Trump's Inauguration of a New World Order

Changes in the international system are difficult to track. National politics is easy.  If you want to know who is in power and what is changing, you need only look at election outcomes, legislative acts, and Supreme Court decisions. Not so with international relations. The health and the stability of the world order largely hinges on intangibles: the extent to which governments respect the legitimacy of treaties, how strictly they follow established norms of behavior that restrain national aggression, and the like. In many ways, gauging the stability of the world order resembles tracking climate change. Single events may reflect a long-term pattern, but they could just as easily be random outliers that distort longer patterns of change.

That being said, Donald Trump's first inaugural address was exceptional. It was a loud and unambiguous signal that the world order, for better or for worse, is experiencing a transformation that is more than just a passing storm. Trump heralded an "America First" ideology that will have the United States relinquish its place as the chief manager of the world order. Though couched in a commitment to make the interest of U.S. citizens his chief concern, it was nonetheless a rebuke to anyone who thought that the United States would be a stabilizing force or a levee for the rising tide of Russian aggression.

When an inauguration transfers power from one political party to another, there is an inevitable tendency to focus on the difference between the incoming and outgoing administrations. 2017 was no exception. After all, a black, eloquent, painfully deliberate former president standing beside a white, inarticulate, impulsive newcomer made for a striking constrast. But there was a more informative comparison on display: that between Trump and his Republican predecessor, George W. Bush. When it comes to their views on the United States' place in the international system, Bush, not Obama, represents Trump's polar opposite. Whereas Bush pushed benevolent hegemony to its limits and beyond, Trump has previewed a foreign policy characterized by unwavering national self-interest.

Let's revisit George W. Bush's second inaugural address, which he delivered in 2005. Speaking shortly before Iraq's first parliamentary election after the 2003 invasion, Bush anapologetically declared America's duty to advance freedom and liberty abroad. He also spoke of the unity of American and foreign interests: "We are led, by events and common sense, to one conclusion: The survival of liberty in our land increasingly depends on the success of liberty in other lands. The best hope for peace in our world is the expansion of freedom in all the world. America's vital interests and our deepest beliefs are now one." Ultimately, though, self-interest was not the animating force behind America's foreign policy, rather, an evangelical belief in and duty to the cause of liberty itself. Americans, themselves graced with freedom, had a moral imperative to spread liberty abroad: "From the viewpoint of centuries," he warned, "the questions that come to us are narrowed and few. Did our generation advance the cause of freedom? And did our character bring credit to that cause?" In keeping with this commitment to fostering freedom, the United States would be friend to those governments that protected their citizen's liberty and oppose those who did not.

Whereas Bush reminded Americans of their privileged status and appealed to a higher sense of duty, Trump pointed to their unjust depravity and appealed to a sense of indignation. Americans had suffered "carnage": economic stagnation, crime, violence, and, most significantly, exploitation at the hands of foreigners.

For many decades, we've enriched foreign industry at the expense of American industry, subsidized the armies of other countries while allowing for the very sad depletion of our military. We defended other nation’s borders while refusing to defend our own. And spent trillions and trillions of dollars overseas while America's infrastructure has fallen into disrepair and decay. We've made other countries rich while the wealth, strength, and confidence of our country has dissipated over the horizon. One by one, the factories shuttered and left our shores with not even a thought about the millions and millions of American workers that were left behind. The wealth of our middle class has been ripped from their homes and then redistributed all across the world.

To Bush, America is blessed with a wealth of freedom, and the the logical extension of that blessing is that it has an obligation to spread its wealth to the world. To Trump, America has been victimized, and the logical extension of that victimization is that it should seek its just deserts.

It is no surprise, then--given how differently their ledgers calculate America's debt to the world--the two disagree on how America should behave itself in the international system. Bush saw America as the world's selfless hero. To the contrary, Trump vowed that the United States under his leadership would make no sacrifice for the welfare of those outside its borders. "From this day forward," he vowed, "it's going to be only America first. . . . Every decision on trade, on taxes, on immigration, on foreign affairs will be made to benefit American workers and American families." Accordingly, Trump did not subscribe to Bush's sentiment that America should ally itself with governments who respect democratic values. Under his "America First" foreign policy, self-interest alone would dictate the country's alliances: "We will seek friendship and goodwill with the nations of the world, but we do so with the understanding that it is the right of all nations to put their own interests first." 

