From the steam engine to the internet, many of the world’s most significant scientific and technological advancements have emerged during the height of powerful empires. The British Empire—and more recently, the United States—have stood at the forefront of this global transformation.

But while these empires helped advance knowledge and reshape modern life, they also left behind a legacy of violence, exploitation, and inequality. This contradiction—of progress built alongside injustice—remains central to understanding the global order today.

The British Empire played a pivotal role in ushering in the Industrial Revolution. Scientific discoveries in physics, chemistry, biology, and engineering were supported through imperial wealth and global networks. Railways, telegraphs, medical research, and manufacturing processes rapidly developed under British leadership, ultimately benefiting not only Britain but, in time, much of the world.

The empire also exported its legal, educational, and administrative institutions—some of which continue to shape former colonies to this day.

Yet these systems were rarely neutral. Railways in India, for example, were built primarily to transport goods and troops, rather than to serve local communities. British education abroad often sought to produce obedient colonial subjects, not independent thinkers. Much of the economic growth enjoyed by Britain was fuelled by the extraction of labour and resources from colonised populations.

Major famines in Bengal, the violent suppression of uprisings in Kenya, and the colonisation of Indigenous lands in Australia, America, Canada, and beyond, are just a few examples of the human cost of empire.

In the aftermath of the Second World War, the United States rose to global dominance—not through formal colonisation, but through economic, military, and cultural hegemony. This “American century” has seen the U.S.A. lead in technological innovation: in computing, space exploration, genomics, and now, artificial intelligence.

Much of this innovation has been underpinned by significant federal investment in research and development. American universities are among the highest ranked in the world, and USA-based corporations dominate the digital economy.

However, this leadership has often been accompanied by military interventions, covert operations, and support for authoritarian regimes—particularly during the Cold War and in the Middle East. The invasion of Iraq in 2003, the use of drone warfare in Pakistan and Yemen, and the long history of intervention in Latin America reflect a pattern of imposing order by force, frequently with devastating consequences.

Domestically, the United States continues to grapple with deep inequalities, racial injustice, and a militarised economy that allocates vast resources to “defence” spending.

The question is not whether science and technology are inherently harmful—they are not. Nor is it to deny the many ways imperial powers have contributed to modernity. Rather, it is to ask: who benefited, who was harmed, and how are those legacies still with us?

Many of the institutions and technologies we rely on today were developed within systems that prioritised dominance over equity. Even now, technological innovation frequently replicates global inequalities. Access to medicine, digital infrastructure, and education remains uneven, often reflecting the same divisions established during the imperial era.

Understanding the entwined history of science and empire challenges the assumption that progress is always positive or neutral. It also encourages us to pursue a more ethical and inclusive future.

This legacy is not just theoretical for me—it is personal. I first encountered its weight when I entered the American University of Beirut in the early 1970s to study science. At the time, AUB was regarded as the top university in the Arab world, and I felt immense pride in being part of its academic community. Yet that pride was laced with unease. The institution, for all its excellence, operated within the larger framework of Western imperial influence. As a scientist, I accepted that reality—pragmatically. But the moral tension never left me.

Later, I pursued a PhD in England, arriving with deep admiration for British achievements in science and education—and equal awareness of the violent legacies of British imperialism. That internal dualism followed me.

For the past thirty-six years, I have lived in Australia—a country whose stability and richness I am grateful for, yet whose political posture often reinforces the same imperial dynamics I struggled with as a student. Australia’s unwavering alignment with Western powers, including its reluctance to condemn ongoing injustices—such as the suffering of Palestinians—reminds me that the moral contradiction of empire is not a relic of the past. It is alive, embedded in the very systems we benefit from.

As new global powers emerge and we confront urgent challenges such as climate change, pandemics, and the governance of artificial intelligence, the lessons of past empires are more relevant than ever.

Technological leadership must be shaped by principles of equity, sustainability, and justice—not merely geopolitical advantage. To avoid repeating the mistakes of the past, we must acknowledge how deeply our present-day progress is rooted in systems of violence and exclusion.

Empires may recede, but their legacies persist. Recognising that truth is the first step towards building a more just and equitable world.

The views expressed in this article may or may not reflect those of Pearls and Irritations.