Last Saturday, I was in Montreal for the Canada-U.S. hockey game in the 4 Nations Cup. I knew I needed to be there. A few nights later, I was at home in front of our TV for the final game, which Canada won 3–2 in overtime. I watched every moment, from before the game began to after it ended. I almost never do that. Those games, I knew, were going to say something—about Canadian players, about Canadian fans, about Canada. Maybe something about the United States too. I didn’t know what.

Sports can tell big stories. I was one of two goalies for Canada in the Canada–Soviet Union series in 1972, the first international best-against-best hockey series. Until that moment, professional players from the NHL were not eligible to compete in the amateurs-only Olympic Games or World Championships. Canada was where hockey originated, where all of the best players in the world were born and developed. To the total annoyance of Canadians, year after year the Soviet Union, not Canada, became known as “World Champions.”

The 1972 showdown was eight games: four in Canada, four in Moscow. Everyone—the Canadian players and fans, even the Soviet players and fans and the experts from both countries—knew that Canada would win decisively, likely all eight games and by big scores.

In Game 1 in Montreal, the Soviets won, 7–3. Imagine the reaction all across Canada. Then multiply that by 10.

Instantly, the stakes changed. Something deeper than hockey pride was on the line. We were the best in the world when it came to hockey; the rest of the world didn’t think about Canada that way when it came to many other things. Now we had lost. What did that say about us? About Canada? About Canadians? The next seven games would decide. These were the stakes.

We left Canada trailing two games to one, with one game tied. We lost the first game in Moscow. The series was all but over. Then we won the next two games, leaving it to one final game. In 1972, not many North Americans traveled to Europe; almost none went to Moscow. Three thousand Canadians were in that arena. They were there because, somehow, they knew they had to be there. For the last game, on a Thursday, played entirely during work and school hours all across the country, 16 million out of Canada’s population of 22 million people watched. Behind two goals to start the third period, we tied the game, then won it, and the series, with 34 seconds remaining. I felt immense excitement. I felt even more immense relief. In that series, Canadians discovered a depth of feeling for their country that they hadn’t known was there.

In 1980, I was the other person in the Olympics booth in Lake Placid, New York, when the U.S. beat the Soviets and won the gold medal. (When Al Michaels said, “Do you believe in miracles? Yes!,” I said, “Unbelievable.”) At the beginning of the Olympics, for the U.S., there were no stakes. The team was made up almost entirely of college kids. The Soviets, at the time, were the best team in the world. Even after the U.S. team won some early games, their players seemed on a roll to enjoy, not to be taken seriously. Then they beat the Soviets and two days later defeated Finland to win the gold.

This was not a good time for the U.S. in the world. Among other problems and conflicts, Iran was holding 52 Americans hostage in Tehran. Weeks passed. The U.S. seemed powerless to get them back. Unbeknownst to all but a few, six of the hostages—all American diplomats—had escaped and were being hidden in the Canadian Embassy. The Canadians sheltered the diplomats for months, and eventually helped them escape. The news that the diplomats had made it safely out of Iran came just before the Lake Placid games began. Everywhere I went around the village, Americans came up to me and said, “Thank you, Canada,” as if they were otherwise friendless in the world.

In 1980, hockey was not a major sport in the U.S., and so Americans had no expectation or even hope of winning against the Soviets. What they did have at stake in 1980 was the Cold War. That they had to win. The hockey team’s victory in Lake Placid felt like part of this bigger fight. It fit the story Americans wanted to tell about themselves. And although hockey was a fairly minor sport, 45 years later, for many Americans, the “Miracle on Ice” remains their favorite patriotic sports moment.

Now to today. Now to the 4 Nations Cup. Being Canadian these past few months hasn’t been a lot of fun. The threat and now the coming reality of high tariffs on Canadian goods exported to the U.S.—and the disruptions and dislocations, known and unknown, that these tariffs will cause—is never out of mind. Even more difficult in the day-to-day is Donald Trump’s relentless and insulting commentary.  

Canada as the U.S.’s “51st state”; Prime Minister Justin Trudeau as “Governor Trudeau”; the U.S. using “economic force” to annex Canada, its nearest ally and inescapable geographical fact of life. It’s the kind of trolling that Trump does to everyone, to every country, whenever he wants to, because as president of the most powerful nation on Earth, he knows he can. He loves to watch the weak wobble and cringe, and those who think they’re strong discover they’re not.

Na na na na na. It sets a tone. It lets everyone know who’s boss. It’s what he’d done all his life in business. And although at a boardroom table he wasn’t always the guy with the deepest pockets, in the Oval Office of the United States of America, he knows he is. Being Donald Trump got him elected, but being president is what allows him to be Donald Trump. On November 5, nobody had as much at stake in the election’s result as he did. He needed to win to hold the world’s highest office, to avoid lawsuits and prison time. He needed to win to be him.

It's been amazing to watch world leaders of proud, historically significant countries, kings in their own domain, suck up to Donald Trump, to see billionaires and business titans, who know how the game is played—cater to political authority in public, play hardball in private—who reside proudly and smugly above and beyond politics, fold like a cheap suit. And later, when they do respond, because prime ministers, presidents, and CEOs eventually have to say something, their words sound so lame. “There’s not a snowball’s chance in hell that Canada would become part of the United States,” Trudeau said. By answering at all, you end up making any slur sound slightly, disturbingly legitimate, and you make yourself look weak.

How would Americans react if a president or prime minister of another country said the same about their president? That he’s crooked, crazy, a lunatic, a loser? That he’s the worst president in the history of the world? That their country is just another failed empire in its final death throes? That both president and country are a disgrace and everyone knows it? Probably not well.

But what do you do? What do the decision makers in other countries do? What do average Canadians, average Panamanians and Danes, what do ordinary people anywhere do? That’s why I needed to be at that game in Montreal.

Thirty years earlier, in 1995, on the weekend before Quebec’s second referendum on independence, my family and I went to Montreal to wander the city, to try to sense what Quebeckers were feeling, but mostly just to be there. On a Saturday night, we went to a Montreal Canadiens game. We wanted to be there for the singing of “O Canada.” The next day, a reporter for an English-language newspaper wrote that it was the loudest he had ever heard the anthem sung at a game. What he didn’t notice was that 10,000 people sang their hearts out, and 10,000 people were silent.