"America First" foreign policy does not aspire to uphold or advance any higher virtues. Trump's speech left no room for American altruism, only blatant, unflinching self-interest.

Whether the international system will change for the better under Trump's "America First" foreign policy is a fair topic of debate. On the one hand, Trump makes some valid points. America has shouldered a disproportionately heavy burden for policing the free world. And Trump's central proposition--that a government should protect its citizen's interests--seems reasonable on its face. Why should America spend blood and resources on freedom crusades in the Middle East rather than respect the sovereignty of other nations and mind its own business? Why check Russian aggression in Europe when that aggression does not threaten American borders?

Then again, Trump's foreign policy could spell trouble for both the United States and the international system. For the United States, being at the helm of the free world has had its perks. Although it has not always exercised its influence prudently, the United States has enjoyed tremendous influence over issues of global concern. But that influence will surely suffer. After all, a country vowing to seek its own interests is also a country disavowing any principled loyalty to its friends. The United States should expect a reciprocal erosion of trust and loyalty.

Things could also turn sour for the international system, especially if other nations follow Trump's lead and turn inward. The relative stability enjoyed by the western world since the end of the Cold War may be more fragile than most realize. So long as the United States has been willing to flex its economic or military muscles, there was generally too much of a disincentive for nations to act aggressively across their own borders. Saddam Hussein learned this lesson the hard way after he ordered his military to invade Kuwait in 1990, gambling that the United States would stand by and watch. That proved to be a grave miscalculation. In 1999, Pakistan might have started a nuclear war with Russia had not the United States intervened and forced its Prime Minister, Nawaz Sharif, to accept an embarrassing withdrawal. Sharif's decision was an unpopular one that led to his coup and exile, but it was an easier course than the one Hussein had chosen.

Trump's "America First" foreign policy could be a step toward international anarchy, a world in which national aggressors can flaunt international norms without fear of reprisal. The calculations of would-be aggressors will look far different under an America First foreign policy. History offers lessons in what can happen when world powers stop making it their business to maintain world order. As the western world learned during World War II, expressions of outrage alone do not deter acts of national aggression. Allies cannot collectively deter bad actors only when it is in their individual best interests to do so. Indeed, the very idea behind alliances is that allies commit themselves to one another's defense whether or not doing so is in their individual best interests. If the United States withdraws from the business of ensuring the integrity of the world order, Russia will not be the only nation to see how much aggression others will tolerate. 

One could defend Trump's foreign policy by arguing that, as a matter of principle, America should avoid conflicts abroad. But one should not confuse Trump's foreign policy with a return to a Westphalian ethic in which states acknowledge one another as coequal sovereigns, mutually agree to respect one another's borders and adopt a policy of noninterference in others' internal affairs. Trump has not revoked the right of the United States to intervene, just redefined the terms on which it will do so.  Trump seems to see America as a national Ubermensch, unaccountable to any international code whatsoever. "America First" foreign policy is thus premised on a view of the world as a food chain of nations, not as a society of equal states. Trump's demand that Mexico pay for the United States' border wall--lest he impose crippling economic sanctions--is devoid of any moral logic whatsoever. He explained his proposals to rob Iraq and Libya of their oil resources by hearkening back to the good old days when "to the victor belong the spoils." That proposal, according to military historian Lance Janda, is "so out of step with any plausible interpretation of U.S. history or international law that they should be dismissed out of hand by anyone with even a rudimentary understanding of world affairs. . . ." 

Trump's foreign policy resembles nothing from the modern world. These days, even the most bellicose dictators manage to concoct some half-baked rationale to legitimize aggression. Trump has what can only be described as a viking ethos. The plunder itself justifies the plundering.

By even uttering his foreign policy proposals, Trump has fully surrendered the moral high ground that the world needed the United States to hold. Not long ago, there was an international consensus that America could be trusted to maintain the world order. That trust eroded after the United States led its allies into a dubious war in 2003. Nevertheless, the society of nations may have turned to America for leadership once again. Trump's inauguration speech vanquished any hope that the United States is willing to take on such a role. Moreover, some of Trump's foreign policy proposals have been sufficiently absurd to raise the question of whether the United States is morally fit to put its cloak back on.  Under Trump, America may actually threaten the international norms that it once defended. 

