Trump doesn’t truly understand what makes America great. Turning our backs on the world isn’t the answer.

 

Trump’s Trade War: The Cure That Worsens the Disease

On trade—as with much else—President Trump’s remedies tend to do more harm than good. Among educated people, support for free trade is almost instinctive. It’s grounded in both principle and self-interest. I count myself among them, and as a descendant of 19th-century free-trade campaigners, I’m a firm believer.

We educated types often struggle to understand why others are skeptical of free trade, since we believe it helps lift the poor. Free trade brings competition, which cuts prices and creates opportunities for those without capital. In contrast, tariffs and trade barriers enrich monopolists, restrict supply, raise costs, and protect entrenched interests at the expense of newcomers.

The logic behind free trade is solid. But beyond the economic theory, there’s also a more personal reason many educated people support it: it benefits us. We have skills that cross borders easily. We flourish in globalized labor markets. We also benefit from the influx of cheap labor, which often accompanies open economies, to fill low-paid, manual jobs.

Trump, despite his own vast wealth and success in global markets, seems to grasp the concerns of those who feel left behind by globalization. Millions of American workers have seen their living standards stagnate or decline over the past few decades. Jobs in industries like steel, automobiles, timber, and agriculture—once symbols of American strength—have dwindled, and wages have barely risen in real terms since the 1980s.

The 2008 financial crisis and the bailouts that followed deepened this resentment. While Wall Street was rescued, many ordinary workers felt abandoned. The emotional core of Trump’s slogan, “Make America Great Again,” lies in the word Again—a call back to a time when hard-working Americans, particularly men, built the country with their hands. Trump presents himself as their champion.

This nostalgic message makes tariffs appealing. Despite its anti-colonial roots, America has always had imperial tendencies—expanding its territory by purchase and conquest in the 19th century. Trump channels this spirit in his attitudes toward Canada, Mexico, Panama, and even his bizarre interest in buying Greenland.

He draws inspiration, perhaps unknowingly, from William McKinley, a 19th-century Republican who pushed punitive tariffs. Trump even rebranded tariffs in populist terms, saying in his inaugural address: “Instead of taxing our citizens to enrich other countries, we will tariff and tax foreign countries to enrich our citizens.”

It’s a clever reframing. In the U.S., taxes are collected by the Internal Revenue Service. Trump pitched tariffs as the work of an “External Revenue Service”—a catchy idea for voters tired of seeing their paychecks shrink.

On Wednesday, Trump took things further by declaring America’s trade deficits a national emergency—claiming they threaten both national security and the economy. This allows him to bypass Congress. But it also reveals his approach: confrontation, not reform.

He rarely mentions that the U.S. excels in services, not just goods, thereby exaggerating the seriousness of the trade deficit in goods. It’s more of a chronic issue than a crisis, and his chosen "cure" risks worsening the patient’s condition.

Raising prices on imported goods hurts consumers. If better alternatives exist elsewhere, people will turn to them. Meanwhile, Trump's moves are straining relationships with longtime allies. Australian Prime Minister Anthony Albanese—facing re-election—called the tariffs “not the action of a friend.” The markets, too, have voiced their disapproval.

Still, critics who dismiss Trump’s strategy as sheer madness overlook the political logic. His base remains fiercely loyal. If his policies fail, many of them will simply blame others. And in the short term, his gambit may succeed. He’s betting that America’s market is so vital, companies will relocate there regardless of cost.

He may not be wrong. TSMC, the Taiwanese chip giant, recently pledged $100 billion to build factories in Texas—one of the largest foreign investments in U.S. history. They may have preferred to stay in Taiwan, but the geopolitical bargain—U.S. protection from China—seemed worth the price. Just this week, British machinery firm JCB announced it was doubling the size of its American plant.

Trump often presents a strange paradox: a man who lies freely, yet sometimes lands on inconvenient truths. The global trade system isn’t nearly as fair as it pretends to be. China has twisted the rules to its advantage. The EU is more protectionist than it lets on, especially with its carbon border tariffs—an initiative Britain is inexplicably keen to join.

In this, Trump’s attacks on trade mirror his stance on NATO and Ukraine. He highlights real flaws, but his proposed fixes are more damaging than the problems themselves.

Britain, too, has flirted with protectionism, despite our historic success with free trade. In the early 20th century, Joseph Chamberlain argued for tariffs to preserve the empire and protect industrial jobs. But as an island nation reliant on trade, we ultimately chose a different path—one less tempting to a continental giant like the U.S.

Trump’s vision to reverse America’s decline is flawed. His sense of grievance blinds him to the country’s true strength. America’s greatness lies not in a return to past glories, but in its status as the world’s most powerful global brand. That brand will fade if the nation turns inward and alienates its friends.