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www.theatlantic.com › international › archive › 2025 › 02 › trump-new-world-order › 681683
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The extraordinary evolution of American leadership over the past decade can be grasped from just two moments. In 2016, Senator Marco Rubio, a member of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, lectured Donald Trump, then an upstart presidential candidate, on the Middle East. “The Palestinians are not a real-estate deal, Donald,” Rubio quipped during a primary debate on CNN. “With your thinking,” Trump retorted, “you will never bring peace.” Turning to the audience, Rubio got in a last word: “Donald might be able to build condos in the Palestinian areas, but this is not a real-estate deal.”
On Wednesday, President Trump sat alongside the king of Jordan and reiterated his plan for the U.S. to take over Gaza from its inhabitants and rebuild the area. “We’re going to hold it; we’re going to cherish it,” he said. “It’s fronting on the sea. It’s going to be a great economic-development job.” Sitting on Trump’s left was Rubio, the secretary of state tasked with carrying out the plan he’d once publicly derided. In the span of 10 years, U.S. foreign policy had transformed from the domain of expert-brokered consensus to the province of personality-driven populism.
[Read: Nobody wants Gaz-a-Lago]
In his first term, Trump could be dismissed as an accident of the Electoral College, someone to be humored domestically and internationally before the resumption of traditional elite-managed American governance. Today, with Trump returned to office and a host of like-minded leaders ascendant around the globe, he looks less like an aberration from the old international order and more like the apotheosis of a new one. But what will that new order look like? The past few weeks, during which Trump has hosted multiple leaders from the Middle East, rattled sabers with traditional American allies, and proposed his radical plan for Gaza, provide some early clues.
A new era of American empireWhile Trump was out of office, a mythology arose that cast him as not simply a dissenter from military misadventures abroad, but a fundamentally anti-war figure dedicated to American restraint. Promulgated by prominent commentators such as the right-wing pugilist Tucker Carlson and the libertarian gadfly Glenn Greenwald, this narrative helped Trump present himself as the “peace candidate” to a war-weary electorate. “Why do they hate Trump so much?” asked the John Jay College professor Christian Parenti in an influential essay. “To the frustration of those who benefit from it, Trump worked to unwind the American empire. Indeed, he has done more to restrain the US imperium than any politician in 75 years.”
In reality, Trump supported the Iraq War before he turned against it, failed to pull out of Afghanistan during his first term, and escalated American arms sales and drone strikes in the Middle East while in power. Since returning to the White House, he has governed not as a neo-isolationist, but almost as a neo-imperialist, calling for the United States to “get Greenland,” musing about making Canada the 51st state, and demanding that America take over Gaza. He has also fast-tracked arms sales to Israel and likely soon to other states in the Middle East, while his border czar recently threatened military action in Mexico. Trump’s team has signaled its desire to wind down the war in Ukraine, in accordance with the preferences of most Republican voters. But otherwise, “Donald the Dove,” as the New York Times columnist Maureen Dowd once dubbed him, has once again failed to report for duty.
[Read: The political logic of Trump’s international threats]
On balance, Trump’s personnel choices align with this aggressive posture. The small but capable neo-isolationist wing of the Republican Party and its leftist sympathizers can fairly point to Vice President J. D. Vance and several notable hires in the Pentagon as fellow travelers. But those calling the shots at the top are far more hawkish—Trump, Rubio, Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth, and National Security Adviser Mike Waltz—and the administration’s policy to date has largely reflected their inclinations.
A Middle East policy that includes the Palestinians, but not the Palestinian national causeTrump’s first administration famously brokered the Abraham Accords between Israel and the Gulf Arab states without including the Palestinians in the process. The success of this endeavor disproved decades of conventional wisdom that Israeli normalization in the region would not happen without a comprehensive peace deal with the Palestinians. For a time, the momentum of the Abraham Accords looked as though it would carry all the way through to an Israeli agreement with Saudi Arabia, leaving the Palestinians in the cold.
