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When the Panama Canal was unveiled by the United States in 1914, the roughly 50-mile-long waterway symbolized American power and technological advancement. But the glow of progress soon faded. Building the canal killed roughly 5,600 workers over a decade, and many historians think that the death toll was higher. “Beginning with Lyndon B. Johnson, American presidents of both parties understood the strategic necessity of handing the canal back,” my colleague Franklin Foer wrote last week. The 1964 anti-American riots in Panama revealed that “the anger over America’s presence would never subside.”

The 1977 U.S.-Panama treaties signed by President Jimmy Carter relinquished control of the canal to Panama and established the passageway’s neutrality. This move sowed discord in the Republican Party, the rumblings of which are most clearly felt in President Donald Trump’s recent pledge to retake the canal. I spoke with Franklin about why Trump is fixated on this waterway, and what his preoccupation reveals about his vision for American expansionism.

Stephanie Bai: In Donald Trump’s inauguration speech, and even before he assumed office, he promised to retake the Panama Canal. Is this an issue that Americans care about?

Franklin Foer: Until Trump started talking about it, the Panama Canal hardly ranked on the list of the top 500 strategic threats to America. Best I can tell, there were some toll increases, and the Chinese have started to pay greater interest to the canal over time. But there’s zero national-security reason for the United States to deploy its prestige and military might to take back the canal. When it comes to his domestic audience, I think what Trump is betting on is a rising sense of nationalism that he can tap into. And I think by framing the canal as a lost fragment of the American empire and implying that it’s rightfully ours, he’s betting that it will be a piece of the broader “Make America great again” sentiment that he coasts on.

Stephanie: You wrote in your recent story that “reclaiming the Panama Canal is an old obsession of the American right.” Why is it important to that faction of the country?

Franklin: Many countries failed to build a canal connecting the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans, so America’s success was seen as a feat of engineering—at least, Americans viewed it that way for much of the 20th century. But its construction exacted an enormous human toll; thousands of workers died. And by the 1960s, most American presidents pretty clearly realized that the canal generated so much resentment toward the United States that keeping it didn’t make sense.

But you also had a large sector of the American right that felt like we were abandoning our empire. And so Ronald Reagan, when he ran for president in 1976, made reclaiming the Panama Canal one of his central slogans. The issue was something that the insurgent New Right movement, a rising force in American politics, exploited mercilessly in order to raise money and garner enthusiasm.

Stephanie: Trump’s grievances include his claim that the canal’s neutrality has been violated because it’s under the control of China.

Franklin: China likes to involve itself in the operation of infrastructure, and it has lots of global trading routes that it aims to control and exert influence over. There is a new Chinese presence in the canal, but that doesn’t mean that they’re about to take it over.

One of the things that’s ludicrously self-defeating about Trump’s strategy within the hemisphere is that he’s deliberately aggravating countries that could conceivably be thrown into the arms of China. So Panama may not want to enter into any sort of alliance with the Chinese, but because Trump is threatening military action against it, the country may decide that aligning more closely with China is in its interest.

Stephanie: In response to Trump’s inauguration speech, Panama President José Raúl Mulino said that “the canal is and will remain Panama’s.” As you noted, Trump has already floated the idea of using military force to retake the canal. Do you think this could actually come to pass?

Franklin: I think Trump is testing limits to see what he can get. I would be surprised if he was asking the Pentagon to draw up plans right now to retake the Panama Canal. But the problem is: Once he goes down this road of threatening to use military force to take something back, what happens when Panama doesn’t give it back? I don’t think there’s an extremely high chance that we will go to war to take back the canal. But I think there’s at least some possibility that we’re going down that road.

Stephanie: American expansionism seems to be top of mind for Trump. He talked about his “manifest destiny” vision in his inauguration speech, and he has repeatedly spoken about annexing Greenland and Canada in addition to taking back the Panama Canal.

Franklin: The fact that he’s using the term manifest destiny, which is a callback to American expansion in the West in the 1840s and 1850s, shows that this is not a departure from American history but a return to the American history of imperialism.

This is a big shift in the way that America now thinks of its role in the world. I think for Trump, who is a real-estate guy, acquiring real estate is a token of his greatness. He looks at Vladimir Putin and sees the way in which Putin has projected his power to expand his territory with Ukraine and thinks, Well, that’s what powerful leaders and powerful nations do. And here he is starting to explore that possibility himself.

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When Vladimir Putin daydreams, he imagines himself saluting a phalanx as it goose-steps across central Kyiv. In Donald Trump’s version of the fantasy, he is triumphantly floating through the Panama Canal on a battleship. Both men see themselves recovering lost empires, asserting their place in history by reversing it.

