Yet, the danger of this shift lies not only in the damage the Trump administration can do abroad. The deeper risk lies in the permission it grants others to behave the same way—in how it licenses overt aggression; alienates partners oriented toward cooperation and the peaceful resolution of disputes; and, ultimately, weakens the willingness of allies to come to America’s defense in a time of need.
Power without restraint
Since the end of World War II, the United States has aspired to anchor international politics in a set of shared rules. That framework did not eliminate conflict altogether, but it created predictability, imposed costs on rogue actors, and allowed Washington to mobilize allies to address shared security, trade, and diplomatic challenges. In doing so, it magnified American power by lowering the costs of leadership, turning alliances into force multipliers, and enabling coordinated pressure on rogue states. While the international order these rules supported was imperfect—in part because the United States did not always adhere to the standards it preached—it nevertheless delivered durable net benefits at home and to many others around the world.
However, the logic of “might makes right” rejects this premise.
A “might makes right” foreign policy may produce short-term gains, but it also carries significant long-term costs. Partners become less willing to share sensitive intelligence with an administration they do not trust to respect international law. Allies likewise grow more reluctant to commit forces, resources, or political capital to U.S.-led initiatives when those efforts risk escalation, legal exposure, or domestic backlash beyond their control. In the most extreme case, the United States could become so isolated that it would struggle to mount a collective defense of the American homeland.
Over time, this dynamic leaves the United States with fewer early warnings, weaker deterrence, and a diminished ability to mobilize others when speed, legitimacy, and collective action matter most. Just as damaging, it makes American power seem arbitrary rather than anchored in principle—turning our strength into a source of uncertainty rather than stability. When other countries and their publics begin to equate the motives and conduct of the United States with the likes of Russia or China, America has already forfeited its moral and strategic standing.
What unchecked aggression looks like in practice
The administration’s recent posture toward Greenland illustrates the problem. Greenland poses no threat to the United States—in fact, quite the opposite. As an autonomous territory within the Kingdom of Denmark, it already sits inside an alliance framework that grants Washington significant access and operational freedom. The United States already operates military installations within the territory, including the Pituffik Space Base since 1951.
Denmark, a NATO ally, has repeatedly signaled openness to even deeper cooperation in the Arctic. Yet, President Donald Trump has publicly entertained military options—up to, and including, annexation—despite overwhelming opposition from the Greenlandic people and the serious damage such rhetoric inflicted on the NATO alliance. The newly announced “framework” agreement on Greenland seems to amount to little more than a restatement of cooperation that was already in place. What Trump did accomplish was further erosion of trust among allies, after weeks of threats and coercive pressure that never should have occurred. His fixation reflects a belief that power entitles possession. President Trump appears to believe he has a right to whatever he can take.
The same logic appears elsewhere. The administration’s operation in Venezuela sent a message about willingness to use force without articulating a clear national security rationale or path toward democracy. For Trump, Venezuela is about ownership and extraction—he openly boasts that the United States now controls the country’s government and oil resources.
That view fits squarely within a “might makes right” mindset, where power confers entitlement. It is also deeply shortsighted. Resource seizure does not generate durable influence; it entrenches resistance in the affected country, corrupts governance at home in service of private interests, and smacks of the kind of naked imperialism the United States has long claimed to reject.
Taken together, these cases reveal a consistent pattern. The Trump administration normalizes aggression as the default tool of statecraft, crowding out the more durable work of building alliances. When Trump reflexively reaches for force instead of leading coalitions that amplify American power, he depletes it—leaving the United States more vulnerable to reciprocal aggression and less able to achieve its strategic objectives.
Proponents of this approach frame it as a modern interpretation of realism. As White House Deputy Chief of Staff for Policy Stephen Miller put it in an interview with CNN, the world is “governed by strength … by force … by power”—what he described as the “iron laws” of international politics. In fact, this worldview imposes concrete and escalating costs on the United States.
