In the past, a major power seeking to impose its will on another country had to deploy troops, occupy territory, seize a port, or position a fleet off its coast. Today, similar pressure can sometimes be exerted through a considerably shorter document: a sanctions order, an export licence withheld, a decision by an international bank, or the delayed shipment of a component for which there is no readily available substitute. The soldiers remain in their barracks, and the borders remain intact. Yet the freedom to make independent decisions steadily narrows.
This is one of the great contradictions of globalisation. For decades, we were told that the more countries traded with one another, the less incentive they would have to fight. The argument was not without merit. But the world has since learned another lesson: deep economic dependence can become a formidable instrument of coercion. The more sophisticated a supply chain becomes, the more vulnerable it can be to the failure of a single critical link.
Anyone trying to understand the changing global balance of power should spend a little less time counting tanks and a little more time asking a simpler question: who controls the switches that keep someone else’s economy running?
India’s External Affairs Minister, S. Jaishankar, recently gave this reality a particularly apt description when he spoke of a ‘world of choke points’. He referred not only to rare earths and critical minerals but also to the use of financial systems and sanctions as instruments of leverage. This was not an abstract observation. It described a world in which a country can find itself in a strategic confrontation long before the first shot is fired.
Energy provides an obvious example. During the financial year ending in March 2026, India depended on imports for close to 90 percent of its crude oil requirements. This is not, in itself, a failure. An economy of India’s size and growth cannot meet every energy requirement from resources within its borders. The difficulty arises when its energy choices are shaped not only in New Delhi but also by foreign sanctions regimes, maritime insurance restrictions, payment channels, and the political decisions of other governments.
The debate in Washington over penalties for countries purchasing Russian oil, followed by the decision in October 2026 to defer the potential application of additional measures, demonstrated how quickly the political cost of an energy transaction can change. One may support particular sanctions, oppose others, or regard them as a justified response to breaches of international law. But even those who believe such measures are legitimate must recognise a separate reality: for a third country, the possibility that the rules can change at the discretion of a foreign government is itself a strategic risk that must be managed.
Oil is only one example. In 2025, China introduced export restrictions affecting several rare earth elements and magnets essential to modern manufacturing. The implications were felt in India’s automotive industry, where manufacturers faced delays, uncertainty, and the prospect of disrupted production. A component that looked relatively insignificant on a balance sheet became a potential weakness for an entire industrial sector. No naval blockade of Mumbai was required. A licence awaiting approval was enough to expose the vulnerability.
This is precisely where a weakness hidden beneath decades of enthusiasm for efficiency comes into view. Supply chains have long been judged primarily by price, speed, and inventory levels. Executives were applauded for reducing stock and sourcing components at the lowest possible cost. Too few asked what would happen if the cheapest supplier happened to be based in a country whose interests might one day collide with their own nation’s. Excellent accounting does not necessarily amount to sound national strategy.
Money itself is not insulated from geopolitics. The freezing of Russian assets and the restrictions imposed on financial institutions following Russia’s invasion of Ukraine demonstrated that access to reserves and international financial networks can be shaped directly by political decisions. The governments imposing those restrictions presented them as a response to military aggression, an argument that deserves to be acknowledged. Nevertheless, the wider lesson extends beyond Russia: any country that values freedom of action must understand which financial gateways others have the power to close.
None of this means that international trade is the enemy or that the world is governed by a single grand conspiracy. Quite the opposite. Nations need trade, investment, technology, and partnerships. The question is not whether to be connected to the world, but on what terms. Interdependence is an asset when both sides can absorb a disagreement. When one side can disable the other at relatively little cost to itself, the relationship is no longer merely one of mutual dependence. It is an imbalance of power.
For India, this challenge is particularly significant. India is not a peripheral state seeking protection from a larger power. It possesses an enormous domestic market, scientific and industrial capabilities, a vast population, and a longstanding tradition of strategic autonomy. There is little sense in exchanging one dependency for another in pursuit of a quick solution. If a vital supply chain moves from China to another country but remains concentrated in a single supplier, the fundamental problem has not been solved. Only the address has changed.