Last Saturday in Montreal, the arena was filled with fans in red-and-white Canada jerseys. The NHL and the NHL Players Association, which had organized the event, did what organizers do. They asked the fans to be respectful of both teams during the anthems. The fans decided not to be managed. They booed “The Star-Spangled Banner” loudly. They were not booing the American players. They were booing Donald Trump. Why shouldn’t he know how they felt? Why shouldn’t Americans know? How else would they know?

Five nights later in Boston, at the final game, the fans booed “O Canada,” but not very loudly.

The game was a classic. The two best teams in the world: Canada, the heart and soul, conscience and bedrock of the game; the U.S., in its development and growth, the great story in hockey in the past 30 years. Both teams played as well as they’d ever played. Their great stars played like great stars; some other players discovered in themselves something even they didn’t know was there. The U.S. could’ve won. The team was good enough to win. Canada won because of Connor McDavid, Nathan MacKinnon, and Sidney Crosby—and for the same reason Canada won against the Soviets in 1972.

Everybody, every country, has something inside them that is fundamental. That matters so much that it’s not negotiable. That’s deeply, deeply personal. Something that, if threatened, you’d do anything to protect, and keep on doing it until it’s done, even if it seems to others to make no sense. Even if it seems stupid. This is how wars start.

For Panama, some things are fundamental. For Denmark, China, Russia, Germany, Ukraine, Canada—for everyone—it’s the same. And when you get pushed too much, too far, you rediscover what that fundamental is. Poke the bear and you find out there’s more in the bear than you know, than even the bear knows.

For Canada and these other countries, you don’t poke back against Donald Trump. You don’t troll a troll. You look into yourselves and find again what makes you special, why you matter, to yourselves, to the world, and knowing that, knowing that that is you, with that as your pride and backbone, you fight back.

The U.S. has its own fights. It faces these same questions. What is fundamental to America? “Greatness”? Maybe. But greatness depends on the needs of a country and the needs of the world at a particular moment and time, and being great in the ways that are needed. These next four years will not be easy for anyone—and they will be perhaps especially difficult for the United States.

As for the 51st state crap, knock it off. It’s beneath you.

For Donald Trump, everything is a transaction. You look to make a deal, you push and shove, scratch and claw—you do whatever it takes. And if that doesn’t work, you do some more, until at some point you walk away and make another deal. It’s just business.

Only some things aren’t business. Every so often, Canadians are defiantly not-American. They will need to be much more than that in the next four years. Canadians will need to be defiantly Canadian. Canada won in 1972 and again last week because winning was about more than business. It was personal.

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So you’re a world leader and you’ve been threatened by the American president. What now? First, take some consolation: You’re not alone. The first two weeks of the second Trump administration have seen the White House trying to wring policy concessions from allies and adversaries both near and far.

Now to come up with a response. Simply ignoring Donald Trump is not an option. The United States wields so much power that even if you think the president is irrational or bluffing, you have to reply. Any leader must calibrate a response that will speak not only to Trump but also to their own domestic audience. This may be Diplomacy 101, but Trump will nonetheless expect your answer to be fully focused on him. “Trump doesn’t seem to have any concept that maybe other people have publics to which they’re accountable,” John Bolton, who served as national security adviser in his first term, recently told me.

As heads of state scramble for the best response, we’ve seen several different approaches. Each has clear upsides—but also some pitfalls.

Fight Fire With Fire

Example: Colombia. On January 26, President Gustavo Petro posted on X announcing that he’d turned back two American military planes full of deportees. “We will receive our citizens in civilian airplanes, without them being treated as delinquents,” he wrote. “Colombia must be respected.” Trump promptly threatened huge tariffs; Petro fired back, threatening tariffs of his own and saying, “You will never dominate us.” In the end, Petro agreed to accept military flights but also got assurances from the U.S. that Colombians would not be handcuffed or photographed, and would be escorted by Department of Homeland Security staff, not troops.

Why it might work: Trump doesn’t actually like conflict, so he might blink. (While the presidents sniped at each other, their respective aides were hammering out an agreement.) He also sometimes respects a bold, brassy response—just ask his good pal Kim Jong Un of North Korea.

Why it might not: If Trump had gone through with 25 or 50 percent tariffs, Colombia’s economy would have been devastated. It’s a high-risk play.

***

Make a Deal

Examples: Mexico, Panama, Denmark. These countries aren’t powerful enough to fight Trump outright, so they’re looking for a way to compromise. This weekend, the White House announced large tariffs on Mexican and Canadian goods, but this morning, Mexican President Claudia Sheinbaum Pardo announced that she had struck a deal with Trump to avoid tariffs. “Mexico will reinforce the northern border with 10,000 members of the National Guard immediately, to stop drug trafficking from Mexico to the United States, in particular fentanyl,” she posted on X. “The United States commits to work to stop the trafficking of high-powered weapons to Mexico.” That’s a concrete commitment from Mexico and a rather vague one from the U.S., but it allows Mexico to escape tariffs and save some face. Elsewhere, Panama is promising to not renew an infrastructure agreement with China after Trump threatened to seize the Panama Canal. And Danish Prime Minister Mette Frederiksen is offering the U.S. a chance to expand its presence on Greenland, even as she says the island is absolutely not for sale. “If this is about securing our part of the world, we can find a way forward,” she said.

Why it might work: Trump is fundamentally transactional, and in each of these cases he’s getting a win without having to do anything besides issue a threat.

Why it might not: Trump is getting a win without having to do anything besides issue a threat. He might be satisfied for now, but he also might conclude that you can be easily bullied—so he might come back for more later. Giving in to Trump could offend your domestic audience and win only a temporary reprieve.

***

Try Targeted Threats

Example: Canada. Facing similar tariffs to Mexico, Prime Minister Justin Trudeau initially announced his own tariffs. Trudeau’s list included a few particular goods produced in red states that support Trump, including Kentucky bourbon and Florida orange juice. At a press conference Saturday, Trudeau spoke directly to Americans. “Tariffs against Canada will put your jobs at risk, potentially shutting down American auto assembly plants and other manufacturing facilities,” he said. “They will raise costs for you, including food at the grocery store and gas at the pump.” Late this afternoon, Trudeau announced that he and Trump had struck a deal in which Canada made hazy commitments to border security in exchange for Trump pausing tariffs.

Why it might work: This strategy is effective for countries like Canada, large enough trading partners that they can inflict real pain on the U.S. economy—which gives their threats some heft. Trudeau's tariffs were also cleverly tailored for maximum political impact in the U.S.

Why it might not: Trump backed down now, but Canada still stands to lose more than the U.S., and Trump knows that Trudeau is a lame duck.

