ON JANUARY 20, 2017, Donald J. Trump became the forty-fifth president of the United States. It was the culmination of a political odyssey that had defied the experts’ predictions from the day he announced his candidacy. Hardly anyone expected him to do well in the Republican primaries, and pundits repeatedly reassured the public that his early successes could not be sustained. Yet he swept the Republican field aside and won the GOP nomination despite strong opposition from a number of top Republican leaders. He trailed Hillary Clinton throughout most of the general election campaign, performed poorly in three televised debates, and was endorsed by hardly any major U.S. newspapers. Days before the election, pollsters generally saw his chances as bleak, judging the probability of a Clinton victory to be 70 percent or higher.
Yet he won, and in singular fashion. He defeated a large field of Republican rivals, many of them with far more experience in politics and representing a range of familiar conservative views. He defied the established norms of U.S. political campaigning—refusing to release his tax returns, making vulgar comments about female journalists, openly mocking a handicapped reporter, and scorning the grieving family of a decorated U.S. soldier who had given his life for the country. He told supporters the entire election might be “rigged,” threatened to arrest his opponent and “lock her up” if he won, and survived the exposure of well-documented accounts of past sexual predation and the release of an audiotape exposing deeply misogynistic attitudes.
Most remarkable of all, he won in the face of fervent opposition by established figures in both political parties. Prominent Democrats opposed Trump for obvious partisan reasons, but in 2016 a sizable number of Republican politicians declined to endorse his candidacy, and a handful—including former secretary of state Colin Powell—endorsed Clinton. Nor did he win the support of any living president, including George Bush père et fils.
As the campaign wore on, by far the most unified and fervent warnings about Trump came from the ranks of America’s professional foreign policy elite. He was of course opposed by foreign policy experts in the Democratic Party, such as former secretary of state Madeleine Albright; and Hillary Clinton’s supporters included literally dozens of familiar insiders with impressive foreign policy credentials, including Jake Sullivan, James Steinberg, Kurt Campbell, Anne-Marie Slaughter, and many, many more.1 But opposition to Trump was, if anything, more vehement on the Republican side. In March 2016 the former State Department counselor and Johns Hopkins University professor Eliot A. Cohen organized an open letter signed by 122 former national security officials that denounced Trump’s views on foreign policy, described him as “fundamentally dishonest,” and judged him “utterly unfitted to the office.” A few months later, fifty top Republican foreign policy experts—including former ambassador to India and NSC aide Robert Blackwill, former deputy secretary of state and World Bank president Robert Zoellick, former National Security Agency chief Michael Hayden, and former head of the Department of Homeland Security Michael Chertoff—released a public letter saying they would not vote for Trump and warning that he lacked “the temperament” to lead the country and would be “the most reckless president in American history.”2
It was hardly surprising that Trump’s ascendancy alarmed the foreign policy establishment. Not only had his conduct during the campaign raised doubts about his character and judgment, but he had repeatedly challenged some of the most enduring shibboleths of U.S. foreign policy. He had openly questioned the value of NATO and raised doubts about whether he would fulfill the treaty obligations the United States had undertaken toward its European allies. He had accused allies in Asia and Europe of “not paying their fair share” (which was not by itself a controversial claim) and said it might not be a bad thing if countries like South Korea or Japan built their own nuclear weapons. He had praised Russian president Vladimir Putin as a “strong leader” and refused to condemn Russia’s seizure of Crimea, its aggressive use of cyber-weapons, or its support for the Assad regime in Syria, which had killed several hundred thousand civilians in a long and bitter civil war. He called the multilateral agreement that had capped Iran’s nuclear program “a terrible deal” and threatened to launch trade wars with China, Mexico, Canada, and South Korea. He also gave lengthy interviews on foreign policy that revealed a shallow, even ill-informed knowledge of international affairs.3
Among other things, Trump’s startling victory revealed considerable public dissatisfaction with the foreign policy of the past three U.S. presidents. Far from rendering him unappealing or unfit for office, Trump’s “America First” rhetoric took dead aim at the grand strategy that had guided the foreign policies of the Clinton, Bush, and Obama administrations. Instead of viewing the United States as the “indispensable nation” responsible for policing the globe, spreading democracy, and upholding a rules-based, liberal world order, Trump was calling—however incoherently—for a foreign policy he claimed would make Americans stronger and richer at home and less committed, constrained, and bogged down abroad.