After October 7 and the ensuing brutal war in Gaza, however, the Palestinians can no longer be sidelined from the discussion. Trump has responded to this new reality by attempting to include them in his diplomacy while sidelining their aspirations for statehood. He has downplayed the prospect of a two-state solution and, with his Gaz-a-Lago proposal, called for millions of Palestinians to leave the decimated Strip in favor of “beautiful communities” in third-party countries “away from … all the danger.” Speaking to Fox News, Trump’s Middle East envoy Steve Witkoff made the logic behind this thinking explicit. “Peace in the region means a better life for the Palestinians,” he said. “A better life is not necessarily tied to the physical space that you are in today. A better life is about better opportunity, better financial conditions, better aspirations for you and your family. That doesn’t occur because you get to pitch a tent in the Gaza Strip and you’re surrounded by 30,000 munitions that could go off at any moment.”
Trump is not wrong that Gaza is a “demolition site” and that its people desperately need something better than the decades of war they’ve experienced while caught between Hamas and Israel. And contrary to the claims of many activists, the preferences of the Palestinian people are not always congruent with the demands of Palestinian nationalism. If given the chance, many Gazans would jump at the opportunity to escape the trap they find themselves in, even if it means moving abroad. But to address Palestinian material needs without regard to their historical and national ones is to bracket a core component of Palestinian identity and ignore what makes their conflict with Israel so intractable. Perhaps Trump’s gambit will once again confound the experts with its outcome. But for now, his policy seems more like an answer provided by someone who failed to read the entire question.
The eclipse of the rules-based international orderFor decades, American foreign policy has been guided by the assumption that the United States is the benevolent shepherd of a global system, underwriting international security and trade through positive-sum alliances and international institutions. “We’ll lead not merely by the example of our power but by the power of our example,” President Joe Biden declared in his 2020 inaugural address. “We’ll be a strong and trusted partner for peace, progress, and security.”
Arguably no concept was invoked more frequently by his foreign-policy team than the “rules-based international order,” the notion that there ought to be evenly applied standards for all state actors. Like most ideals, this one was often observed in the breach, with critics regularly pointing to perceived American hypocrisy, most recently in Gaza.
But the postwar order has been under severe strain for some time. Russia, a revisionist power, flouted it with an expansionist assault against neighboring Georgia back in 2008, resulting in little pushback and ultimately leading to the war on Ukraine. China, a rising power, subverted Hong Kong, menaced Taiwan, and sterilized Uyghur Muslims in camps, all while the liberal international order effectively shrugged and made its next purchase from Temu. Even those who purported to venerate the rules-based order regularly made a mockery of it. The United Nations, the avatar of internationalism, stood by haplessly as all of these events unfolded—that is, when it wasn’t actively abetting them, as when the members of its human-rights council rejected debate over China’s treatment of the Uyghurs. South Africa took Israel to The Hague over the war in Gaza, while simultaneously backing Vladimir Putin in Ukraine.
Trump, by contrast, has never felt constrained by such ideals in the first place, having long preferred power over pieties. He has expressed admiration for dictators, used American muscle to extract concessions even from allies, and dismissed the protests against his approach from bureaucrats, nongovernmental organizations, and international institutions as the grumblings of the “deep state.” With Trump’s return to Washington, critics of the flawed U.S.-led rules-based order are discovering what a world without it looks like.
Freed from the need to justify his actions in traditional terms, the president has enacted policies no predecessor would have countenanced while moving to purge any internal dissenters. He has dismantled USAID, putting desperately needed American assistance around the world in jeopardy, including George W. Bush’s anti–HIV/AIDS program, PEPFAR; proposed relocating Gazans from their land, feeding far-right dreams of ethnic cleansing; and sanctioned the International Criminal Court.
[Read: The cruel attack on USAID]
Whether one considered the rules-based order a faulty but essential engine of collective prosperity or a sclerotic hypocritical holdover from another era, it now appears to be in decline. Trump is transitioning the old order to a new regime remade in his image—one where statecraft is entirely transactional and the strong, not international lawyers, write the rules. After all, how many divisions does the United Nations command?