***

Speak Softly and Carry a Big Stick

Example: China, the European Union. Trump has already imposed new tariffs on China and has threatened Europe as well. China’s government promised “necessary countermeasures to defend its legitimate rights and interests,” and French President Emmanuel Macron said today, “If our commercial interests are attacked, Europe, as a true power, will have to make itself respected and therefore react.” (Confidential to the Élysée: “True powers” don’t usually need to announce themselves as such.)

Why it might work: Trump doesn’t like conflict, has many reasons to work with American allies in Europe, and already lost a trade war with China in his first term. These vague threats are a sign of some strength, following Theodore Roosevelt’s maxim about foreign policy.

Why it might not: You think Trump’s going to be scared off by vague threats? This could just whet his appetite. Trump’s exchange with Petro suggests that threats work only if he thinks you really mean it.

Related:

What Trump’s finger-pointing reveals The price America will pay for Trump’s tariffs

Here are three new stories from The Atlantic:

Purging the government could backfire spectacularly. The Democrats show why they lost. The race-blind college-admissions era is off to a weird start.

Today’s News

Secretary of State Marco Rubio was appointed to be the acting administrator of the U.S. Agency for International Development, which Trump wants to shut down, according to Elon Musk. Trump signed an executive order that sets up plans for a U.S. sovereign-wealth fund. The fund could be used to pay for infrastructure projects and other investments, including buying TikTok, according to Trump. The Treasury Department reportedly gave Musk and members of the Department of Government Efficiency access to the federal payment system, which contains sensitive information for millions of Americans.

Dispatches

The Wonder Reader: “To stay in or to go out, that is the question,” Stephanie Bai writes. The cost-benefit analysis of weekend plans never ends.

Explore all of our newsletters here.

Evening Read

Illustration by The Atlantic. Source: Getty.

The Illegal Drug at Every Corner Store

By Amogh Dimri

To judge by the shelves of America’s vice merchants, the nation is in the grips of a whipped-cream frenzy. Walk into any vape store or sex shop, and you’ll find canisters of nitrous oxide showcased in window displays—ostensibly to catch the eye of bakers and baristas, who use the gas to aerate creams and foams. At the bodega near my apartment, boxes of up to 100 mini-canisters are piled up to eye level, next to Baby Yoda bongs.

In fact, culinary professionals generally don’t shop for equipment at stores with names like Puff N Stuff or Condom Sense. The true clientele inhales the gas to get high.

Read the full article.

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Watch. Companion (out in theaters) is a horror movie that has already given away its twist—but it has others in store, David Sims writes.

Celebrate. This year’s Grammys ceremony showcased the next generation of willful, distinct talents, Spencer Kornhaber writes.

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Stephanie Bai contributed to this newsletter.

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Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau says he’s been left with no option but to respond by imposing 25% tariffs on US.

Domestic pressures and US tariff threat pose major challenges for Justin Trudeau's successor.

Carney slams Conservative leader Pierre Poilievre at his leadership campaign launch and vows to build Canada's economy.

Canadian leaders pledged to pursue a 'strong' response if slapped with the 25-percent tariffs Trump has threatened.

The Liberal Party has held power in Canada for 68 of the past 100 years. That record is a testament to the party’s pragmatism and prudence. A satirist once mocked William Lyon Mackenzie King, the most enduring of Liberal prime ministers, for supposedly believing: “Do nothing by halves which can be done by quarters.” Not all the Liberal leaders were as very cautious as King, but almost all of them absorbed his lesson: Don’t overdo things.

Until recently, the Liberals rarely deviated from King’s guidance. The one major exception occurred during the prime ministership of Pierre Elliott Trudeau, Justin Trudeau’s father. In 1980, the elder Trudeau was returned to office after a brief spell in opposition. The previous year, the Iranian revolution had caused a geopolitical crisis that spiked oil prices worldwide. The elder Trudeau convinced himself and his inner circle that the opportunity had now come to build a state-directed energy economy. His new government fixed prices, expropriated foreign holdings, and taxed producers to subsidize consumers.

This rattletrap project soon collapsed into economic ruin. The Liberals were crushed in the following election, in 1984, losing 95 of their 135 seats in Parliament.

Pierre Trudeau himself had retired just ahead of the implosion. For decades afterward, the 1984 defeat revived Liberal prudence: Don’t overdo things. When the Liberals returned to power in 1993, they delivered middle-of-the-road economic policy. When they lost power again, in 2006, they did so not for want of moderation, but because of a classic Canadian scandal of patronage and kickbacks in government contracting.

I recite this history to make a point: Justin Trudeau inherited not only a famous name and a handsome face, but also a detailed playbook of what and what not to do in Canadian politics.

Canada is a country that does not reward imported ideologies—the nation is too riven by its own native fault lines: French versus English, resource producers versus industry and finance, rural versus urban, central Canada versus the Atlantic east and the prairie and mountain west. The successful Canadian politician must bridge those divides. The work of doing so is never easy. If a would-be leader makes the mistake of adding too many borrowed ideological isms, the already difficult becomes practically impossible.

Successful Canadian governments mix and match. The Conservative government of 1984–93 undid Pierre Trudeau’s heavy-handed government controls. At the same time, it negotiated an agreement with the United States that hugely reduced the acid rain that poisoned lakes in Ontario and Quebec. Next, the Liberal governments of 1993–2006 exercised the fiscal discipline that balanced Canada’s budgets and reduced the huge debt accumulation of the Trudeau years. Then, the Conservative government of 2006–15 both cut taxes and enacted the most ambitious anti-poverty program in recent history, a generous child benefit for poor and middle-class families.

These Conservative and Liberal governments also did much that their base voters wanted, of course. But they always remembered: Don’t overdo things.

Enter Justin Trudeau. Trudeau gained the leadership of the Liberal Party in 2013. His rise coincided with a sharp turn in U.S. politics. During Barack Obama’s second term, American liberals shifted in a much more radically progressive direction on issues of race, gender, immigration, and identity generally. Exactly why the shift happened cannot easily be explained, but it can be accurately dated. Trayvon Martin was killed by a neighborhood patrol in February 2012. After Eric Garner was choked to death by police in July 2014, and Michael Brown was shot in Ferguson, Missouri, in August 2014, the first Black Lives Matter protests and riots broke out. Social-media use intensified the new dynamics of online activism: The most striking early Twitter mobbing erupted in December 2013. By the early Donald Trump years, polling found that white liberals expressed more progressive views on race than actual members of the minority groups those liberals supposedly championed. Detractors named this progressive veer “the great awokening.” Trudeau absorbed the turn, and rapidly came to personify it.