To be sure, foreign policy was not the biggest issue in the 2016 campaign. Issues of race, class, and identity drove a substantial number of voters toward Trump, who was also aided by lingering hostility toward the nation’s first black president and Hillary Clinton’s own tarnished reputation and tiresome familiarity after more than two decades in the public eye. Media fascination with Trump fueled his rise as well, and he proved to be a far more effective marketer and user of social media than any of his rivals. It would be a mistake, therefore, to see foreign policy as the taproot of Trump’s victory in 2016.
Yet foreign policy was far from irrelevant. For starters, a consistent theme of Trump’s message was opposition to globalization in all its forms. He claimed that Washington had been negotiating “bad trade deals” with other states for decades, beginning with NAFTA in 1993, China’s entry into the World Trade Organization in 2001, and especially the pending Trans-Pacific Partnership (TPP) in Asia and the Transatlantic Trade and Investment Partnership (TTIP) with Europe. According to Trump, this “false song of globalism” had cost millions of Americans good jobs and left the American economy far weaker. Globalization had also encouraged what he termed “senseless immigration policies” that threatened America’s core identity and allowed dangerous criminals and violent extremists to enter the U.S. homeland.4 If elected, he promised, he’d tear up those bad trade deals, “build a wall” with Mexico, keep “extremists” from coming to America, abandon the Paris Agreement on climate change (a phenomenon he claimed was a Chinese hoax designed to stifle U.S. businesses), bring the jobs lost to globalization back to the United States, and “make America great again.”
Equally important, a long string of foreign policy failures under the previous three presidents reinforced Trump’s antiestablishment message and cast doubt on Hillary Clinton’s claim to be an experienced leader with the judgment and seasoning needed in the Oval Office. Trump repeatedly criticized her performance as secretary of state, pointing out that as a senator, she had supported the 2003 invasion of Iraq, backed the ill-advised toppling of the Libyan leader Muammar Gaddafi in 2011, and called for deeper U.S. involvement in the Syrian civil war. Clinton may not have deserved all of Trump’s gibes, but she could not counter his attack by citing a compelling list of undisputed foreign policy achievements, simply because there weren’t any.
In fact, the track record of U.S. foreign policy since the end of the Cold War was difficult—maybe impossible—to defend, and certainly not in a way that American voters could relate to and understand. Instead of a series of clear and obvious successes, the years after the Cold War were filled with visible failures and devoid of major accomplishments. President Barack Obama had even suggested that modest achievements were all one could reasonably expect, telling an interviewer in 2014 that his approach to foreign policy “may not always be sexy … But it avoids errors. You hit singles, you hit doubles; every once in a while you may be able to hit a home run.”5 There were precious few home runs in the years since the Cold War ended, however, and plenty of pop-ups, strikeouts, and weak ground balls instead.
Some of these failures were missed opportunities, such as the bipartisan failure to capitalize on the Oslo Accords and achieve a lasting solution to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Other debacles—such as the Iraq and Afghan wars—were costly, self-inflicted wounds. In a few cases, what were advertised as farsighted and constructive U.S. initiatives—such as the decision to expand NATO or the policy of “dual containment” in the Persian Gulf—ended up sowing the seeds of future troubles. None of these decisions made Americans more secure or prosperous.
