The 'Free World' Has Disappeared with No Return in Sight -- Editorial
The article highlights a significant shift in perception regarding the United States and its foundational ideals that have been upheld for over 250 years. It suggests that Europe and other nations must recalibrate their understanding and expectations in light of this change.
TroibNews 
In early 2017, shortly after Donald Trump's inauguration as president, I published a piece of speculative fiction. This narrative imagined a hypothetical second Trump term, envisioning a grim scenario where American troops withdraw from Europe, the pro-Russia Alternative for Germany secures 20 percent of federal election votes, and Russia initiates a full-scale invasion of Ukraine.
My intention for writing the piece was to shake both American and European readers from their complacency regarding the precarious state of the “Free World.” However, the actual developments that unfolded, kickstarted by Vice President JD Vance's speech at the Munich Security Conference and culminating in the humiliation of Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy by Trump and Vance before the media in the Oval Office, were beyond my anticipation. While many might perceive that two-week span as merely another chapter in the Trump presidency, future historians will likely mark it as a significant turning point in global politics, perhaps even more consequential than the Berlin Wall's fall or the 9/11 attacks. It signified the end of an epoch—the American-led liberal international order.
This period began after World War II, when a previously isolationist nation reluctantly embraced global leadership, a complex endeavor that resulted in unprecedented economic growth, scientific breakthroughs, widespread human prosperity, and relative peace. America’s material resources played a crucial role in this global effort, but the more vital element was the shared belief—held by millions of Americans and others worldwide—that the United States was an exceptional nation, uniquely capable of fostering good in the world.
Over the past eight decades, an idealistic ethos has underpinned American foreign policy, traceable to the country's very founding. Regardless of political affiliation, U.S. presidents have consistently invoked the nation’s providential role on the world stage. Thomas Jefferson described the nascent country as “the world’s best hope,” while his rival John Adams supported arms for Haitian leaders fighting for liberation. More than a century later, Dwight Eisenhower proclaimed, “We could be the wealthiest and the most mighty nation and still lose the battle of the world if we do not help our world neighbors protect their freedom and advance their social and economic progress.” John F. Kennedy famously asserted that America would “pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship, support any friend, oppose any foe, in order to assure the survival and success of liberty.” In his farewell address, Ronald Reagan depicted America as a “shining city upon a hill,” a concept echoed by Barack Obama during the 2016 election.
These lofty ambitions required America to support democracies and oppose authoritarian regimes. As a global superpower, the U.S. could not emulate Sweden’s morally perfect approach; it needed to engage in realities where idealism often clashed with pragmatism. This was especially evident during the Cold War, when the U.S. facilitated the overthrow of democratically elected leaders and supported dictatorial regimes. The trend continues today with American backing of oppressive governments in the Middle East. Even when resorting to morally dubious methods, American leaders justified such actions as necessary for achieving what they viewed as honorable objectives, such as countering communism, preventing the spread of weapons of mass destruction, or resisting radical Islam.
Critics of the American-led liberal order frequently highlight its shortcomings while taking its advantages—like free and open sea lanes, the promotion of liberal democracy, and the advocacy of human rights—for granted. They focus on the order's imperfections instead of confronting the emerging international system, a ruthless environment where the U.S. has abandoned its role as global enforcer, allowing authoritarian regimes to expand their influence over weaker nations. Even the staunchest detractors of American dominance may regret its absence once Russia, China, and Iran assert control over Europe, Asia, and the Middle East.
The unsettling nature of last month’s Oval Office meeting stemmed from America’s historical commitment to supporting righteousness over oppression. In that meeting, the nation's top officials appeared to act like a monarch and their regent, commanding subservience from a beleaguered ally. Within days, Trump halted military aid and intelligence sharing with Ukraine, and although they were later restored, the signal he sent was clear: even an ally under siege could not rely on U.S. support. After distancing himself from Ukraine for personal reasons, Trump resumed targeting other adversaries, such as Canada, Denmark, and Panama.
