The words of the year, chosen by the English-speaking universe’s custodians of the language, certainly describe the state of our world. Oxford University Press opted for “brain rot,” while Merriam-Webster went for “polarization.” The two words are, of course, connected. Brain rot refers to mindless social-media scrolling through often angry and polarizing content that isn’t particularly enlightening. In the world of foreign relations and war, Foreign Policy’s words of the year also turn out to be connected.
I’m willing to bet a significant number of greenbacks that, until this year, most of us had not concerned ourselves with the details of anchor-dragging. Indeed, I’m pretty sure many of us had never even heard the word. And why would we be familiar with obscure seafarer terminology?
The words of the year, chosen by the English-speaking universe’s custodians of the language, certainly describe the state of our world. Oxford University Press opted for “brain rot,” while Merriam-Webster went for “polarization.” The two words are, of course, connected. Brain rot refers to mindless social-media scrolling through often angry and polarizing content that isn’t particularly enlightening. In the world of foreign relations and war, Foreign Policy’s words of the year also turn out to be connected.
I’m willing to bet a significant number of greenbacks that, until this year, most of us had not concerned ourselves with the details of anchor-dragging. Indeed, I’m pretty sure many of us had never even heard the word. And why would we be familiar with obscure seafarer terminology?
But since Nov. 18, at the very latest, when news spread that a ship appeared to have deliberately dragged its anchor across not just one but two undersea cables in different locations in the Baltic Sea, those who had missed a similar anchor-dragging incident in the Baltic Sea in October 2023 began pondering the difference between accidental and intentional anchor drags. (Hint: Accidental ones are brief, because dragging an anchor feels different from sailing without friction.)
It was Inevitable: the rise of ATACMS in conversations far beyond Western armies. This year, the U.S.-made Army Tactical Missile System has seemingly been on everyone’s tongue, not just because Ukraine needs it but also because ATACMS sounds so much like “attack ’em” that it feels like poetic justice for Ukraine’s brave defenders.
When the United States began delivering ATACMS to Ukraine last year, it was big news, and this year the long-range missile system became a household name when the Biden administration, after agonizing deliberations, decided to let the Ukrainians fire ATACMS into Russia.
Here at Foreign Policy, we love foreign languages. Why say “self-coup” when you can say “autogolpe”? And it turns out we’re not the only ones saying “autogolpe.” The word first became fashionable—or, more precisely, necessary—in the early 1990s, when President Alberto Fujimori of Peru dissolved his country’s parliament, suspended its constitution, and proceeded to govern by decree.
Only a few months later, President Jorge Serrano Elías of Guatemala, too, staged an autogolpe, albeit one that failed and—contrary to Serrano’s expectations—ended up strengthening the country’s democracy. And this year, “autogolpe” returned with a vengeance when South Korean President Yoon Suk Yeol imposed martial law. But alas, the autogolpe failed. Members of parliament scaled walls to vote it down, and Yoon reversed his decision just six hours later. Yoon should have consulted with Serrano.
Indeed, anyone wishing to stage an autogolpe should make sure to have a plan for what to do if it fails. After his unsuccessful one, Serrano found refuge in Panama, where he has apparently been making a living in real estate.
As much as we love foreign languages, we didn’t choose gallium and germanium for this year’s words of the year because they sound like Latin. We chose them because these rare metals—though they are not technically rare-earth elements—have been heavily in the news. In December, China announced that it was banning exports to the United States of these two materials as well as others that are indispensable in the manufacturing of smartphones, electric vehicles, modern weaponry, and much else. It was painful news because—thanks to globalization—China dominates the production of these materials.
Beijing portrayed the move as a defensive measure taken in response to the Biden administration’s ban on U.S. exports of various chip components to China. But why retaliate against an administration that has only a few more weeks in office? More likely, the gallium-and-germanium ban was Chinese President Xi Jinping’s way of throwing down the gauntlet to Donald Trump. If the incoming U.S. president follows through on his threats of massive tariffs on components from China, Xi seems to be saying that Washington can forget about manufacturing anything that involves rare-earth minerals or any other metals or minerals whose extraction or processing, or both, China dominates.
Lavender generally ought to help people feel a bit better. At least China doesn’t dominate the cultivation of this aromatic plant, whose fragrance and herbal remedies have given succor to centuries of homo sapiens. It is, alas, not Lavandula that’s on Foreign Policy’s words of the year list: It’s Lavender, an artificial, intelligence-based program developed by the Israeli military. And the Israeli military hasn’t just developed Lavender, which compiles “kill lists.” It’s using it in Gaza.
“According to six Israeli intelligence officers, who have all served in the army during the current war on the Gaza Strip and had first-hand involvement with the use of AI to generate targets for assassination, Lavender has played a central role in the unprecedented bombing of Palestinians, especially during the early stages of the war,” the Israeli publication +972 Magazine reported in April, noting that Lavender had marked “tens of thousands of Gazans as suspects for assassination,” and that the system permits a considerable amount of collateral damage.
Back in 2021, or even in 2023, most people were unaware of the powerful world of P&I clubs—Protection and Indemnity clubs. Now they dominate lots of conversations, because they have played a crucial role in the explosive growth of a shadow fleet of ships on the world’s seas. (Read all about it in this December 2024 report from the Atlantic Council, written by yours truly.)
P&I clubs provide the maritime equivalent of accident insurance, and they are based in Western countries. When Western countries imposed sanctions on Russian oil in December 2022, P&I clubs withdrew their coverage of said oil, as they had to comply with their home governments’ rules. Instead, Russia turned to vessels without P&I club insurance—ageing ships with murky ownership sailing under the flags of countries like Gabon.
The massive Russian demand for such ships, in fact, caused this shadow fleet to grow rapidly. It now sails around the world, especially in the Baltic Sea, posing massive dangers to other ships, coastal states, and the marine environment. You’ll be talking about P&I clubs in 2025, too, because the shadow fleet will keep ghosting around on the world’s oceans. It is, one might say, the ghost of Christmas present, and the ghost of Christmases yet to come.
And with that: Merry Christmas!
The post New Geopolitical Words We Learned in 2024 appeared first on Foreign Policy.