Nor was the United States successful at spreading its preferred political values. The collapse of the Soviet empire was a striking vindication for America’s democratic ideals, and many observers expected these principles to take root and deepen around the world. These idealistic hopes went unfulfilled, however: existing dictatorships proved resilient, several new democracies eventually slid back toward authoritarian rule, U.S.-led efforts at regime change produced failed states instead, and, over time, it was the United States that began to abandon its core principles. In the years after the September 11, 2001, terrorist attacks, top U.S. officials authorized torture, committed war crimes, conducted massive electronic surveillance of U.S. citizens, and continued to support a number of brutal authoritarian regimes in key regions. The 2008 financial crisis exposed deep corruption within key financial institutions and cast doubt on whether U.S.-style free-market capitalism was the best formula for sustained economic growth. Meanwhile, America’s democratic order was increasingly paralyzed by ideological polarization and partisan gridlock, and new democracies increasingly modeled their constitutions on examples from other countries rather than on the United States.6
By the time the 2016 election ended, in fact, the United States no longer seemed to be a particularly attractive political or economic model for other societies. Instead of being a beacon for liberal ideals and a model of enlightened democratic rule, the country had become an inspiration for such leaders of xenophobic nationalist movements as Marine Le Pen in France or Geert Wilders in the Netherlands, who greeted Trump’s election with enthusiasm and hoped to follow his example in their own countries.
From a broader perspective, both the overall condition of the world and America’s status within it had declined steadily and significantly between 1993 and 2016. Despite a number of positive trends—including a sharp decline in the number of people living in extreme poverty—the optimistic visions of the early 1990s were not fulfilled. Great power competition had returned with a vengeance, weapons of mass destruction continued to spread, terrorists and other violent extremists were an active force in more places, the Middle East was in turmoil, and the euro crisis, Brexit decision, and illiberal trends in several member states left the European Union facing an uncertain future. U.S. foreign policy was not the primary cause of all of these developments, perhaps, but it played a significant role in many of them. When Trump told audiences that “our foreign policy is a complete and total disaster,” he was telling it like it was.7
Most damning of all, Trump pointed an accusing finger at a foreign policy establishment that had failed to recognize its repeated errors, refused to hold those responsible for them accountable, and clung to discredited conventional wisdoms. Like the Wall Street bankers who caused the 2008 financial crisis, the architects of repeated foreign policy debacles never seemed to pay a price for their mistakes, or even to learn from them. A bipartisan coterie of senior officials circulated from government service to the private sector, from think tanks to corporate boards, from safe sinecures to new government appointments, even when their past service was undistinguished and the policies they had conceived, sold, and implemented hadn’t worked. Pundits and policy wonks whose predictions and prescriptions had proved to be misguided were shielded from sanction as well, while those who challenged the bipartisan consensus were marginalized, ignored, or vilified even when they were right. And while members of the establishment routinely jockeyed for position and sparred over tactical issues, they remained united in the belief that the United States had the right and the responsibility to lead the world toward a broadly liberal future.
Foreign policy may have been a secondary issue in the 2016 campaign, therefore, but the combination of persistent failures abroad and an insular, unaccountable elite that refused to acknowledge them dovetailed perfectly with Trump’s populist assault on existing institutions and his pledge to “shake the rust off of America’s foreign policy.”
What alternative did Trump offer? Although his foreign and national security policy positions lacked detail and clarity, several recurring themes emerged throughout the campaign. First and foremost, he emphasized that the central purpose of U.S. foreign policy should be to advance the American national interest, that the United States should engage with others in ways intended to benefit Americans. Although this might seem obvious, even a truism, Trump was telling his listeners what many of them wanted to hear: U.S. power and influence should be used not to help others or to advance a broader set of political values around the world, but rather to make Americans better off.
Consistent with this principle, Trump chastised U.S. allies in Europe and Asia for free-riding on American protection, and he made it clear that he expected them to contribute much more to collective defense if they expected to retain U.S. support. He said he would hold summits with U.S. allies in Asia and Europe that would “discuss a rebalancing of financial commitments” and “upgrade NATO’s outdated mission and structure.” In a Trump administration, in short, relations with America’s most important and powerful allies would be fundamentally recast.