[David Frum: Canada lurches to the left]

At the White House Correspondents’ Association dinner in 2016, President Obama joked about the enthusiasm for Trudeau among progressives on both sides of the border: “Somebody recently said to me, Mr. President, you are so yesterday. Justin Trudeau has completely replaced you—he’s so handsome; he’s so charming; he’s the future. And I said, ‘Justin, just give it a rest.’”

Trudeau won a majority in the election of 2015: 184 of the 338 seats in Parliament. He won nearly 40 percent of the popular vote, a creditable plurality in a five-party system. Somewhere along the way, however, the playbook that warned Don’t overdo things got lost.

On issue after issue, the new Trudeau government implemented progressive ideas adapted from American activists, typically with harrowing consequences. In Canada, the federal government has a large role in criminal justice. The Trudeau government enthusiastically mimicked U.S. ideas about restorative justice. Canada’s incarceration rate dropped from about 86 per 100,000 adults in 2013–14 to about 72 in 2022–23. Over that period of nearly a decade, Canada’s rate of violent crime surged by 30 percent. From 2014 to 2022, the rate of homicides spiked by 53 percent. Residents of the greater Toronto area now share horror stories of violent home invasions. Invaders are typically seeking to grab keys to expensive cars. Toronto contractors now do a lively business in automatic driveway bollards designed to deter thieves from driving right up to the house and being able to make an easy getaway.

In 2018, the Trudeau government legalized the sale and distribution of cannabis. Enforcement of laws against the possession of harder drugs relaxed too. British Columbia currently permits personal possession of less than 2.5 grams of almost any drug, including heroin. In 2021, Ontario courts dismissed 85 percent of all drug-possession charges before they came to trial—this compared with only 45 percent of charges dropped pretrial in 2019, prior to a new policy directive in 2020.

Opioid-overdose deaths in British Columbia reached a new peak of 2,500 in 2023. Canadian cities—once famously safe and orderly—are now crowded with homeless addicts. In the three years from 2020 to ’23, Vancouver reported a more than 30 percent increase in homelessness. Vancouver’s permissive policies and mild weather have lured thousands of people who are vulnerable to addiction to a city notorious for Canada’s most expensive housing. The grim spectacle of people lying unconscious on streets, of syringes and needles discarded in parks and public places, has earned Vancouver the unenviable title of “fentanyl capital of the world.”

A view shows housing structures behind fences on March 25, 2024, as the City of Vancouver plans a cleanup of the waterfront Crab Park where homeless people have been camping for three years. (Paige Taylor White / Reuters)

Canadian-government efforts at reconciliation with Indigenous populations predated the Trudeau administration: The Conservative government of the early 2000s had paid $2 billion to settle claims of abuse from Indigenous Canadians who had attended residential schools. But the Trudeau government redoubled such initiatives, paying tens of billions of dollars more to settle additional claims. Over nine years, the Trudeau government tripled spending on what it labeled “Indigenous priorities” to nearly $32 billion annually, more than Canada spends on national defense. It negotiated settlements to Indigenous lawsuits that have added an estimated $76 billion to Canada’s future liabilities.

[David Frum: Against guilty history]

Indigenous groups have also been granted significant approval rights over major resource projects. During the Trudeau years, land acknowledgments have become a near-universal feature of public life in Canada. Public, academic, and corporate events habitually open with an expression of obligation to Indigenous groups that once dwelt on or near the meeting place.

Yet over this period of fervent commitment to restitution, Canada’s Indigenous people have suffered a catastrophic decline in life expectancy. As I noted recently:

From 2017 to 2021, average life expectancy for Indigenous people in British Columbia dropped by six years, to 67.2 years (the average for non-Indigenous Canadians in 2021 was 82.5 years). From 2015 to 2021, Indigenous people in Alberta suffered a collapse in life expectancy of seven years, to 60 for men and 66 for women. The principal culprit: opioid addiction and overdose. In Alberta, Indigenous people die from opioids at a rate seven times higher than non-Indigenous Albertans.

The Trudeau government faces its gravest problem because of Canada’s poor economic performance under his leadership. Fifteen years ago, Canada made a strong and rapid recovery from the global financial crisis. Of the Group of Seven countries (Canada, France, Germany, Italy, Japan, the United Kingdom, and the United States), Canada was the first to return to pre-crisis levels of both employment and output. But Trudeau has not succeeded so well with the crisis that erupted on his watch. Measured by growth in GDP per capita, Trudeau’s Canada has posted some of the worst scores of the 38 most developed countries both before the coronavirus pandemic and after.

The Trudeau government has tried to accelerate weak productivity growth by a lavish surge in federal spending and a massive increase in immigration.

Canadian public expenditure of course spiked during the pandemic. Yet even now, three years after the pandemic emergency, Trudeau’s government is still spending 2.5 percentage points more of its GDP on programs other than interest payments than it spent when Trudeau entered office. Because tax revenues have not kept pace, deficits have swelled, and the country’s overall debt burden has grown crushingly.

The immigration trend is equally arresting. Before Trudeau, Canada accepted about 250,000 new permanent residents a year. Relative to population, that figure was already substantially higher than the corresponding U.S. number. The Trudeau government raised the level past 300,000 after 2015, and now to nearly 500,000.

Canada under Trudeau has pivoted from what economists call “intensive” growth (which involves each worker producing more) to “extensive” growth (which means producing more by increasing the number of workers). There are three big problems with the extensive-growth strategy.

The first problem is that it does not raise Canadians’ living standards. The country produces more in aggregate, but the individual does not, so there is no basis for paying workers more.

A second problem is that the new immigrant workers are also new immigrant consumers, who compete with the existing population for, among other things, housing. Relative to people’s incomes, housing in Toronto is now more expensive than in New York City or Miami. The nearby new metropolis of Hamilton-Burlington, Ontario, now ranks among the 10 least affordable cities in North America, as people priced out of Toronto relocate westward around Lake Ontario.