During his first term, Trump set about dismantling the architecture of postwar internationalism by trash-talking and bullying the institutional implements of global cooperation, the likes of NATO and the World Health Organization. This assault on the old order was waged in the name of populism, an attack on elites in foreign capitals who siphoned off taxpayers’ dollars. But what Trump hoped to achieve with these rhetorical fusillades was sometimes unclear, other than pleasing his political base, which adored them.

As Trump enters his second term, those attacks now seem more purposeful. In retrospect, he may have been laying tracks for a more ambitious plan, weakening those institutions so that he could eventually exploit their weakness.

Over the past weeks, he’s declared himself the tribune of a new era of American imperialism, which abandons any pretext of promoting liberal values to the world. In Trump’s newly hatched vision of empire, America stands poised to expand—not just into Panama but into Greenland and outer space—simply because its raw power entitles it to expand. To use the phrase he invoked in his inaugural address, a callback to the 19th-century vision of American imperialism, it is his “manifest destiny.”

This new policy represents a twist in his evolution that makes some of his most ardent supporters look like suckers. MAGA intellectuals and mouthpieces—Tucker Carlson is the paragon—portrayed Trump as a devoted isolationist, a fierce critic of militarism, a leader who would never indulge in foreign adventures. (Writing in Compact, the journalist Christian Parenti exclaimed that Trump “has done more to restrain the US imperium than any politician in 75 years.”) It turns out that Trump isn’t really a member of the peace party after all.

[Helen Lewis: Carlson and Vance—two smart guys who play dumb for power]

At a glance, Panama is an odd centerpiece for this vision. Before Trump started wailing about it, there wasn’t any apparent issue with American access to the canal. But Trump has focused on it because of its historic resonance. Reclaiming the Panama Canal is an old obsession of the American right.

In its nostalgic quest to return to a prelapsarian era of the America past, the right used to incessantly harp on the canal. It was, by any ideological measure, a defining symbol of national prowess. In The Path Between the Seas, David McCullough’s epic history of its construction, the author called it “the first grandiose and assertive show of American power at the dawn of the new century … the resolution of a dream as old as the voyages of Columbus.”

But, as McCullough also documents, that triumph came at an immense human cost. By dredging a notch in the earth, many laborers were digging their own grave; they perished in landslides, of rampant heatstroke and malaria and yellow fever. The death toll stoked enduring hatred of the yanqui.  

Beginning with Lyndon B. Johnson, American presidents of both parties understood the strategic necessity of handing the canal back. Johnson appreciated this lesson only after dispatching troops to quell anti-American riots in 1964. Presidents knew that if the canal remained an American possession, they would have to repeat Johnson’s intervention; the anger over America’s presence would never subside.

Henry Kissinger poured himself into negotiating an agreement relinquishing the waterway. But only Jimmy Carter had the political courage to push a pair of treaties through the U.S. Senate. In classic Carter fashion, his painstaking efforts brought little domestic political benefit. Indeed, by mobilizing moderate Republicans to support the treaties, he helped doom their careers.

[Read: The political logic of Trump’s international threats]

That’s because the insurgent New Right, the faction of the Republican Party that evolved into the modern conservative establishment, appreciated the political upside of demagoguing the issue. As Richard Viguerie, an architect of the right’s emerging infrastructure, put it, “We’re going to ride this hard. It’s a sexy issue. It’s a populist issue.” Running for president in 1976, Ronald Reagan bellowed, “We built it; we paid for it; and we’re going to keep it.” This was a lament for what George Will called America’s “vanished mastery.”

These attacks were highly effective. The New Right bludgeoned the 68 senators who voted to ratify the Panama Canal treaties, which helped unseat 20 of them in 1978 and 1980. Paul Weyrich, one of the founders of the Heritage Foundation, crowed, “The Panama Canal treaties put us on the map.”

For Ronald Reagan, however, the treaties were merely a campaign talking point. As president, he never sought to reverse Carter’s course. He backed away from the raw nostalgia for empire that he had espoused in the campaign and joined a bipartisan foreign-policy consensus, which tended to distance itself from America’s imperial history.

During the Cold War and the era that followed, American presidents justified intervention in foreign conflicts as a means toward the end of defending liberal values, the promotion of democracy, the squelching of communism, and the prevention of genocide. Sometimes this was hypocrisy. Sometimes it was dangerously misguided. But it was also a genuine evolution in values. America no longer used its military might to acquire territories or to blatantly protect its corporations or to acquire precious resources. Interventions were justified in the moral vocabulary of international law.

Donald Trump is abandoning this tradition by describing a Hobbesian world in which the most powerful are given free reign to dominate. If the U.S. wants Greenland’s resources, it has a divine right to them. If it wants to rename the Gulf of Mexico, to suggest the subservience of a neighbor, it can. This type of imperial spirit rarely restricts itself to the rhetorical. Martial threats manifest themselves in martial action. After demolishing the global order, Trump intends to plant his flag on the rubble.