Trump also condemned U.S. efforts at “nation-building” in places like Iraq and Afghanistan. Complaining that “we’re rebuilding other countries while weakening our own,” he said that such efforts “began with a dangerous idea that we could make western democracies out of countries that had no experience or interests in becoming a western democracy.” If elected, he promised the United States would be “getting out of the nation-building business.”
Trump also took dead aim at globalization, especially the various institutions and agreements that had expanded global trade and investment dramatically over the past several decades. He called the North American Free Trade Agreement a “total disaster” and said that U.S. trade policy had led to “the theft of American jobs” and helped China “continue its economic assault on American jobs and wealth.”
Paradoxically, he also suggested that he would try to improve relations with China and Russia, saying, “We should seek common ground based on shared interests,” and stressing that “an easing of tensions, and improved relations with Russia … is possible, absolutely possible.” Russia’s interests in its “near abroad” would be respected, he implied, and he vowed to work with Moscow to counter the common threat from ISIS, even if this meant supporting the Assad regime in Syria.
Trump also sounded a defiant note against “radical Islam.” He vowed to “work together with any nation in the [Middle East] that is threatened by the rise of radical Islam” and threatened to bar Muslims from entering the United States. He also said he had a “simple message” for ISIS: “Their days are numbered.”
Finally, Trump sounded a consistent theme of American strength, resolve, and purpose. Declaring that the United States was now “a weak country,” he promised to rebuild U.S. military power, saying that “our military dominance must be unquestioned … by anybody and everybody” and suggesting that the United States could get its way more often by being “more unpredictable.”8
Trump’s pronouncements may have lacked coherence, but the central message was clear: U.S. foreign policy was not delivering as promised. What the country needed, therefore, was a tough-minded emphasis on American national interests and a hard-nosed approach to allies and adversaries alike. In other words, America needed a radically different grand strategy.
Viewed as a whole, Trump’s foreign policy program promised a radical departure from the internationalist agenda that had informed U.S. foreign policy since the end of the Second World War, and especially since the end of the Cold War. Instead of striving to expand and deepen a rules-based international order—one that actively sought to spread democracy, promote free trade, strengthen alliances and international institutions, and defend human rights—Trump was offering a self-centered, highly nationalist foreign policy that eschewed long-term efforts to spread American ideals and focused instead on securing short-term advantages.
Whether he understood it or not, Trump was also presenting a different take on the familiar notion of “American exceptionalism.” The United States would still be different from other countries, but it would no longer be the “indispensable nation,” the linchpin of a liberal world order, the first responder to major global challenges, or even a “reluctant sheriff.” Instead, relations with other states would be conducted on a purely transactional basis, with an eye toward getting “the best deals” and forcing others to bear the greatest burdens. Given that this approach was a direct repudiation of the worldview that had guided U.S. foreign policy for more than sixty years, it is no wonder that foreign policy elites greeted his candidacy with a combination of horror and dismay.
And yet he won. Given the positions he had outlined in the campaign, Trump’s victory raised two fundamental questions about the past, present, and future of U.S. foreign policy.
First, how could the U.S. have gone so badly off the rails that American voters would elect a completely inexperienced leader who had openly challenged well-established foreign policy wisdoms and who was opposed by senior foreign policy experts from both parties?
Second, could Trump pull off the revolution in foreign policy that he promised? Given the opposition he was bound to face from elites in both parties and a well-entrenched national security establishment, would he be able to steer the ship of state in a new direction? Would the foreign policy establishment manage to co-opt and corral him, or had he been bluffing all along? Whichever course he ultimately chose, what effects would his presidency have on U.S. security and prosperity, and on international politics more broadly?
THE ARGUMENT
This book addresses each of these questions, focusing primarily on the political power of the foreign policy community here at home. I argue that Trump won in part because his claim that U.S. foreign policy was “a complete and total disaster” contained many elements of truth.9 The American people understood that something had gone awry, which is why public opinion polls showed diminishing support for overseas adventures and why voters kept gravitating toward candidates who promised to do less abroad and more at home.