Yesterday, during Trump’s meeting with Jordan’s King Abdullah II, he was asked “under what authority” he was permitted to take the “sovereign territory” of Gaza. The president responded: “U.S. authority.” In the Trump World Order, no more explanation was required.
www.theatlantic.com › ideas › archive › 2025 › 02 › trump-south-africa-resettlement › 681651
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Hours after being sworn in, President Donald Trump began targeting migrants seeking refuge or asylum. He brought the entire refugee system to a halt, preventing the resettlement of tens of thousands of already screened refugees and stopping the admission of thousands of Afghan refugees. He also ended humanitarian parole for immigrants from Cuba, Haiti, Nicaragua, and Venezuela, “leaving more than 500,000 already living here in legal limbo,” according to ProPublica.
But there’s one group of “refugees” Trump is ready to welcome.
I bet you can guess.
Last week Trump signed an executive order stating that his administration would “promote the resettlement of Afrikaner refugees escaping government-sponsored race-based discrimination, including racially discriminatory property confiscation.” Many hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of people around the world are fleeing state-related persecution and would love to come to the United States. Hundreds of thousands of them are already here, working and contributing to their communities. Some of them have already been victims of vicious slander from Trump and his vice president, J. D. Vance. The Trump administration has closed its door to all of them, except for one white ethnic group in South Africa.
Land reform is a complicated issue in South Africa. Since the 1994 end of apartheid—a system of forced racial separation and domination that granted full rights only to South Africa’s white minority while categorizing nonwhite South Africans as inferior—racial inequality in South Africa has barely budged. The 7 percent of the South African population that is white remains much wealthier than the rest of the population. Black South Africans own only 4 percent of the land while white South Africans own about three-quarters, a consequence of the apartheid government’s half-century-long practice of forcibly seizing land from Black South Africans and displacing millions into “homelands” used to maintain the fiction of a white South African majority. Laws also prevented Black South Africans from owning land outside the cramped territory allotted to them.
Last month, South Africa passed a law that allows the expropriation of land if it is unused or the public has a need for it. In some cases, it would allow the government to do so without compensating the owners. Afriforum, an Afrikaner group, called the government’s policy “irresponsible.” But the South African government insists that it is not seeking large-scale expropriation. Its foreign minister compared the policy to eminent-domain laws in the United States. Neighbouring Zimbabwe, whose government confiscated much of its white farmers’ land, has suffered from dire economic consequences, and South Africa clearly isn’t interested in redistributing wealth in a way that collapses the economy. A coalition of organizations representing white South Africans stated categorically that their members are not interested in Trump’s offer: “We may disagree with the ANC, but we love our country.”
Trump’s executive order also stopped aid to South Africa, which was already dealing with the devastating aftermath of the USAID freeze. The order may, in part, have been the result of the influence of his wealthy donors, who include far-right billionaires with roots in South Africa, such as Elon Musk, Peter Thiel, and David Sacks. But the idea that white South African farmers have been targets of state oppression and ethnic violence has been a cause célèbre on the American right for a while now.
It was a focus of Tucker Carlson’s now-defunct Fox News program, where he claimed that land reforms meant to address apartheid-era injustices were the “definition of racism.” (He also complained about efforts to address discrimination against Black farmers, which is apparently fine.) Carlson’s coverage led Trump, the last time he was in office, to order then–Secretary of State Mike Pompeo to look into “farm seizures” and already disproved reports of “large scale killings” of white farmers. Experts on the topic dismissed these inflammatory allegations as white-nationalist propaganda; one former ambassador to South Africa called Trump’s rhetoric “dangerous and poisoned” and accused him of spreading “a white-supremacist meme from the darkest place he can find.”
Violence against white people in South Africa is certainly not unheard of—the country’s murder rate is very high. But white South Africans, including farmers, are much less likely to be murdered than Black South Africans. Living standards for white South Africans also remain very high, with only 1 percent in poverty, compared with 64 percent of Black South Africans.
Whether or not any white South Africans take Trump up on his offer to come to the United States, the offer itself tells us a great deal about the Trump administration.