A third problem is that new immigrants may welcome Canadian opportunities, but they do not always share Canadian values. When privately reproached for the Trudeau government’s weak response to anti-Semitic outrages, his foreign minister, Mélanie Joly, reportedly replied, “Have you seen the demographics of my riding?” (Canadian electoral districts are known as “ridings.” Joly’s riding is 40 percent foreign-born, with Algeria the top source of migrants, followed by Morocco, Haiti, Syria, and Lebanon.) Since the Hamas terror attacks of October 7, Canadian cities have been disgraced by anti-Semitic incidents of accelerating violence. Shots have been fired at synagogues and schools, though mercifully nobody has been hurt. One Montreal synagogue has been firebombed twice. Police have given broad leeway to anti-Israel protests that would likely have been suppressed as prohibited hate speech had they been targeted at any other minority group but Jewish Canadians.

These specifics do not, however, quite capture all that has gone wrong for Trudeau. His party now stands at about 22 percent in the polls, six points worse than the Liberals’ share in the wipeout election of 1984. Look back through Trudeau’s personal-approval ratings, and you see a much earlier break point: the spring of 2018. Until then, Trudeau was remarkably popular, scoring a peak of 65 percent in September 2016. (The contrast with Trump probably helped him a great deal that fall: Trump was, and is, a widely despised figure in Canada.) Trudeau was still polling at and above 50 percent in the fall of 2017. Six months later, his rating had collapsed, to just 40 percent.

[David Frum: Justin Trudeau falls from grace]

What changed in the spring of 2018? During the school break of that year, Trudeau took his wife and three children on an eight-day tour of India. On that trip, Trudeau and his family were repeatedly photographed wearing the local costume. Trudeau had already gotten into some trouble when an image surfaced of him—then in his late 20s, working as a teacher at a private school—clad in Aladdin costume, his face darkened by makeup. But here he was, as prime minister of the country, playing dress-up in ways that looked simultaneously foolish and patronizing, all at taxpayers’ expense.

Canadians who paid closer attention to Indian politics noticed something even more disturbing on the 2018 visit. The Canadian embassy invited a notorious Sikh extremist to its dinner honoring Trudeau in New Delhi. The invitation was rescinded and blamed on an unfortunate misunderstanding. Then it turned out that Trudeau had met with the extremist before, apparently as part of an ill-considered political strategy to woo Sikh ultranationalist votes in Canada.

For Canadians, the photos of the India dress-up drove home the sting in Obama’s joke about Trudeau’s preening: “Give it a rest.” Meanwhile, the implausible explanation of the invitation to a murderous terrorist cast a shadow upon the high ideals Trudeau so often professed.

Trudeau lost his parliamentary majority in the election of October 2019. Thereafter, he governed with the support of the more left-wing New Democratic Party. Although his poll numbers would sometimes rally, especially in the first shock of the coronavirus pandemic, the gloss never lasted. Trudeau tried to regain his majority in a post-pandemic election in September 2021 and failed again.

Prime Minister Justin Trudeau speaks during an election-campaign stop in Toronto. (Carlos Osorio / Reuters)

At the beginning of his prime ministership, Trudeau described Canada as a post-national state: “There is no core identity, no mainstream, in Canada.” In his mind, no membrane seemed to exist between “foreign” and “domestic.” Hence his apparent belief that Sikh extremism in India might be used as a political resource in Canada.

In 2023, however, Trudeau learned that the Chinese state had been interfering in Canadian elections for some time. China was accused of funding pro-Beijing Chinese-language media in Canada, and of pressuring individual members of the Chinese Canadian diaspora. The then-leader of the Conservative Party would later estimate that the clandestine Chinese effort cost his party at least five, and as many as nine, seats in the election of 2021—not enough to change the outcome of the election, but a significant impact nonetheless. The Chinese government also allegedly intervened in the Liberal Party’s internal politics to replace a Beijing-skeptical Liberal member of Parliament with a Beijing-friendly one in 2019.

Reportedly, the Chinese government made veiled threats to Chinese-citizen students in Canada that their visas might be revoked if they did not join the Liberal Party and back the Beijing-friendly candidate in the nominating contest. Some of those students were allegedly provided with false documents to make them eligible to vote. At a public inquiry last year, the Beijing-friendly member of Parliament testified that he’d known international students were bused in to support him but said that he did not—at the time of his nomination—realize any impropriety was taking place.

The Canadian public knew nothing of this until more than a year after Trudeau had received an intelligence briefing about it all—even then, the government seemed more outraged by the report’s leaking than by the Chinese interference. Trudeau in fact praised the Liberal lawmaker who’d been elected with Chinese help, and scolded journalists that their questions about Chinese interference verged on racism.

Yet Trudeau sometimes could discover the limits of post-nationalism. When right-wing U.S. backers provided financial support for a truck blockade of Ottawa in early 2022 to protest COVID-19 restrictions, Trudeau invoked emergency powers and froze hundreds of bank accounts associated with the protests. The two cases of foreign interference were different in many ways, but it was not easy to quell suspicions that one difference was that the 2019 interference had helped Trudeau’s party, whereas the 2022 interference did not.

As he sought Canada’s prime ministership a decade ago, Trudeau proudly described himself as a feminist. Half of his cabinet appointees would be female, because—a formula he often used—“it’s 2015.” In office, however, Trudeau tended to assign his female appointees the dirty work that men avoided. In the worst scandal of Trudeau’s leadership, Canada’s ethics commissioner found that the prime minister had pressured the justice minister, Jody Wilson-Raybould, to save an important corporate backer from criminal prosecution; Trudeau has denied that he ever ordered her to do so, but the scandal led to her resignation. Then, in his government’s terminal crisis, he forced from office via Zoom call his loyal female finance minister, Chrystia Freeland—after asking her to deliver one more round of bad news for him even as he offered her a demotion. For the self-advertised feminist, the gap between image and reality appeared wider and wider.

Trudeau has resigned as leader of the Liberal Party, but not yet as prime minister. The party will now choose a new leader to face the election that is expected sometime soon this year. For whoever wins the job, impending Liberal defeat seems impossible to avert. More likely, he or she will have signed up for the long work of reinvention and rebuilding. Trudeau’s successors will have to decide: Should the Liberal Party return to its historic pragmatism and prudence, or should it continue on his path of valuing declared intentions over measured outcomes?

The post-Trudeau Liberals may do well to rediscover the foundational rule of Canadian party politics: Seriously, we weren’t kidding. Don’t overdo things.

Prime Minister Justin Trudeau said Canadians are "very, very proud of being Canadian".

Vice-president Elect J. D. Vance once said that he doesn’t care what happens to Ukraine. We will soon find out whether the American people share his indifference, because if there is not soon a large new infusion of aid from the United States, Ukraine will likely lose the war within the next 12 to 18 months. Ukraine will not lose in a nice, negotiated way, with vital territories sacrificed but an independent Ukraine kept alive, sovereign, and protected by Western security guarantees. It faces instead a complete defeat, a loss of sovereignty, and full Russian control.  

