While dramatic in tone, this sentiment
resonates with a significant portion of the American public. However, this
narrative of victimhood is, at best, only half the truth. The forces that have
shaped America’s current predicament—economically, politically, and
socially—have largely been born from within its own institutions. The
Freemasons, the CIA, and sprawling American corporations, independently and
sometimes in concert, have wielded an arsenal of instruments—economic pressure,
covert operations, political interference, and outright military
interventions—to construct and maintain global supremacy. This architecture of
dominance, built on fragile moral and economic foundations, is now unravelling.
What Trump laments is, in many ways, the blowback from decades of unchecked
ambition.
Historically, American foreign and economic
policy has often prioritized corporate interests and geopolitical leverage over
ethical considerations. The CIA’s role in the 1953 Iranian coup (Operation
Ajax), orchestrated in part to protect the interests of British Petroleum, is
one such example. So too is the infamous United Fruit-backed coup in Guatemala
in 1954, aimed at safeguarding American business interests under the guise of
anti-communism. These interventions were not anomalies—they were features of a
system in which American corporations and agencies played god in foreign lands,
reshaping sovereign nations in pursuit of resource control and market access.
Fast forward to the modern era, and this
imperialistic model has come full circle. The very forces that once extended
America’s reach are now implicated in its decline. Deindustrialization, the
offshoring of jobs, and the rise of the financialized economy were not
orchestrated by foreign powers, but by domestic elites and institutions seeking
short-term profit over long-term stability. The very corporations that once
profited from empire-building now exploit global labour arbitrage, hollowing
out the American middle class in the process.
In this context, Donald Trump emerges not
merely as a populist, but as a gunslinger—an erratic, self-styled saviour
trying to patch a sinking ship with brute rhetoric and protectionist tools. His
approach to global affairs can best be described through the lens of "brinkmanship"—a
negotiation tactic that involves pushing a situation to the edge of crisis to
compel the other side to concede. Trump wielded this aggressively during his
trade wars with China, in his strong-arm renegotiation of NAFTA (culminating in
the USMCA), and in his loud criticisms of NATO members and the European Union.
The objective was simple: make the other party believe they had more to lose by
not making a deal.
This is the essence of what many observers
have dubbed the “Trump Doctrine”—not a formal geopolitical theory, but a
recognizable pattern of behaviour marked by disruption, unpredictability, and a
hyper-transactional worldview. The Doctrine rejects multilateralism in favour
of bilateral arm-wrestling. It prizes short-term wins over long-term
relationships. It uses pressure, not persuasion, and thrives on keeping allies
and adversaries alike uncertain about what comes next. In essence, Trump
brought the drama and brinkmanship of The Apprentice to the world
stage—this time, the boardroom was global, and the stakes far greater.
America today is ensnared in its own
fragmented narratives. The unity that once held under the myth of
exceptionalism is breaking down. Competing ideologies, alternative facts, and
polarized media have created an epistemological chaos. Trump’s brash diagnosis
of decline—though simplistic—speaks to the disorientation many Americans feel.
He offers no nuanced policy blueprint, but a kind of political catharsis. He
channels rage, nostalgia, and distrust into action, regardless of whether the
solutions are viable in the long term.
Can he pull off his histrionic crusade? That
remains to be seen. Economics, after all, is not a hard science. It is
interpretive, contingent, and often shaped more by perception and power than by
theory. Throughout history, many policies dismissed by the academic consensus
have found unexpected success—or at least, political efficacy. Franklin D.
Roosevelt’s New Deal was derided by orthodox economists of the time. More
recently, Modern Monetary Theory (MMT), once ridiculed, is now entering
mainstream fiscal debates.
If economists themselves can’t agree on
foundational issues—from inflation drivers to fiscal multipliers—then why
should Trump's actions be judged solely by traditional metrics? He may not be a
scholar or a statesman, but he has demonstrated an uncanny ability to tap into
the collective psyche. And that, in the realm of politics, can be more potent
than technical correctness.
Ultimately, the Trump phenomenon is less about
the man than the moment—a nation reckoning with its own contradictions, seeking
clarity in chaos, and flirting with the idea that perhaps, just perhaps, the
loudest man in the room might be the one holding the mirror.
ravivarmmankkanniappan@1757040420253.0567° N, 101.5851° E
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