It is worth remembering, for example, that in 1992, voters ignored George H. W. Bush’s impressive foreign policy achievements and opted instead for Bill Clinton, whose campaign mantra was “it’s the economy, stupid.” In 2000, George W. Bush won support by criticizing Clinton’s overemphasis on “nation-building” and by promising voters a foreign policy that would be “strong but humble.” After Bush failed to deliver as promised, however, in 2008 Americans picked Barack Obama because he had opposed the war in Iraq and promised to repair relations with the rest of the world. Though personally popular, Obama did not end the cycle of foreign policy failure either, and by 2016 many voters clearly preferred Trump’s “America First” to Hillary Clinton’s commitment to continue the same policies that had repeatedly backfired.
What had gone wrong? U.S. foreign policy did not fail because the United States faced a legion of powerful, crafty, and ruthless adversaries whose brilliant stratagems repeatedly thwarted Washington’s noble intentions and well-crafted designs. Nor did it fail because the United States experienced an improbable run of bad luck.
On the contrary, U.S. foreign policy failed because its leaders pursued a series of unwise and unrealistic objectives and refused to learn from their mistakes. In particular, the deeper cause of America’s recurring foreign policy failures was the combination of overwhelming U.S. primacy, a misguided grand strategy, and an increasingly dysfunctional foreign policy community.
With respect to the former, victory in the Cold War had left the United States, as President George H. W. Bush and National Security Advisor Brent Scowcroft later recalled, “with the rarest opportunity to shape the world.”10 This position of primacy was the permissive condition that allowed Washington to pursue a highly ambitious foreign policy—to “shape the world”—without having to worry very much about the consequences. Yet because the United States was already wealthy, powerful, and secure, there was little need to “go abroad in search of monsters to destroy” and little to gain even if these efforts succeeded. The result was a paradox: U.S. primacy made an ambitious grand strategy possible, but it also made it less necessary.
Ignoring these realities, which implied that the United States could have reduced its overseas commitments somewhat and focused more attention on domestic priorities, each post–Cold War administration embraced an ambitious grand strategy of “liberal hegemony” instead. This strategy is liberal, not in the sense of being left-leaning (as in the familiar dichotomy between “liberal” and “conservative”), but because it seeks to use American power to defend and spread the traditional liberal principles of individual freedom, democratic governance, and a market-based economy.11 The strategy is one of hegemony because it identifies America as the “indispensable nation” that is uniquely qualified to spread these political principles to other countries and to bring other states into a web of alliances and institutions designed and led by the United States. Not only do its proponents see the preservation of U.S. primacy and the expansion of a predominantly liberal world order as essential for U.S. security and prosperity; in their eyes, this objective is good for the rest of the world as well.
But as the past twenty-five years have shown, the strategy of liberal hegemony is fundamentally flawed. Instead of building an ever-expanding zone of peace united by a shared commitment to liberal ideals, America’s pursuit of liberal hegemony poisoned relations with Russia, led to costly quagmires in Afghanistan, Iraq, and several other countries, squandered trillions of dollars and thousands of lives, and encouraged both states and non-state actors to resist U.S. efforts or to exploit them for their own benefit. Instead of welcoming U.S. leadership, allies took advantage by free-riding, adversaries repeatedly blocked U.S. initiatives, and hostile extremists found different ways to attack, divert, and distract. America’s superior economic and military assets could not rescue an approach to the world that was misguided at its core.
So why did the United States adopt a grand strategy that performed so poorly, and why did three very different presidents continue this approach even after its limitations became apparent? I argue that liberal hegemony remained the default setting for U.S. foreign policy because the foreign policy establishment was deeply committed to it and in an ideal position to promote and defend it. As the nearly unified opposition to Trump has shown, the consensus behind this approach transcended party lines and survived repeated disappointments.
