Last week, the United States swore in its 47th President for a second term. In case anyone missed the spectacle, Donald Trump wasted no time, signing a host of executive orders that loudly announced his intentions. Yet, much like a reality TV star stepping onto the stage of political theatre, his gestures seemed less like a strategic roadmap and more like a grand entrance. Whether he knows it or not, this second act promises to be less about the carefully constructed image of American supremacy and more about how well he can navigate the unpredictable chaos of history.
To be sure, it’s not as if the office of the President comes with an easy script to follow. After all, presidents arrive in the Oval Office brimming with ideas, ambitions, and a burning desire to leave a legacy. But what many fail to acknowledge – and what Trump seems to overlook most of all – is the simple truth laid out by British Prime Minister Harold Macmillan: “Events, dear boy, events.” Ah, yes. The pesky little irritants that upend even the most well-intentioned plans, the unpredictable forces that laugh in the face of grand strategy.
History offers no shortage of examples of well-meaning leaders who dreamed big but were forced to contend with reality. Take George Washington, who, with grand visions of an idyllic republic, faced off against farmers with pitchforks during the Whiskey Rebellion. Or Thomas Jefferson, whose vision of a peaceful agrarian nation collapsed in the face of the Embargo Act of 1807, inadvertently wrecking the American economy. Even the great Abraham Lincoln, whose presidency was meant to tackle the issue of slavery’s expansion, found himself contending with the existential crisis of the Civil War. This event derailed any hope of peaceful legislative reform.
History’s sense of humor runs deep, and Trump’s second term is poised to be yet another illustration of how the best-laid plans often end in frustration. He may have campaigned on a number of lofty goals – reshaping healthcare, building infrastructure, or reshuffling the geopolitical chessboard – but as past presidents have learned, it’s not the plans you make that define you, but the events that force you to abandon them.
This brings us to the heart of Trump’s second term and the fantasy of foreign policy that he clings to. One can’t help but view his policies through the lens of his first term: pulling out of international agreements, questioning long-standing alliances, and blustering his way through delicate diplomatic negotiations with nothing but bravado and tweets. But in the long history of grand strategies, these actions resemble a familiar refrain.
If we peer into the ancient world, we can’t help but see similarities between Trump’s approach and the actions of Persian King Xerxes. Consider the Greek historian Herodotus’ account of Xerxes’ invasion of Greece. With an empire at his back, Xerxes believed his overwhelming power and vast resources would crush the Greek city-states. And yet, the outnumbered Greeks – led by the likes of Themistocles at Salamis – outmaneuvered him, striking at the heart of his empire’s military might. In a parallel to Trump’s bluster, Xerxes’ failure serves as a cautionary tale of how too much power, wielded recklessly, can backfire.
Of course, Xerxes’ failure does not stand alone. Take Augustus, the first Roman emperor, who built the foundations of an empire that lasted centuries. Augustus was not a man of theatrical gestures, but a tactician who knew that empire-building wasn’t about sheer force. Instead, it was about consolidating power, securing borders, and patiently navigating a world of shifting alliances. Trump’s America-first rhetoric – often resembling the unbending confidence of a conqueror – risks overlooking the nuance that Augustus understood: Foreign policy is not a game of brute strength, but a careful balance of diplomacy, persuasion, and timing.
Trump’s foreign policy, particularly in his first term, often resembled an ill-conceived military campaign more than a strategic endeavor. His withdrawal from Syria, his tariff wars with China, and his disregard for international agreements reveal a mindset that borders on arrogance, reminiscent of Xerxes’ doomed confidence. The problem? Global politics isn’t a game where one country can simply declare victory at will. The world is a tangled web of interests, alliances, and competing powers – a fact Trump seems all too eager to dismiss in favor of policies that emphasize power over pragmatism.
But let’s not be too harsh; after all, Trump is not the first leader to overestimate his power. As we move through history, we find that many great leaders have struggled to see the world clearly. Elizabeth I of England, for instance, was faced with the massive threat of the Spanish Armada, led by the powerful King Philip II. Philip believed in the righteousness of his cause and the invincibility of his fleet. Elizabeth, however, understood that foreign policy requires more than just military might. It requires an understanding of human nature, a sensitivity to the winds of change, and the willingness to adapt. When the Spanish Armada was defeated, it wasn’t merely due to superior naval forces; it was because Elizabeth’s careful diplomacy and strategic alliances created a foundation of resilience.
And yet, Trump’s second term, if it follows the patterns of his first, may echo Philip’s overestimation of his own power. It’s as though Trump, believing himself to be the master of global politics, forgets that foreign policy isn’t a simple equation. It’s a delicate dance between strength, alliances, and adaptability. The events of the world don’t always fit into the narrative of American superiority, no matter how many executive orders are signed.
In this regard, Trump’s second term risks becoming a high-stakes version of a strategy that has been tried, tested, and failed time and again: The belief that might makes right, that America can simply assert its will on the world stage without considering the consequences. After all, the global order is not a stage for the performance of a lone star, but a complex ensemble where nations play roles that require patience, diplomacy, and nuance.
This brings us to a critical question: Will Trump, with all his bluster, learn the lesson that even the mightiest empires can falter? If he is wise, he may look to the lessons of the past. He may start to realize that the key to global power isn’t just in brute force, but in understanding the broader forces at play. Whether it’s a weakened
Russia, the rise of China, or the delicate balance of Europe’s shifting alliances, Trump may find that he cannot simply force events into the mold of his choosing.
In many ways, Trump’s presidency mirrors the journey of many past leaders: grand plans disrupted by unforeseen circumstances. To be fair, he is not the first to have his agenda hijacked by history’s capricious hand. Franklin D. Roosevelt’s New Deal was constantly challenged by the Great Depression and World War II. Abraham Lincoln didn’t intend to preside over a civil war. Even George W. Bush, who campaigned on compassionate conservatism, became the president who led the nation into two costly wars.
The one constant, however, is that the most successful presidents were those who adapted to the changing tides, who realized that foreign policy isn’t about control, but about flexibility. Perhaps, just perhaps, Trump’s second term will be less about the grand gestures and more about understanding the reality of global forces. Only time will tell if the self-proclaimed master of negotiation can play the long game or if history will once again prove him a mere player in its unpredictable drama.
The truth is, as much as Trump may want to leave his mark on the world, the history books are written not by those who dictate events, but by those who survive them.