This poses an immediate problem for Donald Trump. He promised to settle the war quickly upon taking office, but now faces the hard reality that Vladimir Putin has no interest in a negotiated settlement that leaves Ukraine intact as a sovereign nation. Putin also sees an opportunity to strike a damaging blow at American global power. Trump must now choose between accepting a humiliating strategic defeat on the global stage and immediately redoubling American support for Ukraine while there’s still time. The choice he makes in the next few weeks will determine not only the fate of Ukraine but also the success of his presidency.

The end of an independent Ukraine is and always has been Putin’s goal. While foreign-policy commentators spin theories about what kind of deal Putin might accept, how much territory he might demand, and what kind of security guarantees, demilitarized zones, and foreign assistance he might permit, Putin himself has never shown interest in anything short of Ukraine’s complete capitulation. Before Russia’s invasion, many people couldn’t believe that Putin really wanted all of Ukraine. His original aim was to decapitate the government in Kyiv, replace it with a government subservient to Moscow, and through that government control the entire country. Shortly after the invasion was launched, as Russian forces were still driving on Ukraine, Putin could have agreed to a Ukrainian offer to cede territory to Russia, but even then he rejected any guarantees for Ukrainian security. Today, after almost three years of fighting, Putin’s goals have not changed: He wants it all.

[Read: The abandonment of Ukraine]

Putin’s stated terms for a settlement have been consistent throughout the war: a change of government in Kyiv in favor of a pro-Russian regime; “de-Nazification,” his favored euphemism for extinguishing Ukrainian nationalism; demilitarization, or leaving Ukraine without combat power sufficient to defend against another Russian attack; and “neutrality,” meaning no ties with Western organizations such as NATO or the EU, and no Western aid programs aimed at shoring up Ukrainian independence. Western experts filling the op-ed pages and journals with ideas for securing a post-settlement Ukraine have been negotiating with themselves. Putin has never agreed to the establishment of a demilitarized zone, foreign troops on Ukrainian soil, a continuing Ukrainian military relationship with the West of any kind, or the survival of Volodymyr Zelensky’s government or any pro-Western government in Kyiv.

Some hopeful souls argue that Putin will be more flexible once talks begin. But this is based on the mistaken assumption that Putin believes he needs a respite from the fighting. He doesn’t. Yes, the Russian economy is suffering. Yes, Russian losses at the front remain staggeringly high. Yes, Putin lacks the manpower both to fight and to produce vital weaponry and is reluctant to risk political upheaval by instituting a full-scale draft. If the war were going to drag on for another two years or more, these problems might eventually force Putin to seek some kind of truce, perhaps even the kind of agreement Americans muse about. But Putin thinks he’s going to win sooner than that, and he believes that Russians can sustain their present hardships long enough to achieve victory.

The frontline city Bakhmut faces shelling day and night.(Chien-Chi Chang / Magnum)

Are we so sure he’s wrong? Have American predictions about Russia’s inability to withstand “crippling” sanctions proved correct so far? Western sanctions have forced Russians to adapt and adjust, to find work-arounds on trade, oil, and financing, but although those adjustments have been painful, they have been largely successful. Russia’s GDP grew by more than 3 percent in 2023 and is expected to have grown by more than 3 percent again in 2024, driven by heavy military spending. The IMF’s projections for 2025 are lower, but still anticipate positive growth. Putin has been re-Sovietizing the economy: imposing market and price controls, expropriating private assets, and turning the focus toward military production and away from consumers’ needs. This may not be a successful long-term economic strategy, but in the long term, we are all dead. Putin believes Russia can hold on long enough to win this war.

It is not at all clear that Putin even seeks the return to normalcy that peace in Ukraine would bring. In December, he increased defense spending to a record $126 billion, 32.5 percent of all government spending, to meet the needs of the Ukraine war. Next year, defense spending is projected to reach 40 percent of the Russian budget. (By comparison, the world’s strongest military power, the U.S., spends 16 percent of its total budget on defense.) Putin has revamped the Russian education system to instill military values from grade school to university. He has appointed military veterans to high-profile positions in government as part of an effort to forge a new Russian elite, made up, as Putin says, exclusively of “those who serve Russia, hard workers and [the] military.” He has resurrected Stalin as a hero. Today, Russia looks outwardly like the Russia of the Great Patriotic War, with exuberant nationalism stimulated and the smallest dissent brutally repressed.

[Read: What makes Russia’s economy so sanctions-resistant?]

Is all of this just a temporary response to the war, or is it also the direction Putin wants to steer Russian society? He talks about preparing Russia for the global struggles ahead. Continuing conflict justifies continuing sacrifice and continuing repression. Turning such transformations of society on and off and on again like a light switch—as would be necessary if Putin agreed to a truce and then, a couple of years later, resumed his attack—is not so easy. Could he demand the same level of sacrifice during the long, peaceful interlude? For Putin, making Russians press ahead through the pain to seek victory on the battlefield may be the easier path. The Russian people have historically shown remarkable capacity for sacrifice under the twin stimuli of patriotism and terror. To assume that Russia can’t sustain this war economy long enough to outlast the Ukrainians would be foolish. One more year may be all it takes. Russia faces problems, even serious problems, but Putin believes that without substantial new aid Ukraine’s problems are going to bring it down sooner than Russia.

That is the key point: Putin sees the timelines working in his favor. Russian forces may begin to run low on military equipment in the fall of 2025, but by that time Ukraine may already be close to collapse. Ukraine can’t sustain the war another year without a new aid package from the United States. Ukrainian forces are already suffering from shortages of soldiers, national exhaustion, and collapsing morale. Russia’s casualty rate is higher than Ukraine’s, but there are more Russians than Ukrainians, and Putin has found a way to keep filling the ranks, including with foreign fighters. As one of Ukraine’s top generals recently observed, “the number of Russian troops is constantly increasing.” This year, he estimates, has brought 100,000 additional Russian troops to Ukrainian soil. Meanwhile, lack of equipment prevents Ukraine from outfitting reserve units.

Ukrainian morale is already sagging under Russian missile and drone attacks and the prolonged uncertainty about whether the United States’ vital and irreplaceable support will continue. What happens if that uncertainty becomes certainty, if the next couple of months make clear that the United States is not going to provide a new aid package? That alone could be enough to cause a complete collapse of Ukrainian morale on the military and the home front. But Ukraine has another problem, too. Its defensive lines are now so shallow that if Russian troops break through, they may be able to race west toward Kyiv.