Beyond abandoning foreign democratic allies, Trump is dismantling the mechanisms that promote democracy within the U.S. During the Cold War, Voice of America and Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty disseminated news behind the Iron Curtain, fulfilling a mission still relevant in regions where freedom is scarce. The United States Agency for International Development was established under Kennedy to improve the social and economic conditions that breed authoritarianism and terrorism. Similarly, the National Endowment for Democracy, created during Reagan’s tenure, provides essential grants to democratic activists globally. Trump’s decision to cut funding for these institutions, which embody the best of American values, has been celebrated in Moscow, Beijing, and Tehran.
Instead of the idealism that once propelled American leadership, Trump has unleashed the cynical attitudes characteristic of the Old World. In this new paradigm, the belief in moral principles governing foreign policy is derided as weakness, while the ruthless application of power is celebrated as a hallmark of strength. Traditional American empathy for the underdog has ceded ground to admiration for strongmen. An embattled democracy is blamed for inciting the invasion of its territory—a tragic analogy that likens this to blaming a victim of assault. In an unprecedented move, America voted alongside the world's outlaws against its traditional democratic allies at the United Nations. The leader of a nation once synonymous with the phrase “leader of the Free World” disparages the president fighting for survival as a “dictator,” while he praises a despotic war criminal as “a great guy” and “a terrific person.” Franklin Roosevelt, while noting the shortcomings of Nicaraguan dictator Anastasio Somoza, at least possessed the wisdom to identify the caudillo’s true nature privately.
Trump's foreign policy echoes the principles of Andrew Jackson, noted for its fierce nationalism and skepticism of international institutions, but it largely reflects the ideas of Pat Buchanan. Once a peripheral figure on the American right, the former Nixon speechwriter and Republican presidential candidate championed the same “America First” ideology emphasizing immigration restriction, non-interventionism, and protectionism that resonates with Trump's agenda today. In this new era of America First, the belief that democracies are superior allies has eroded, and the notion that territorial aggression deserves punitive measures is fading. Vance's endorsement of far-right parties in European governments, which he claimed present a more significant threat than Russia or China, reflects a foreign policy devoid of moral constraints.
This departure from moral considerations in international relations signals a critical shift within the Republican Party. Next month, we mark the 50th anniversary of the end of the Vietnam War. Conservatives once cited the chaos following American withdrawal—scenes of desperate Vietnamese fleeing communism, the two million boat people, and the ensuing repression—as a cautionary tale of what occurs when the U.S. neglects its allies. Regardless of the merits of American involvement, the fallout from that withdrawal had profound implications across the region, resulting in the rise of communist regimes in Laos and Cambodia, validating the much-criticized “domino theory.”
Trump's withdrawal from Ukraine has the potential to eclipse these historical events in its geopolitical impact and human cost. Should Ukraine be compelled to sign a peace agreement without robust security assurances, it could only be a matter of time before Russian President Vladimir Putin attempts another annexation. Absent American leadership within the Free World, such moves could topple Kyiv’s government, triggering a wave of millions seeking refuge and a significant Russian military establishment on the borders of various NATO nations. With NATO’s collective security guarantee in disarray due to Trump’s coercive threats, the most successful military alliance in history risks becoming obsolete, paving the way for increased Russian aggression in Europe and beyond.
Some nostalgia for the era of American global leadership leads to hopes that normalcy will return with a new Democratic or traditional Republican president. While the debate over the future of conservative foreign policy continues, a return to the past seems impossible. Allies like Poland and South Korea, uncertain under the U.S. security umbrella, are contemplating the pursuit of nuclear capabilities. The long-mocked French notion of “strategic autonomy”—an independent European military force—has surged to the forefront of discussions across the continent. The “Five Eyes” intelligence-sharing network involving the U.S., Canada, Great Britain, Australia, and New Zealand may soon contract to “Four Eyes,” given the unreliability of the U.S. as its most dominant member.
The events of the last two weeks of February are irreversible in the minds of both America’s allies and foes. In a world where self-interest reigns supreme, the distinction between the two may blur entirely.
