António Guterres, the Secretary-General, has repeatedly urged a ceasefire, warning that the rules of war are being shredded. His appeals, though morally urgent, have landed with a thud. Inside the UN Security Council, the five permanent members continue to paralyze progress with their vetoes. Rather than leading, the council often looks like a venue for geopolitical point-scoring—while real-world suffering intensifies.

This isn’t just about dysfunction. It’s about trust. As conflicts burn from Ukraine to Sudan, the question has shifted: not whether the UN is broken, but whether it still matters.

What haunts the UN today is not irrelevance per se, but structural rigidity. The Security Council—its engine of global decision-making—has barely changed since 1945. The same five nations retain permanent seats and exclusive veto power: the United States, United Kingdom, France, Russia, and China. What was once a safeguard against superpower rivalry now resembles a straitjacket.

Power dynamics have shifted dramatically since the end of World War II. New contenders—India, Brazil, Nigeria—demand a seat at the table. Meanwhile, China and Russia have grown more confrontational, challenging the very architecture of Western-led diplomacy. Beyond states, armed groups, cyber-actors, and multinational firms increasingly influence outcomes without ever stepping foot in the General Assembly.

The conflict in Gaza crystallizes this problem. Israel has been shielded from censure by repeated American vetoes, while Russia and China point fingers at Western hypocrisy, invoking past NATO campaigns to deflect criticism. The Security Council, caught in the middle, issues watered-down statements—if anything at all.

What results isn’t multilateralism. It’s performance. High-level diplomats trade speeches, resolutions stall, and lives are lost. For civilians in places like Gaza City, Donetsk, or Khartoum, the UN doesn’t look like a guarantor of peace. It looks like a bystander in crisis.

Diplomatic gridlock isn’t the UN’s only problem. Its operational arms—the peacekeepers, agencies, and humanitarian missions—are also under growing strain. Once viewed as a symbol of constructive global presence, peacekeeping missions now suffer from inconsistent mandates, allegations of misconduct, and dwindling trust.

Take UN peacekeeping in the Sahel or Central Africa, where missions often face accusations of abuse or outright ineffectiveness. In Gaza, the UN Relief and Works Agency (UNRWA), tasked with supporting Palestinian refugees, finds itself in the crosshairs. Israel has accused the agency of bias and infiltration; some donor countries have suspended funding, while others warn that doing so will choke off aid entirely.

That loss of confidence matters. In the post-colonial decades, the UN represented more than just a meeting ground—it was an alternative to great-power dominance, a place where smaller nations could seek justice. That perception is slipping away. The further its institutions are discredited—whether through mismanagement, politicization, or neglect—the more the UN looks like a shell of its former self.

Consider this: a 2024 Pew survey showed that just 38% of respondents in emerging economies still believe the UN has a “good influence” on world affairs. That’s down 15 points in ten years. The trend is no outlier. It’s a warning signal that global legitimacy is not a static asset—it must be earned, and re-earned.

With the UN adrift, a chorus of alternative actors has stepped in. Regional organizations are seizing more responsibility: the African Union in peace negotiations, ASEAN in trade and diplomacy, the Gulf Cooperation Council in security arrangements. While none offer global reach, many are proving nimbler—and less constrained by Cold War-era politics.

In Gaza, it’s not the UN leading negotiations—it’s Egypt and Qatar, two regional powers operating behind closed doors. Ukraine peace talks are more likely to happen in Brussels or Ankara than New York. Sudan’s political transition, however fraught, has unfolded largely through African-led channels. Even the Indo-Pacific’s security dialogue is now shaped more by Quad diplomacy than by UN forums.

Non-state actors aren’t sitting idle either. Philanthropic foundations now coordinate vaccine delivery. Multinational companies shape digital infrastructure. Elite forums like Davos and COP dominate headlines. The UN, by contrast, often struggles to command attention outside of major crises—and even then, with diminishing sway.

This rise of fragmented diplomacy isn’t merely academic. Competing systems breed conflicting rules. One bloc promotes sovereignty above all; another champions human rights. One group calls for sanctions; another offers aid. Without a widely accepted rules-based order—or a credible umpire—the international field is tilting toward unpredictability. And unpredictability, in diplomacy, is dangerous. In this environment, ad hoc fixes may address symptoms but not root causes—further weakening any shared vision of global governance.

This is not a momentary lapse—it’s a structural unraveling. The UN’s crisis isn’t Gaza-specific or Ukraine-specific. It’s institutional. The original design, forged in the aftermath of world war, assumed a world where the dominant powers would prioritize collective security over unilateral gain. That assumption no longer holds.

The organization still does meaningful work. Its agencies feed refugees, track climate risks, and monitor global health threats. But moral leadership isn’t enough—not in a world where bombs fall and resolutions stall. To stay relevant in its ninth decade, the UN must do more than plead. It must reform.

That means confronting sacred cows. The Security Council must evolve—either by expanding permanent membership, curbing the veto, or introducing new models of weighted consensus. Agencies must be better funded, more transparent, and accountable to both donors and beneficiaries. Most of all, the institution’s most powerful members must ask themselves: is symbolic control worth systemic collapse?

At 80, survival alone is not the benchmark of success. The UN must choose between relevance and ritual. One path leads to renewed authority. The other, to polite irrelevance.