Even if one accepted the idea that white South Africans were being persecuted, and that as a result they deserved special dispensation as refugees, it does not follow that they are the only people in the world who do. The Trump administration has withdrawn protections from people fleeing leftist regimes in places such as Venezuela and Cuba, as well as from people fleeing right-wing ones in places like Afghanistan. It has stated that its policy is to accept as few refugees as possible. It then chose to roll out the red carpet for one particular set of white people. That, itself, is functionally an apartheid immigration policy: One set of lenient rules for white people, and another merciless set for everyone else.
The Trump administration insists that it wants to “forge a society that is color-blind and merit-based,” but this immigration policy shows that is obviously false. When the administration says decisions are “color-blind and merit-based,” it most likely means We see you as white, and therefore worthy. And that is a sweeping ideological worldview, not a narrow rubric that can be confined to immigration.
www.theatlantic.com › politics › archive › 2025 › 02 › usaid-dismantle-trump-damage › 681644
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THE SPEED OF THE CRUELTY has been stunning.
In a matter of a few weeks, the Trump administration, led by Elon Musk, has decimated America’s main provider of global humanitarian aid, the U.S. Agency for International Development.
Founded in 1961, USAID has, until now, worked in more than 100 countries, promoting global health, fighting epidemics and starvation, providing treatment for people with HIV/AIDS, educating children and combatting child sex trafficking, resettling refugees and supplying shelter to displaced people across the globe, and supporting programs in maternal and child health and anti-corruption work.
USAID accounts for less than 1 percent of the federal budget. With those funds, it has been responsible for building field hospitals in war-ravaged Syria and removing land mines in Cambodia, funding vaccination programs in Nigeria and access to food, water, electricity, and basic health care for millions of people in eastern Congo. It contained a major outbreak of Ebola a decade ago and prevented massive famine in southern Africa in the 1990s. More than 3 million lives are saved every year through USAID immunization programs.
[Read: America can’t just unpause USAID]
People who have worked in international development for decades will tell you that there is not a single area of development and humanitarian assistance USAID has not been involved in.
On the day of his second inauguration, Donald Trump instituted a 90-day freeze on foreign assistance. Almost all USAID contractors and staff have since been fired or put on administrative leave, the website taken down and signage removed from its headquarters in Washington, D.C. On Friday, a federal judge issued a temporary restraining order, enjoining the administration from placing 2,200 USAID employees on leave, but the chaos has already generated a global humanitarian crisis.
Many small organizations that relied on USAID have shut down; even the largest ones have been severely weakened. One survey reports that about a quarter of nonprofits said they might last a month; more than half said they had enough reserves to survive for three months at most.
The New York Times reports that funding for treatment for infants born in Uganda with HIV has been stopped, while in South Africa, researchers were forced to end an HIV-prevention trial, leaving women with experimental implants inside their bodies and without ongoing medical oversight. A cholera-treatment trial has been abandoned in Bangladesh. Patients have been told to leave refugee hospitals in Thailand. Soup kitchens that feed hundreds of thousands of people in Sudan have been closed.
As Mitchell Warren, the executive director of the HIV-prevention organization AVAC, told the Times’ Apoorva Mandavilli, “You’ve gotten rid of all of the staff, all of the institutional memory, all of the trust and confidence, not only in the United States but in the dozens of countries in which U.S.A.I.D. works. Those things have taken decades to build up but two weeks to destroy.”
A humanitarian worker in Sudan told The Washington Post that their organization received a stop-work order for grants covering hundreds of millions of dollars. “It means that over 8 million people in extreme levels of hunger could die of starvation,” said the aid worker. “What’s next? What do we do?”
IT WAS NOT ENOUGH for Trump and Musk, the head of the so-called Department of Government Efficiency, to unleash mass suffering and death with the stroke of a pen. They had to slander USAID and spread lies about the agency in the process.
Musk has called USAID “evil” and a “criminal organization.” It is, according to Musk, “a viper’s nest of radical-left marxists who hate America.” The agency, Musk added, isn’t “an apple with a worm in it” but “a ball of worms.”
