In 1962, shortly after President John Kennedy established U.S.A.I.D.—the federal agency responsible for managing foreign aid—the first mission directors were invited to the White House. Acknowledging the politically challenging nature of sustained foreign assistance, Kennedy insisted that it was essential to America’s role as the leader of the free world. “There will not be farewell parades as you leave, nor celebrations when you return,” he told them, emphasizing that the true reward lay in the work itself and the larger struggle for freedom.
A nation’s foreign policy offers a revealing glimpse into its collective identity. The America that founded U.S.A.I.D. embraced an expansive role on the global stage—defending freedom, strengthening international institutions, and engaging in struggles for hearts and minds worldwide—efforts that mirrored the civil rights movement at home. In stark contrast, the America now diminishing U.S.A.I.D. appears to envision its place in the world much more narrowly, with rhetoric that includes threats of dominance over smaller nations, withdrawals from international alliances, and even offhand proposals of ethnic cleansing in Gaza. This contraction mirrors domestic policies marked by mass deportations and the dismantling of diversity programs, signaling a nation that is increasingly diminished in both scope and self-regard.
During his bid for re-election, President Trump promised to reshape America’s global role. In the wake of prolonged conflicts in Iraq and Afghanistan, he vowed to rein in a national security establishment that seemed incapable of learning from endless wars. Amid decades-long grumblings that our trading partners reaped more benefits from globalization than we did, he proposed reverting to traditional tools—like tariffs—to negotiate more favorable deals. After encountering resistance within parts of the federal workforce during his first term, he set out to staff his administration with loyalists committed to his vision. In a turbulent world populated by transactional strongmen, he vowed that Americans would have their own.
Many, including myself, have long supported a thorough reevaluation of the stagnant national security consensus that has defined our policies since September 11, 2001. However, it would be a mistake to dismiss Mr. Trump’s bewildering mix of pronouncements and executive actions on foreign policy as merely the execution of campaign promises. His platform did not call for dismantling U.S.A.I.D., seizing Greenland, or occupying Gaza. Rather than exuding strength, his foreign policy reveals a diminishing sense of American self-confidence and dignity—erasing the legacy of defending freedom, self-determination, and collective security that the nation has upheld since the wars of the 20th century.
In many respects, Mr. Trump resembles an aging strongman from history, one who contemplates territorial expansion as a means of consolidating power and cementing his legacy. At best, such an approach might forge an international order defined by a reaction against American excess; at worst, it could provoke a global slide into disorder and major power conflicts.
Recent weeks have shown the world observing in disbelief. In my lifetime, no president entered office promising to “expand our territory” until Mr. Trump did. He has insisted on reclaiming the Panama Canal and seizing Greenland—moves that have drawn strong objections from the governments and peoples of those regions. Some speculate that these declarations are bluffs intended to open negotiations for more modest gains, such as lowering fees for U.S. vessels or gaining improved access to resources and military bases. Yet it is equally possible that Mr. Trump means exactly what he says about territorial expansion.
Regardless, the targets he identifies do not reflect genuine strength. Attacking Panama, Greenland, or threatening trade wars with Canada and Mexico comes off like the antics of a playground bully picking on those who seem smaller. While such confrontations might generate short-term political victories, the world does not function by the beat of American news cycles or the narratives advanced by outlets like Fox News and OANN. International observers see a president disregarding state sovereignty—the very principle that has underpinned global stability since World War II—at a time when leaders like Vladimir Putin are seeking to annex parts of Ukraine, Xi Jinping is determined to assert control over Taiwan, and certain Israeli politicians are pushing for the annexation of Gaza and the West Bank in the name of national security. If the United States claims an exemption from established rules, on what basis can other nations be expected to abide by them?
This is precisely why Mr. Trump’s proposal to claim Gaza and transform it into a Middle Eastern Riviera is so startling. As with many of his suggestions, not only is it highly unlikely to come to fruition, but it also sends a dangerous message: that two million Palestinians should abandon the land they call home. Such a notion ignores the destabilizing impact it would have on neighboring Arab nations like Egypt and Jordan and implicitly supports a vision of foreign policy that deprives weaker nations of the right to determine their own destinies. As evidence of this emerging mindset, Israel’s far-right finance minister, Bezalel Smotrich, quickly proclaimed, “Now, we will work to completely bury the dangerous idea of a Palestinian state.”
If genuine concern for Gazans existed, Mr. Trump would refrain from dismantling the very agency committed to their recovery. The global freeze on foreign assistance, compounded by significant cuts to U.S.A.I.D.’s workforce, now leaves the agency ill-equipped to support even a fragile cease-fire in Gaza—not to mention the daunting tasks of clearing rubble, disarming unexploded ordnance, and sheltering hundreds of thousands of civilians who have lost their homes.
In contrast to his hyperbolic statements regarding Gaza and Greenland, the shutdown of U.S.A.I.D.—now overseen by Elon Musk—is a reality with tangible consequences for people worldwide who depend on its support, as well as for Americans who count on a government that prevents the spread of terrorism, disease, and the global influence of the Chinese Communist Party. With U.S.A.I.D. stripped of funding and hamstrung by tariffs, even traditional allies may increasingly turn to China for predictable trade and investment relationships. This shift illustrates how internal changes in the United States ripple outwards. When the richest person in the world can so easily undermine our global standing, it serves as a stark warning of a superpower in decline—a nation so internally fractured that its influential pillars can be dismantled from within.
In 1962, President Kennedy assured U.S.A.I.D. personnel, “Those who oppose aid should understand that it is a crucial source of our strength. Since we do not wish to deploy American troops everywhere where freedom is at risk, we send you instead.” At that time, America was an emerging superpower, its promise embodied in the youthful vigor of its president and his vision of a “new frontier.” Although that ambitious spirit sometimes bred hubris and excess, it also extended a gracious hand to the world—a legacy Americans could be proud of.
Today, however, we see a superpower struggling to reclaim lost stature. The alliance between Mr. Trump and figures like Mr. Musk, built on grievances, nationalism, and libertarian ideals, points to a future where presidents may act without the typical constraints on power, free from the responsibilities of a federal workforce that might resist overreach. While some of Mr. Trump’s comments may seem absurd, the history of the early 20th century reminds us of the perils of unchecked nationalism—when large nations led by such strongmen inevitably clash, ordinary people pay the price.
For those of us who are concerned, it is vital to accept that the past cannot be reclaimed—there is no ready-made script to “make America great again” or restore the post–World War II order. Instead, new ideas must emerge about how the United States can engage the world constructively and coexist peacefully with other nations. To achieve such a future, we must look inward. Beyond defending foreign assistance or opposing territorial aggression, we need to become a nation that recognizes our true interests are linked with a broader global community rather than dictated solely by the whims of volatile strongmen.