As Lance Janda put it, "Are we the good guys or not? Because if we are, and if we want to convince the world we are, then we can't go around invading countries and stealing their oil. The long-term damage to our reputation would be irrevocable." Trump has given no indication that he wants to convince the world that we are the good guys. From his perspective, nice countries finish last.

For another perspective:

Many have observed that while Trump's rhetoric points in a radical new direction, his cabinet choices point in a more traditional one.

Further Reading:

Charles Krauthammer drew a similar insight from Trump's inaugural address and cites some other historical examples.

Time magazine published an article on this topic worth reading: "Donald Trump's New World Order Puts Nation Over Globe."

Where Have You Gone, Daniel Webster? The Demise of Public Debate

Public debates aren't what they used to be. Sure, there are the quadrennial presidential contests, when sweaty-palmed presidential candidates briefly venture out from behind their teleprompters to recite a few focus-group-approved talking points in an effort to convince the American public that they have at least a superficial grasp on the issues of the day. But the art of the debate has become to politics what professional boxing has become to sports. The masters of the craft are no longer household names, and the newspapers no longer hype the next big contest. And with the demise of the debate, we have lost something.

Arguing is surely as old as language itself, but public debate had a renaissance in eighteenth-century London. By the end of that century, debates had moved from the pubs to become regular and popular stand-alone spectacles. Clubs that hosted debates couldn't keep up with demand. In 1780, when the craze was at its height, one prominent debate society drew audiences of 800 to 1200 per night and another let in 700 before it started turning people away. People craved seeing debaters tussle over topics that ranged from the grave--the American Revolution, for one--to the frivolous--like whether it was worse to be an effeminate man or a masculine woman. (There was a fixation on gender issues in 1780. Debates were held that year on whether it was possible for men and women to be platonic friends, whether it was acceptable for women to make first advances, and whether "seduction of the fair, with an intention to desert, is under all circumstances worse than murder." Late that year polygamy became a hot issue after Dr. Martin Madan published a book advocating it as a way to save women from ruin.)

For those who had the gift, debates were a chance for social unequals to spar on a level playing field. If you were a skilled orator, you were a valuable commodity whether you hailed from the upper crust of society or the artisan class. Even women found a venue to show off their oft-suppressed intellects. One observer begrudgingly conceded after watching women debate that "with all the disadvantages of education which the fair sex labour under, how infinitely superior those who are formed by nature to excite the tender passions, are to excite every other." Indeed, anyone who could afford the modest price of admission could get in on the action, since the format of debates allowed audience members a turn to stand and speak.

Not everyone welcomed the new sensation. "We are in danger," wrote one Londoner to a local paper, "of dying a Nation of Orators." Upper crust Englishmen were apparently threatened by a vice--the class and gender-piercing aspect of public debates--that modern Americans would see as a virtue. Unfortunately, the aristocrats ultimately had their way. After the French Revolution broke out, debate societies were increasingly viewed as hotbeds of sedition. The government forced, intimidated and--in some cases--heckled the debate societies into closure before eventually banning them altogether in the 1790s.

America, where free speech is constitutionally-protected, provided a more habitable environment for public debate, and Americans had a ravenous appetite for it. In 1830, when Daniel Webster and Robert Hayne faced off in the United States Senate to debate a bill that would have had the federal government study the issue of western land sales, it was nationwide headline news. Webster's performance, which is commonly referred to as the most brilliant in the history of Congress, immortalized him. Abraham Lincoln similarly garnered national fame when he debated Stephen Douglas in 1858 even though the two were competing for a senate seat that would be decided by only a handful of Illinois legislators. The tradition carried into the twentieth century. In 1920, Samuel Gompers and Henry Allen faced off in Carnegie Hall for a debate on labor laws. The event drew so many people that the fire codes had to be relaxed to accommodate the standing room audience.

Debates were a mix of education and entertainment. Their appeal was often less about the topics for discussion and more about the wit or eloquence of the personalities on the stage. Daniel Webster was phenomenally eloquent. Abraham Lincoln was hilarious (when Douglas accused Lincoln of being two-faced, Lincoln, poking fun at his own homeliness, replied, "If I had another face, do you think I'd wear this one?"). Debates were chances to see the best debaters--household names--test their wits against one another.