The story I penned eight years ago concludes on Victory Day, with Putin proudly overseeing a massive military parade in Red Square. While Trump has claimed he will not participate in this year's festivities, if he successfully brokers a deal regarding Ukraine, he may find it hard to resist relishing his unwarranted role as a global peacemaker. Sharing the stage with Putin in Moscow, implicitly conferring American endorsement upon the first armed annexation in Europe since World War II, would inaugurate a troublesome new era—one increasingly characterized by the convergence of fact and fiction.
Dan Unno for TROIB News
My intention for writing the piece was to shake both American and European readers from their complacency regarding the precarious state of the “Free World.” However, the actual developments that unfolded, kickstarted by Vice President JD Vance's speech at the Munich Security Conference and culminating in the humiliation of Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy by Trump and Vance before the media in the Oval Office, were beyond my anticipation. While many might perceive that two-week span as merely another chapter in the Trump presidency, future historians will likely mark it as a significant turning point in global politics, perhaps even more consequential than the Berlin Wall's fall or the 9/11 attacks. It signified the end of an epoch—the American-led liberal international order.
This period began after World War II, when a previously isolationist nation reluctantly embraced global leadership, a complex endeavor that resulted in unprecedented economic growth, scientific breakthroughs, widespread human prosperity, and relative peace. America’s material resources played a crucial role in this global effort, but the more vital element was the shared belief—held by millions of Americans and others worldwide—that the United States was an exceptional nation, uniquely capable of fostering good in the world.
Over the past eight decades, an idealistic ethos has underpinned American foreign policy, traceable to the country's very founding. Regardless of political affiliation, U.S. presidents have consistently invoked the nation’s providential role on the world stage. Thomas Jefferson described the nascent country as “the world’s best hope,” while his rival John Adams supported arms for Haitian leaders fighting for liberation. More than a century later, Dwight Eisenhower proclaimed, “We could be the wealthiest and the most mighty nation and still lose the battle of the world if we do not help our world neighbors protect their freedom and advance their social and economic progress.” John F. Kennedy famously asserted that America would “pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship, support any friend, oppose any foe, in order to assure the survival and success of liberty.” In his farewell address, Ronald Reagan depicted America as a “shining city upon a hill,” a concept echoed by Barack Obama during the 2016 election.
These lofty ambitions required America to support democracies and oppose authoritarian regimes. As a global superpower, the U.S. could not emulate Sweden’s morally perfect approach; it needed to engage in realities where idealism often clashed with pragmatism. This was especially evident during the Cold War, when the U.S. facilitated the overthrow of democratically elected leaders and supported dictatorial regimes. The trend continues today with American backing of oppressive governments in the Middle East. Even when resorting to morally dubious methods, American leaders justified such actions as necessary for achieving what they viewed as honorable objectives, such as countering communism, preventing the spread of weapons of mass destruction, or resisting radical Islam.
Critics of the American-led liberal order frequently highlight its shortcomings while taking its advantages—like free and open sea lanes, the promotion of liberal democracy, and the advocacy of human rights—for granted. They focus on the order's imperfections instead of confronting the emerging international system, a ruthless environment where the U.S. has abandoned its role as global enforcer, allowing authoritarian regimes to expand their influence over weaker nations. Even the staunchest detractors of American dominance may regret its absence once Russia, China, and Iran assert control over Europe, Asia, and the Middle East.
The unsettling nature of last month’s Oval Office meeting stemmed from America’s historical commitment to supporting righteousness over oppression. In that meeting, the nation's top officials appeared to act like a monarch and their regent, commanding subservience from a beleaguered ally. Within days, Trump halted military aid and intelligence sharing with Ukraine, and although they were later restored, the signal he sent was clear: even an ally under siege could not rely on U.S. support. After distancing himself from Ukraine for personal reasons, Trump resumed targeting other adversaries, such as Canada, Denmark, and Panama.
Beyond abandoning foreign democratic allies, Trump is dismantling the mechanisms that promote democracy within the U.S. During the Cold War, Voice of America and Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty disseminated news behind the Iron Curtain, fulfilling a mission still relevant in regions where freedom is scarce. The United States Agency for International Development was established under Kennedy to improve the social and economic conditions that breed authoritarianism and terrorism. Similarly, the National Endowment for Democracy, created during Reagan’s tenure, provides essential grants to democratic activists globally. Trump’s decision to cut funding for these institutions, which embody the best of American values, has been celebrated in Moscow, Beijing, and Tehran.