India has already shown that it can build systems of global significance. Its digital payments infrastructure, most visibly the Unified Payments Interface, demonstrates the capacity to develop a domestic platform on an exceptional scale and gradually connect it with other markets. This does not eliminate the need for international financial systems. It does, however, illustrate what is possible when strategic infrastructure is regarded not merely as a commercial service but as an element of national strength.
Against this background, the Government of India’s Make in India policy deserves particular recognition. It is more than an initiative to increase industrial output or generate employment. It reflects an understanding that a nation aspiring to great power status must possess strategic manufacturing capabilities of its own. A stronger domestic industrial base, deeper engineering expertise, skilled manpower, and expanded capabilities in electronics, defence, pharmaceuticals, and energy give India greater control over the pace, quality, and availability of essential production. This has national security value, not merely economic value. In a crisis, the ability to manufacture and maintain equipment may be every bit as important as the ability to purchase it.
But a factory does not become strategically independent merely because the finished product carries a ‘Made in India’ label. If its raw materials, critical minerals, chemicals, electronic components, machinery, or spare parts depend on a single foreign supplier, the choke point has simply moved from the port gate to the factory floor. A shortage of a specialised metal, magnet, or control component can bring even an advanced production line to a halt. Expanding domestic manufacturing must therefore go hand in hand with securing the availability of raw materials and the entire supply chain, from extraction and processing to the ongoing maintenance of the finished product.
India’s National Critical Mineral Mission is an important step in this direction. The real test, however, will be whether policy translates into diversified sources of supply, domestic processing capacity, strategic reserves, and alternatives that can be activated when they are needed. A sound industrial policy should make it increasingly difficult for any external actor to bring a critical sector to a standstill with a single administrative decision.
This is not an argument for economic isolation, nor for producing every nut and bolt within India’s borders. Absolute economic independence is neither practical nor desirable. Diverse international trade is a strength, not a weakness. The essential distinction is between imports that can be replaced without difficulty and materials or components whose absence could shut down a defence factory, a power station, a hospital, or a communications network. When critical infrastructure is at stake, the lowest price is not necessarily the best deal. Emergency availability, reserves, access to technology, repair capabilities, and alternative suppliers must all be included in the real calculation of cost.
That leads to a practical responsibility for government and Indian industry alike: map the choke points in every strategic sector. The question is not simply how many products are made in India, but how long production could continue without another shipment arriving from abroad. Policymakers and industrial leaders need to know where raw materials originate, where they are processed, who controls the essential technology and equipment, and what alternatives exist if a supplier, shipping route, or payment system suddenly becomes unavailable. Diversified sourcing, recycling of critical metals, contingency stocks, and domestic manufacturing and maintenance capabilities are not minor budgetary items. They distinguish an industrial strategy that looks impressive in peacetime from one that survives a crisis.
Responsibility does not rest with the government alone. Private companies must stop treating the lowest procurement price as the sole definition of efficiency. A board that celebrates a modest saving on purchases while allowing its factories to depend on an irreplaceable component has not necessarily improved its performance. It may simply have transferred a strategic risk from today’s accounts to tomorrow’s emergency.
This is also a test of the maturity of India’s foreign policy. Strong relations with the United States, Europe, Russia, the Gulf states, and Asian partners are not contradictory. They can be an immense advantage, provided diplomatic diversification produces real economic and technological alternatives rather than merely ceremonial displays of friendship. Independence is not measured by the number of world leaders willing to pose for a photograph with you. It is measured by your ability to make a decision they dislike without your own economy beginning to suffocate.
Military power has not lost its relevance, and India cannot afford to neglect the security of its borders. But a country preparing only for the next invasion may overlook the pressure already being exerted without an invasion at all. In the 21st century, a nation may possess a powerful military and a flag flying proudly above its parliament, yet discover that the key to operating parts of its economy is sitting in somebody else’s pocket.
True sovereignty is not measured solely by a country’s right to say no. It is measured by its ability to bear the consequences of that answer. India must ensure that when the moment comes to say no, the lights remain on, the factories keep working, and the banks can continue making payments. Otherwise, there is no need to conquer a country. Controlling the switch may be enough.