How the Trump administration harms American power
The most immediate consequence of “might makes right” lies in the license it grants autocrats around the world. For years, the United States has sought to constrain actors such as Russia, China, Iran, North Korea, and Venezuela by grounding its actions in shared rules upheld by Washington, its allies, and the broader international community. Those rules made sanctions stick; isolated aggressors diplomatically and economically; and enabled coordinated export controls—including on critical dual-use technologies—by anchoring enforcement in common legal frameworks.
In the security realm, shared rules rallied coalition support for deterrence and crisis response, making U.S. pressure far harder to evade. They also sustained intelligence sharing, access to military bases, and even force integration—forms of cooperation that no state extends without confidence in shared rules, predictable decision-making, and mutual restraint.
When the Trump administration treats force as the first tool of choice, authoritarian leaders take note. They see permission—not hypocrisy. In Moscow, it confirms that territorial conquest can succeed at an acceptable cost, paving the way not only for continued war in Ukraine but also for future challenges to borders across Europe. In Beijing, this logic reinforces the belief that power will determine Taiwan’s future.
Elsewhere, regimes learn the same lesson. Across regions where the United States has invested considerable resources to secure peace—from the Balkans to the Caucasus and across parts of Africa and the Middle East—it sends a clear signal to rogue actors: aggression pays. The result is a more dangerous world, not just because others fear the United States—but because the strongest actor has demonstrated that rules no longer matter.
The Trump administration’s actions also undermine the alliances that keep Americans safe. Allies cooperate most effectively when they trust U.S. judgment. When Trump signals unpredictability—or treats partners as obstacles rather than stakeholders—cooperation erodes. States hedge, diversify their relationships, and quietly prepare for a world in which U.S. leadership feels far less reliable.
Europe illustrates the danger clearly. Trump’s pressure campaign against Greenland has weakened confidence in U.S. security commitments and accelerated European efforts to reduce strategic dependence on Washington. Some European leaders responded forcefully: France, Germany, the United Kingdom, the Netherlands, Sweden, and others issued a joint statement affirming that “Greenland belongs to its people” and warned that any attempt to take it by force would trigger a “dangerous downward spiral” in relations while stressing that Arctic security must be dealt with within the NATO security framework. Several of these governments increased their military presence in and around Danish territory, prompting tariff threats from President Trump that he later withdrew. The reversal, however, did not undo the damage. What Trump imagined he could gain in territory and freedom of action has come at the expense of American influence across a continent that has long amplified U.S. power.
Finally, these acts erode America’s ability to set the global agenda. When the Trump administration governs through reaction rather than strategy, it cedes initiative to others. Time, attention, and political capital flow toward managing crises of its own making instead of shaping long-term priorities. Competitors gain space to advance their interests while Trump remains consumed by the next confrontation. That loss of initiative carries concrete economic costs.
As U.S. policy grows more erratic, former partners seek to build alternative governance and trade networks that bypass Washington. The European Union has already moved in this direction by advancing a major agreement with Latin America through Mercosur. That deal, should it be ratified, would forge an integrated market of nearly 700 million consumers —explicitly excluding the United States. The result locks in rules written by others and leaves American firms competing from the outside. Canadian Prime Minister Mark Carney’s recent trip to Beijing—where he signed a partnership deal with China that would have been unthinkable just a year ago—only underscores the depth of America’s isolation under Trump, even within its own hemisphere.
Why the Trump administration’s approach fails strategically
American strength should rest on the ability to shape environments rather than dominate them—to build alliances that others choose to operate within. That approach multiplies power and lowers costs by aligning interests, sustaining cooperation, and preserving flexibility. “Might makes right” reverses that logic. It empowers autocrats, distracts from real threats, and demands constant kinetic demonstration. Over time, it leaves the United States weaker on the world stage and less able to protect the American people and secure their interests.
The question, then, is not whether the United States can wield force. It is whether it chooses to treat force as a tool within a strategy—or as simply the strategy itself. A foreign policy that mistakes domination for leadership will exhaust American power rather than extend it.