Instead of the idealism that once propelled American leadership, Trump has unleashed the cynical attitudes characteristic of the Old World. In this new paradigm, the belief in moral principles governing foreign policy is derided as weakness, while the ruthless application of power is celebrated as a hallmark of strength. Traditional American empathy for the underdog has ceded ground to admiration for strongmen. An embattled democracy is blamed for inciting the invasion of its territory—a tragic analogy that likens this to blaming a victim of assault. In an unprecedented move, America voted alongside the world's outlaws against its traditional democratic allies at the United Nations. The leader of a nation once synonymous with the phrase “leader of the Free World” disparages the president fighting for survival as a “dictator,” while he praises a despotic war criminal as “a great guy” and “a terrific person.” Franklin Roosevelt, while noting the shortcomings of Nicaraguan dictator Anastasio Somoza, at least possessed the wisdom to identify the caudillo’s true nature privately.
Trump's foreign policy echoes the principles of Andrew Jackson, noted for its fierce nationalism and skepticism of international institutions, but it largely reflects the ideas of Pat Buchanan. Once a peripheral figure on the American right, the former Nixon speechwriter and Republican presidential candidate championed the same “America First” ideology emphasizing immigration restriction, non-interventionism, and protectionism that resonates with Trump's agenda today. In this new era of America First, the belief that democracies are superior allies has eroded, and the notion that territorial aggression deserves punitive measures is fading. Vance's endorsement of far-right parties in European governments, which he claimed present a more significant threat than Russia or China, reflects a foreign policy devoid of moral constraints.
This departure from moral considerations in international relations signals a critical shift within the Republican Party. Next month, we mark the 50th anniversary of the end of the Vietnam War. Conservatives once cited the chaos following American withdrawal—scenes of desperate Vietnamese fleeing communism, the two million boat people, and the ensuing repression—as a cautionary tale of what occurs when the U.S. neglects its allies. Regardless of the merits of American involvement, the fallout from that withdrawal had profound implications across the region, resulting in the rise of communist regimes in Laos and Cambodia, validating the much-criticized “domino theory.”
Trump's withdrawal from Ukraine has the potential to eclipse these historical events in its geopolitical impact and human cost. Should Ukraine be compelled to sign a peace agreement without robust security assurances, it could only be a matter of time before Russian President Vladimir Putin attempts another annexation. Absent American leadership within the Free World, such moves could topple Kyiv’s government, triggering a wave of millions seeking refuge and a significant Russian military establishment on the borders of various NATO nations. With NATO’s collective security guarantee in disarray due to Trump’s coercive threats, the most successful military alliance in history risks becoming obsolete, paving the way for increased Russian aggression in Europe and beyond.
Some nostalgia for the era of American global leadership leads to hopes that normalcy will return with a new Democratic or traditional Republican president. While the debate over the future of conservative foreign policy continues, a return to the past seems impossible. Allies like Poland and South Korea, uncertain under the U.S. security umbrella, are contemplating the pursuit of nuclear capabilities. The long-mocked French notion of “strategic autonomy”—an independent European military force—has surged to the forefront of discussions across the continent. The “Five Eyes” intelligence-sharing network involving the U.S., Canada, Great Britain, Australia, and New Zealand may soon contract to “Four Eyes,” given the unreliability of the U.S. as its most dominant member.
The events of the last two weeks of February are irreversible in the minds of both America’s allies and foes. In a world where self-interest reigns supreme, the distinction between the two may blur entirely.
The story I penned eight years ago concludes on Victory Day, with Putin proudly overseeing a massive military parade in Red Square. While Trump has claimed he will not participate in this year's festivities, if he successfully brokers a deal regarding Ukraine, he may find it hard to resist relishing his unwarranted role as a global peacemaker. Sharing the stage with Putin in Moscow, implicitly conferring American endorsement upon the first armed annexation in Europe since World War II, would inaugurate a troublesome new era—one increasingly characterized by the convergence of fact and fiction.
Dan Unno for TROIB News