Leading members of the foreign policy establishment undoubtedly believed that liberal hegemony was the right strategy for America, but they also understood that it was very good for them. Open-ended efforts to remake the world in America’s image gave the foreign policy establishment plenty to do, appealed to its members’ self-regard, and maximized their status and political power. It bolstered the case for maintaining military capabilities that dwarfed those of the other major powers, and it allowed special interest groups with narrow foreign policy objectives to lobby for their preferred policies and logroll with others, thereby making it more likely that the government would give each some of what it wanted. Liberal hegemony, in short, was a full-employment policy for the foreign policy elite and the path of least resistance for groups seeking to convince the U.S. government to do something somewhere far away on behalf of somebody else.
By 2016, however, the track record of the past twenty-five years and the costs it had imposed on the nation could not be fully concealed. Awareness of repeated failures opened the door to Trump’s populist assault on what many of his supporters saw as an aloof, insular, and unaccountable elite. Dissatisfaction with the status quo helped propel Trump to the White House, but would he be able to overcome opposition from the establishment and pull off the revolution in foreign policy that he promised?12
PLAN OF THE BOOK
The remainder of this book is organized as follows.
In chapter 1, I evaluate the foreign policy performance of the three post–Cold War presidents: William Clinton, George W. Bush, and Barack Obama. I describe America’s position in the world at the end of the Cold War, its expectations for the future, and the policies it pursued. The tale is not a happy one. In 1993 the United States was the unipolar power, on good terms with the other major powers, and an inspiring model for millions around the world. Democracy was expected to spread far and wide, and great power rivalry was supposedly a thing of the past. Today, by contrast, we live in a multipolar world, relations with Russia and China have deteriorated sharply, and liberal values are under siege. U.S. efforts to halt proliferation, pacify the Middle East, and reduce the danger from terrorism have repeatedly failed. It is, in short, a dismal record.
But why did U.S. foreign policy perform so badly? In chapter 2, I argue that it failed because the strategy of liberal hegemony rested on an inaccurate and unrealistic understanding of world politics, paid insufficient attention to political conditions in other countries, overstated America’s ability to shape complex societies, and encouraged other states and non-state actors to resist or exploit U.S. efforts. America was very powerful, and its intentions may even have been (mostly) benevolent, but the strategy it adopted after 1993 was doomed to fail.
But if liberal hegemony contained obvious flaws and led to repeated disappointments, why did the United States adopt it and why didn’t U.S. leaders learn from their mistakes? Chapter 3 addresses this question through a detailed portrait of the American foreign policy establishment, one that highlights the bipartisan consensus uniting most of the individuals and organizations that make up this community. Instead of being a disciplined meritocracy that rewards innovative thinking and performance, the foreign policy community is in fact a highly conformist, inbred professional caste whose beliefs and policy preferences have evolved little over the past twenty-five years, even as the follies and fiascoes kept piling up. The establishment’s deep commitment to liberal hegemony is also sharply at odds with the preferences of most Americans.
If that is the case, then how did Washington sell the public a foreign policy that most of them did not want, and how did the foreign policy elite sustain public support for policies that kept failing? One reason, already mentioned, is the favorable geopolitical position the United States still enjoys. Because the country is so strong and so secure compared with other nations, it can pursue misguided and unsuccessful policies for a long time without putting its survival at risk.
The second reason is the ability of the foreign policy establishment to dominate public discourse on these issues, making it less likely that Americans will question the wisdom of liberal hegemony. Chapter 4 shows how politicians, officials, pundits, and other influential members of the establishment sold the strategy of liberal hegemony by manipulating the “marketplace of ideas”: (1) inflating threats, (2) exaggerating the benefits of global leadership, and (3) concealing the costs of an expansive global role in order to convince the population that garrisoning the world and trying to spread liberal ideals was both essential to their security and destined to succeed (eventually).
