If there is a single adjective that captures the difference, both in tone and in action, between Donald Trump’s first presidential term and his second, it’s “unconstrained”. Whatever limits might have been placed on his conduct, his designs, his instincts during his first administration — legal, congressional, electoral, conventional — now seem to have fallen away, leaving Trump emboldened to pursue a series of ambitions that he’s long harboured. Mass deportations by militarised agents, revenge against his political opponents, the extortion of purportedly unsympathetic institutions (most notably law firms and universities) and his own personal enrichment have, perhaps, been the most brazen of these pursuits. But over the last two months, a different kind of ambition has come into view: the desire for territorial expansion and absolute sway over the countries and territories of the western hemisphere. This first manifested itself in the Trump administration’s increasing fixation on Venezuela. It began as a series of nearly two dozen missile strikes on boats in the Caribbean Sea and eastern Pacific Ocean that were purportedly carrying narcotics on behalf of drug cartels, then proceeded to the seizure of oil tankers departing Venezuela, and finally culminating in the brazen capture and arraignment of Venezuela’s President Nicolás Maduro on drug trafficking charges. While Maduro’s corruption and brutality are notorious, and there is some precedent for the kind of case that is being brought against him, what was alarming was Trump’s clear interest in Venezuela’s oil reserves and his insistence on keeping Maduro’s unelected government in place under a care-taker leader, Delcy Rodríguez. His rationale was as brutal as it was clear: “if [Rodríguez] doesn’t do what’s right” — which is to say, what the Trump administration dictates — “she is going to pay a very big price, probably bigger than Maduro”. It’s no stretch to suspect that Maduro’s capture and prosecution was meant to communicate that same message to Venezuela’s neighbours. The imperial logic here would have been familiar to city-states of Athens or Rome: the rulers of conquered territories and peoples would be kept in place but reduced to vassals, and would pay for their survival by offering tribute (taxes, natural wealth, crops, slave labour) to enrich the centre. Failure to pay tribute would be met with lavish punishment. (Karl Marx famously called this the first expression of “the tributary mode of production” in pre-capitalist societies.) So successful was this Venezuela operation, and having been met with such little international resistance, Trump seemed emboldened to press his long-standing claim on the autonomous Danish territory of Greenland. This was the second shoe to drop, as it were. Like Venezuela, his desire for the United States to “own” Greenland was framed as a kind of international security imperative: “Denmark cannot protect that land from Russia or China … The World is not secure unless we have Complete and Total Control of Greenland.” But upon meeting with resistance on the part of NATO nations — which Trump, unsurprisingly, interpreted as ingratitude (“I have done more for NATO than any other person since its founding, and now, NATO should do something for the United States”) — his willingness to threaten coercion in the form of military force or punitive tariffs laid bare the underlying sense of territorial entitlement. In his justly praised speech at the World Economic Forum in Davos, Switzerland, Canadian Prime Minister Mark Carney offered one response to Trump’s ambitions: “if great powers abandon even the pretense of rules and values for the unhindered pursuit of their power and interests, the gains from ‘transactionalism’ will become harder to replicate. Hegemons cannot continually monetize their relationships.” This was then reiterated in the determination of European leaders to resist Trump’s bullying tactics. But the prospect of what might be called hemispheric hegemony — the refusal of “great powers” to be constrained by the interests of what Joseph Goebbels called “crummy little states”, the “reorganisation of the world” along the lines of regional sway and each powerful nation being given “its own proper place” — has unsettling echoes not just of the Monroe Doctrine but of the Tripartite Pact between Germany, Italy and Japan that signaled the end of the “tottering” and “effete” League of Nations. Are we justified in worrying about a similar disregard of law- or rules-based restraint? You can read Brendon O’Connor’s reflections on Trump’s posturing over Greenland on ABC Religion & Ethics.