“Time for it to die,” Musk posted on X.
For his part, Trump said USAID is a “tremendous fraud” and claimed that the people in the agency “turned out to be radical left lunatics.”
In order to promote this calumny, Trump, Musk, and their acolytes have unleashed an avalanche of falsehoods and disinformation. Not that USAID should be above criticism: As the New York Times columnist Nicholas Kristoff has argued, it can be overreliant on contractors, endlessly bureaucratic, and prone to paying consultants with money that could be better used elsewhere. But none of that matches up with the way Musk and Trump have described it. And authoritarian leaders from around the world are now celebrating the destruction of one of the most important humanitarian organizations in the world.
“Power is in tearing human minds to pieces and putting them together again in new shapes of your own choosing,” George Orwell wrote in 1984.
Six years ago, my colleague Adam Serwer wrote of Trump and his movement that “the cruelty is the point.” That has never been more clear than in the president’s decision to demolish USAID. The cost savings will be minimal; the carnage will be massive. And all of the agony that will be unleashed by this decision—the cries of pain that Trump will never hear, the tears of grief Musk will never see—is not accidental. It was done with malice. This is what Trump and MAGA represent, what lies at their moral core. To be silent in the face of this is to be complicit in what they are doing.
FOR THE PAST six years, Anne Linn has worked for the President’s Malaria Initiative, another U.S. program. But she lost her job earlier this month because of Trump and Musk’s actions. Her contract with PMI was canceled.
She’s proud of her work, and proud of the fact that in the 30 countries where PMI has been operating, the malaria mortality rate has been reduced by half since President George W. Bush launched the initiative, in 2006. (Malaria still kills more than half a million people each year, about three-quarters of whom are children under 5.)
Linn is aware that foreign assistance improves America’s image in the world and helps economies prosper. But that’s not why she’s doing what she’s doing.
“As a Christian,” Linn wrote in the Bozeman Daily Chronicle, “I was compelled by the Gospel, the words of Jesus, to use my life to try to diminish suffering for the world’s most vulnerable.”
She was doing that until Trump and Musk set their sights on USAID. Now, she wrote, “children, children of God, will die unnecessarily.”
In an interview with Time, Linn put it this way: “I’m here to do what I can, to be the hands and feet of God in this world. Like, what can I do to alleviate the suffering of others, of my neighbors?”
She’s worried that their suffering will increase because bed nets used to protect people from malaria are still in the warehouse and the people contracted to deliver them have a stop-work order. She spoke of her fears for the pregnant mothers and the children under 5, whom malaria can kill. “Who can read the words of Jesus Christ and think this is okay?” she asked. “That is baffling to me. If we say that we are pro-life, we cannot be okay with this.”
Linn’s question—Who can read the words of Jesus Christ and think this is okay?—haunts me and many others like me. No group is more responsible for the reign of Trump than white evangelicals. In 2024, for the third time, they voted in overwhelming numbers for Trump. Most white evangelicals will not, under any circumstances, break with him. They are beholden to him.
[Read: Trump’s assault on USAID makes Project 2025 look like child’s play]
They read the same words of Jesus as Linn does, but whereas those words have led her to relieve suffering for the world’s most vulnerable, many white evangelicals have ended up in a different place. They are in lockstep with a man who is taking delight in destroying an agency whose decimation will dramatically increase suffering for the world’s most vulnerable.
It is a remarkable thing to witness. There are tens of millions of men and women who are regular churchgoers, who attend Bible studies and Sunday-school classes and listen to Christian worship music, and who would raise a ruckus if anyone in Church leadership interpreted the Bible in a way that deviated even slightly from their doctrine on any number of issues.
And yet, many of these same people insist that their faith commitments have led them to support a president for whom the cruelty is the point. As a result, there is, somewhere in Kenya right now, a mother of three asking, “If I die, who will take care of my children?” Donald Trump and Elon Musk don’t care. It turns out that millions and millions of people who claim to be followers of Jesus don’t, either.