Qamar Bashir
Press Secretary to the President (Rtd)
Former Press Minister, Embassy of Pakistan to France
Former Press Attaché to Malaysia
Former MD, SRBC | Macomb, Michigan
By the time Donald Trump completed his first year in office this January, the world he confronted was no longer governed by the language of partnership, multilateralism, or shared rules. The central message of his presidency, delivered repeatedly in speeches, interviews, and policy actions, was direct and unambiguous: the United States would no longer bind itself to international institutions, international law, or collective decision-making if these did not serve American power, American wealth, and American control. Sovereignty, in this view, did not mean equality among nations. It meant the freedom of the strongest to impose outcomes on the rest.
This ideological shift was formalized through the United States’ withdrawal from dozens of international and United Nations–linked organizations. The administration described these bodies as ineffective, biased, or obstacles to American objectives. The practical effect was a blunt rejection of the postwar system built on treaties, arbitration, and multilateral governance. The message to the world was clear: rules would no longer be negotiated in international forums; they would be set by Washington. International law, in this framing, was replaced by national power as the final authority.
This doctrine did not remain theoretical. It was applied openly, most dramatically in the Western Hemisphere. The sitting president of Venezuela was seized and transported to New York and placed in detention. This was not framed as a quiet legal matter. Donald Trump publicly stated that the purpose was to regain control of Venezuela’s oil infrastructure, secure energy supply chains, and redirect those resources toward the economic strength of the United States. The language was explicit: energy and natural resources were strategic assets, and access to them was a matter of American national interest, not international negotiation.
The pressure expanded outward. Warnings were issued to Cuba, Argentina, and Colombia. The terms were simple and direct: align with U.S. policy on trade, security, and resource access, or face economic and political consequences. Cooperation was defined as compliance. Independence was framed as defiance. The Western Hemisphere, once managed through diplomacy and influence, now faced what many governments saw as a return to overt coercion.
This posture was reinforced by continued military action beyond the Americas. U.S. strikes in Somalia, repeated operations in Syria, and the ongoing use of drone warfare extended the same logic into Africa and the Middle East. The pattern was consistent: Washington would act where it judged its interests to be threatened, without waiting for international authorization or consensus.
Europe felt this shift directly. The administration’s stated desire to take control of Greenland, a territory tied to the Kingdom of Denmark, was not presented as a diplomatic proposal but as a strategic objective. European leaders responded with unusually direct language. Governments in Denmark, Germany, France, and across the European Union stated plainly that Greenland’s future would be decided only by Denmark and the people of Greenland. The episode became a symbol of a deeper rupture: the United States was no longer seen as a guarantor of European sovereignty, but as a power willing to challenge it.
Canada experienced a similar break. Its economy had been deeply integrated with the United States, with the majority of its exports flowing south across the border. Energy, automobiles, agricultural products, electricity, and critical minerals formed the backbone of this relationship. Under Trump’s policy, these ties were recast as vulnerabilities. Tariffs and public rhetoric framed Canadian dependence as a weakness that could be exploited for political and economic gain.
Ottawa responded by changing course. Europe became a strategic priority, not just as a trading partner but as a political counterbalance. Canada then moved to strengthen ties with China, focusing on infrastructure, technology, Arctic cooperation, and energy development. This was not an ideological shift. It was a calculation of risk. Reliance on a single dominant partner had become a liability. Diversification became national policy.
In the Gulf, Canada sought large-scale investment from Qatar, inviting capital into its energy and industrial sectors. The objective was direct: reduce exposure to American pressure by embedding Canada in a wider network of global finance and trade. Similar strategies appeared across Asia, Africa, and Latin America, where governments began to seek alternatives to U.S.-centered economic systems.
At the World Economic Forum in Davos, this global reaction was expressed openly. Leaders described a world fractured by economic coercion and unilateral action. The institutions designed to manage conflict through negotiation—the United Nations, trade bodies, and international courts—were described as weakened by the withdrawal or disregard of their most powerful member. The concern was not abstract. It was practical: without shared rules, global stability would depend on power balances rather than legal frameworks.
France’s clash with Washington over the proposed “Board of Peace” for Gaza illustrated this new reality. When President Emmanuel Macron declined to commit a billion dollars to the initiative, the response from the United States was a threat of heavy tariffs on French exports, including wine and champagne. The signal was clear: political disagreement would be answered with economic punishment.
As these confrontations multiplied, a broader global shift took shape. Countries that felt targeted or marginalized by U.S. policy began to move closer to China. This was not driven primarily by admiration for Beijing’s political system. It was driven by calculation. China offered trade, infrastructure financing, and investment without military intervention or explicit political conditions. Through the Belt and Road Initiative, regional trade agreements, and financial partnerships, Beijing positioned itself as an alternative center of gravity in global economics.
By the end of the first year, the direction of change was unmistakable. The world was moving away from a system organized around shared institutions and toward one shaped by competing power centers. Regional blocs, bilateral deals, and alternative financial systems began to replace global frameworks.
This transformation was neither subtle nor accidental. It was the result of a stated ideology: that strength, not law, should govern international relations; that resources, not agreements, define power; and that alliances exist only as long as they serve national advantage.
The first year of this presidency did not merely adjust the global order. It challenged its foundations. The aftershocks continue to spread. Whether this path leads to a more balanced distribution of power or to a more unstable and confrontational world remains the central question facing nations as they navigate the landscape reshaped by this new doctrine.