Putin believes he is winning. “The situation is changing dramatically,” he observed in a recent press conference. “We’re moving along the entire front line every day.” His foreign-intelligence chief, Sergei Naryshkin, recently declared, “We are close to achieving our goals, while the armed forces of Ukraine are on the verge of collapse.” That may be an exaggeration for now, but what matters is that Putin believes it. As Naryshkin’s comments affirm, Putin today sees victory within his grasp, more than at any other time since the invasion began.

[Read: The only way the Ukraine war can end]

Things may be tough for Putin now, but Russia has come a long way since the war’s first year. The disastrous failure of his initial invasion left his troops trapped and immobilized, their supply lines exposed and vulnerable, as the West acted in unison to oppose him and provide aid to a stunningly effective Ukrainian counterattack. That first year of the war marked a peak moment of American leadership and alliance solidarity and a low point for Putin. For many months, he effectively fought the entire world with little help from anyone else. There must have been moments when he thought he was going to lose, although even then he would not give up on his maximalist goals.

But he clawed his way back, and circumstances today are far more favorable for Russia, both in Ukraine and internationally. His forces on the ground are making steady progress—at horrific cost, but Putin is willing to pay it so long as Russians tolerate it and he believes that victory is in sight.

Meanwhile, Ukraine’s lifeline to the U.S. and the West has never been more imperiled. After three years of dealing with an American administration trying to help Ukraine defend itself, Putin will soon have an American president and a foreign-policy team who have consistently opposed further aid to Ukraine. The transatlantic alliance, once so unified, is in disarray, with America’s European allies in a panic that Trump will pull out of NATO or weaken their economies with tariffs, or both. Europe itself is at a low point; political turmoil in Germany and France has left a leadership vacuum that will not be filled for months, at best. If Trump cuts off or reduces aid to Ukraine, as he has recently suggested he would, then not only will Ukraine collapse but the divisions between the U.S. and its allies, and among the Europeans themselves, will deepen and multiply. Putin is closer to his aim of splintering the West than at any other time in the quarter century since he took power.

[Read: Helping Ukraine is Europe’s job now]

Is this a moment at which to expect Putin to negotiate a peace deal? A truce would give Ukrainians time to breathe and restore their damaged infrastructure as well as their damaged psyches. It would allow them to re-arm without expending the weapons they already have. It would reduce the divisions between the Trump administration and its European allies. It would spare Trump the need to decide whether to seek an aid package for Ukraine and allow him to focus on parts of the world where Russia is more vulnerable, such as the post-Assad Middle East. Today Putin has momentum on his side in what he regards, correctly, as the decisive main theater. If he wins in Ukraine, his loss in Syria will look trivial by comparison. If he hasn’t blinked after almost three years of misery, hardship, and near defeat, why would he blink now when he believes, with reason, that he is on the precipice of such a massive victory?

Avdiivka, Donetsk. 2023. Avdiivka was the site of an extended battle, falling to Russian forces in February, 2024. (Chien-Chi Chang / Magnum)

A Russian victory means the end of Ukraine. Putin’s aim is not an independent albeit smaller Ukraine, a neutral Ukraine, or even an autonomous Ukraine within a Russian sphere of influence. His goal is no Ukraine. “Modern Ukraine,” he has said, “is entirely the product of the Soviet era.” Putin does not just want to sever Ukraine’s relationships with the West. He aims to stamp out the very idea of Ukraine, to erase it as a political and cultural entity.

This is not a new Russian goal. Like his pre-Soviet predecessors, Putin regards Ukrainian nationalism itself as a historic threat that predates the “color revolutions” of the early 2000s and NATO enlargement in the 1990s—that even predates the American Revolution. In Putin’s mind, the threat posed by Ukrainian nationalism goes back to the exploitation of Ukrainians by the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth in the 15th and 16th centuries, to the machinations of the Austrian empire in the 18th and 19th centuries, and to the leveraging of Ukrainian nationalist hatred of Russia during World War II by the Germans. So Putin’s call for “de-Nazification” is not just about removing the Zelensky government, but an effort to stamp out all traces of an independent Ukrainian political and cultural identity.

[Read: Putin isn’t fighting for land in Ukraine]

The vigorous Russification that Putin’s forces have been imposing in Crimea and the Donbas and other conquered Ukrainian territories is evidence of the deadly seriousness of his intent. International human-rights organizations and journalists, writing in The New York Times, have documented the creation in occupied Ukraine of “a highly institutionalized, bureaucratic and frequently brutal system of repression run by Moscow” comprising “a gulag of more than 100 prisons, detention facilities, informal camps and basements” across an area roughly the size of Ohio. According to a June 2023 report by the Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights, nearly all Ukrainians released from this gulag reported being subjected to systematic torture and abuse by Russian authorities. Tortures ranged from “punching and cutting detainees, putting sharp objects under fingernails, hitting with batons and rifle butts, strangling, waterboarding, electrocution, stress positions for long periods, exposure to cold temperatures or to a hot box, deprivation of water and food, and mock executions or threats.” Much of the abuse has been sexual, with women and men raped or threatened with rape. Hundreds of summary executions have been documented, and more are likely—many of the civilians detained by Russia have yet to be seen again. Escapees from Russian-occupied Ukraine speak of a “prison society” in which anyone with pro-Ukrainian views risks being sent “to the basement,” where torture and possible death await.

This oppression has gone well beyond the military rationale of identifying potential threats to Russian occupying forces. “The majority of victims,” according to the State Department, have been “active or former local public officials, human rights defenders, civil society activists, journalists, and media workers.” According to the OHCHR, “Russia’s military and their proxies often detained civilians over suspicions regarding their political views, particularly related to pro-Ukrainian sentiments.”

Putin has decreed that all people in the occupied territories must renounce their Ukrainian citizenship and become Russian citizens or face deportation. Russian citizenship is required to send children to school, to register a vehicle, to get medical treatment, and to receive pensions. People without Russian passports cannot own farmland, vote, run for office, or register a religious congregation. In schools throughout the Russian-occupied territories, students learn a Russian curriculum and complete a Russian “patriotic education program” and early military training, all taught by teachers sent from the Russian Federation. Parents who object to this Russification risk having their children taken away and sent to boarding schools in Russia or occupied Crimea, where, Putin has decreed, they can be adopted by Russian citizens. By the end of 2023, Ukrainian officials had verified the names of 19,000 children relocated to schools and camps in Russia or to Russian-occupied territory. As former British Foreign Secretary James Cleverly put it in 2023, “Russia’s forcible deportation of innocent Ukrainian children is a systematic attempt to erase Ukraine’s future.”