Chapter 5 considers why liberal hegemony remained the default strategy despite its obvious shortcomings. A key reason, I suggest, is the foreign policy establishment’s ability to avoid full accountability. Key ideas are rarely questioned, lessons learned are soon forgotten, and members of the foreign policy elite are rarely, if ever, penalized for their mistakes. Instead, it is the dissidents and critics who end up marginalized or penalized, even when they are proved right. When the same people keep getting reappointed and the same tired rationales are rarely challenged, there is no reason to expect the guiding principles of U.S. foreign policy to change or the results to improve.
Until Trump. His election in 2016 showed that although the American people would tolerate a long series of foreign policy failures, these shortcomings could not be concealed forever. The final question, therefore, is whether Trump would manage to steer the ship of state in a new direction, and whether his efforts to do so would leave the country better off. Sadly, the evidence to date suggests that this will not be the case. Instead, chapter 6 argues that Trump’s handling of the presidency provides a textbook illustration of how not to fix U.S. foreign policy. In particular, it shows how the foreign policy community forced Trump back toward the same familiar paths—aided in no small part by Trump’s ignorance, deficiencies of character, and poor policy choices. Instead of implementing a systematic and well-thought-out readjustment to liberal hegemony and playing different groups in Washington off against one another, Trump soon united key elements of the foreign policy community against him and lost political support. He also turned out to be a chaotic manager whose White House was a snake pit where top aides came and went with alarming frequency and whose inexperienced staff made repeated and sometimes embarrassing mistakes. Add to that toxic mix Trump’s own errors of judgment, rash statements, and decidedly unpresidential behavior, and you have a recipe for disaster.
Thus, the battle between the Donald and the foreign policy “Blob”—to use former deputy national security advisor Ben Rhodes’s dismissive term for the Beltway establishment—was a protracted one and continues today. But the United States has already paid a substantial price, with the costs still mounting. Trump’s stewardship of U.S. foreign policy has had serious negative consequences and has squandered the hard-won positions of influence the United States had established since the Second World War. The United States is still fighting wars in distant lands and bearing a disproportionate share of global security burdens, but it is now led by an impulsive and frequently angry narcissist whose erratic behavior has alarmed U.S. allies but done little to contain or co-opt America’s adversaries. Instead of bringing America’s commitments and capabilities into better balance, Trump has undermined the latter without decreasing the former, and has given other states ample reason to question Washington’s judgment and competence.
Chapter 7 explains how this situation might be corrected. After briefly considering possible objections to my argument, I lay out an alternative grand strategy based on the geopolitical concept of “offshore balancing.” This approach eschews trying to remake the world in America’s image and would focus U.S. foreign policy on upholding the balance of power in three key regions: Europe, East Asia, and the Persian Gulf. Offshore balancing rejects isolationism and calls for the United States to remain diplomatically and economically engaged with other nations, but it would rely primarily on regional actors to uphold local balances of power and commit the United States to intervene with its own forces only when one or more of these balances was in danger of breaking down.
Absent a crushing international setback, however, the foreign policy establishment will not embrace a strategy that would diminish its own power, status, and sense of self-worth. If outsiders such as Obama or Trump could not pull off a more fundamental change, who could? I argue that meaningful and positive change will occur only if a well-organized and politically potent reform movement emerges, one that can puncture the elite consensus behind liberal hegemony and generate a more open and sustained debate on these issues. A single leader cannot do it alone, especially someone as unqualified and unfit as the current president. It is the foreign policy establishment that has to change for a new strategy to emerge, and that means building new institutions and sources of political power inside the “Blob.” If such a movement does not arise or proves too weak to generate meaningful change, U.S. foreign policy will not improve. The United States will undoubtedly survive, but its citizens will live less secure and bountiful lives.
It did not have to be this way. The United States is an exceptionally lucky country, one that is wealthy and vastly powerful, and it has no serious enemies nearby. That remarkable good fortune gives its leaders enormous latitude in the handling of foreign affairs. But as I show in the next two chapters, the men and women responsible for U.S. foreign policy over the past twenty-five years have repeatedly made bad choices and squandered many of these enduring advantages. They may have acted with the best of intentions, but their recurring failures are part of the reason Donald Trump became president.