Not surprisingly, young American boys aspired--or, at least, were encouraged--to become the cultural icons that were America's great debaters. In the early twentieth century, Mormon youth groups included debate exercises as part of their regular curriculum. That was hardly new. Henry David Thoreau, was a member of the Concord Academic Debating Society, a club that produced such luminaries as U.S. Attorney General Ebeneezer Rockwood Hoar, and William Whiting, a legal advisor to Abraham Lincoln. Debate at the Concord Academic Debating Society was serious business. The club had a constitution and bylaws which strictly required members to come prepared to each meeting--a boy who missed a meeting was required to buy lamp oil for the next two sessions. Thoreau, for his part, did not make a favorable impression. On November 5, 1829 the club's secretary wrote, "The affirmative disputant [Thoreau], through negligence, had prepared nothing for debate, and the negative, not much more. . . . Such a debate, if it may be called so, as we have had this evening, I hope never again will be witnessed in this house, or recorded in this book.  It is not only a waste of time, but of paper to record such proceedings of wood and oil." Biting critique from a 12-year-old.

At some point in the twentieth century, public debate stopped being such a fixture of American culture. Perhaps Adolf Hitler and Benito Mussolini gave a sinister pallor to rousing oratory or, like so many other mediums, public speaking simply got too boring for the evolving American attention spans. Whatever the reason, great debaters stopped being household names (just ask anyone on the street to say who they think are the country's best three public speakers). Boys no longer aspire to be the next Daniel Webster, courageously risking public humiliation to defend a righteous cause. Debate has been mostly relegated to the four-year spectacle of presidential races (a relatively new tradition), third-fiddle extracurricular activities, and sports talk shows.

It's a shame, because Americans need public debate more than ever. We live in a world of echo chambers, where we can selectively engage with only the people, media outlets, and facts that soothe our sensibilities. At their best, debates could promote respect between people of differing viewpoints by bringing a sportsman's ethic to our arguments. At the very least, they would require Americans to listen to opposing viewpoints intently, even if for no other reason than to craft a powerful counterargument because the best debaters are those who know their opponent's position as thoroughly as their own.

Debates rarely change minds, of course, but they refine them. Debate is the crucible in which untenable arguments burn away, leaving an opinion that is more thoughtful and well-reasoned. Both the audience and the participants reap the benefits of public debate. Debaters, after all, are mere proxies. They fight a battle that we would fight on our own, if only we were endowed with their intelligence and gift for public speaking. I for one, would like to see how my opinions would fare if entrusted to an able debater.

Alas, America doesn't seem to be on the verge of another renaissance of public debate. It used to be that debates were places where obscure names like Lincoln and Webster became famous. Today they have become places where political aspirations stall (just ask Rick Perry). Stepping out from behind a teleprompter is a high-risk, low-reward proposition.

It's a shame, because there would be a large demand for a debate between the right personalities. Just imagine Wayne LaPierre and Barack Obama on gun control, Bernie Sanders and Paul Ryan on entitlement reform, or Rush Limbaugh and Bill Maher on anything. It could be the prime-time live event that major networks are starving for. All it will take is for a couple of brave souls to risk public humiliation for a cause they believe in.
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For another perspective: 

I'm not the first one to lament the decline in the quality of debates. In 1869, one commentator also longed for the good old days of Daniel Webster in The American Law Register.  He attributed the poor quality of debate in the U.S. Congress to the new custom of reading speeches.

But we refer especially, as a contrast with the British Parliament, to the almost universal practice in the American Congress of reading, verbatim et literatim, written and sometimes printed speeches. The practice of reading written essays of interminable length and invincible stupidity has come to such a pass in Congress, that for some years it has been customary to hold evening sessions, exclusively devoted to reading speeches. Nobody attends these sessions except the readers and their hired attendants! mere essays, so to speak, as void of the spirit and fire of eloquence, as a philosophical thesis.

So I'm not the first one to complain that debates have gotten boring. The entire article is available on JSTOR.

Further reading:

There is a program that regularly airs public policy debates, "Intelligence Squared." The few programs that I have had a chance to listen to haven't exactly been enthralling, but it's something.