[Read: The children Russia kidnapped]

So is the Russian effort to do away with any distinctively Ukrainian religion. In Crimea, Russian authorities have systematically attacked the Ukrainian Orthodox Church, harassed its members, and forced the Church to give up its lands. The largest Ukrainian Orthodox congregation in Crimea closed in 2019, following a decree by occupation authorities that its cathedral in Simferopol be “returned to the state.”

These horrors await the rest of Ukraine if Putin wins. Imagine what that will look like. More than 1 million Ukrainians have taken up arms against Russia since February 2022. What happens to them if, when the fighting stops, Russia has gained control of the entire country? What happens to the politicians, journalists, NGO workers, and human-rights activists who helped in innumerable ways to fight the Russian invaders? What happens to the millions of Ukrainians who, in response to Russia’s attack, have embraced their Ukrainian identity, adopted the Ukrainian language, revived Ukrainian (and invariably anti-Russian) historical narratives, and produced a nascent revival of Ukrainian culture? Russian-occupation authorities will seek to stamp out this resurgence of Ukrainian nationalism across the whole country. Hundreds of thousands of Ukrainians will flee, putting enormous strain on Ukraine’s neighbors to the west. But thousands more will wind up in prison, facing torture or murder. Some commentators argue that it would be better to let Ukraine lose quickly because that, at least, would end the suffering. Yet for many millions of Ukrainians, defeat would be just the beginning of their suffering.

This is where Ukraine is headed unless something changes, and soon. Putin at this moment has no incentive to make any deal that leaves even part of Ukraine intact and independent. Only the prospect of a dramatic, near-term change in his military fortunes could force Putin to take a more accommodating course. He would have to believe that time is not on his side, that Ukraine will not fall within 12 months: that it will instead be supplied and equipped to fight as long as necessary, and that it can count on steady support from the United States and its allies. It’s hard to see why anything short of that would force Putin to veer from his determined drive toward victory.

April 2022. An Orthodox priest presides over a burial for a woman whose husband disappeared in early March in Bucha, which was occupied by Russian troops. His body was not discovered until a month later. (Chien-Chi Chang / Magnum)

Which brings us to President-Elect Donald Trump, who now finds himself in a trap only partly of his own devising. When Trump said during his campaign that he could end the war in 24 hours, he presumably believed what most observers believed: that Putin needed a respite, that he was prepared to offer peace in exchange for territory, and that a deal would include some kind of security guarantee for whatever remained of Ukraine. Because Trump’s peace proposal at the time was regarded as such a bad deal for Kyiv, most assumed Putin would welcome it. Little did they know that the deal was not remotely bad enough for Putin to accept. So now Trump is in the position of having promised a peace deal that he cannot possibly get without forcing Putin to recalculate.

Compounding Trump’s basic miscalculation is the mythology of Trump as strongman. It has been no small part of Trump’s aura and political success that many expect other world leaders to do his bidding. When he recently summoned the beleaguered Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau to Mar-a-Lago and proceeded to humiliate him as “governor” of America’s “51st state,” Trump boosters in the media rejoiced at his ability to “project strength as the leader of the U.S. while making Trudeau look weak.” Many people, and not just Trump’s supporters, similarly assumed that the mere election of Trump would be enough to force Putin to agree to a peace deal. Trump’s tough-guy image and dealmaking prowess supposedly gave him, in the view of one former Defense official, “the power and the credibility with Putin to tell him he must make a just, lasting peace.”

[Read: The real reason Trump loves Putin]

It’s dangerous to believe your own shtick. Trump himself seemed to think that his election alone would be enough to convince Putin that it was time to cut a deal. In his debate with Kamala Harris, Trump said he would have the war “settled” before he even became president, that as president-elect he would get Putin and Zelensky together to make an agreement. He could do this because “they respect me; they don’t respect Biden.” Trump’s first moves following November 5 exuded confidence that Putin would accommodate the new sheriff in town. Two days after the election, in a phone call with Putin that Trump’s staff leaked to the press, Trump reportedly “advised the Russian president not to escalate the war in Ukraine and reminded him of Washington’s sizable military presence in Europe.” Beyond these veiled threats, Trump seems to think that something like friendship, high regard, or loyalty will facilitate dealmaking.

That Trump, the most transactional of men, could really believe that Putin would be moved by such sentiments is hard to credit. Days after the phone call in which Trump “advised” him not to escalate, Putin fired a hypersonic, nuclear-capable intermediate-range ballistic missile at Ukraine, and he’s been escalating ever since. He also had his spokesmen deny that any phone call had taken place. Even today, Putin insists that he and Trump have not spoken since the election.

Putin has also made clear that he is not interested in peace. As he observed in the days before the missile launch, “Throughout centuries of history, humanity has grown accustomed to resolving disputes by force. Yes, that happens too. Might makes right, and this principle also works.” In a message clearly aimed at Trump’s pretensions of power, Putin suggested that the West make a “rational assessment of events and its own capabilities.” His spokesmen have stated repeatedly that Putin has no interest in “freezing the conflict,” and that anyone who believes Moscow is ready to make concessions at all has either “a short memory or not enough knowledge of the subject.” They have also warned that U.S.-Russian relations are “teetering on the verge of rupture,” with the clear implication that it is up to Trump to repair the damage. Putin is particularly furious at President Joe Biden for finally lifting some of the restrictions on the Ukrainian use of the American long-range ATACMS missiles against Russian targets, threatening to fire intermediate-range ballistic missiles at U.S. and allied targets in response.

Trump has since backed off. When asked about the phone call, Trump these days won’t confirm that it ever happened—“I don’t want to say anything about that, because I don’t want to do anything that could impede the negotiation.” More significantly, he has begun making preemptive concessions in the hope of getting Putin to begin talks. He has declared that Ukraine will not be allowed to join NATO. He has suggested that Ukraine will receive less aid than it has been getting from the United States. And he has criticized Biden’s decision to allow Ukraine to use American-made ATACMS to strike Russian territory. Putin has simply pocketed all these concessions and offered nothing in return except a willingness to talk “without preconditions.” Now begin the negotiations about beginning the negotiations, while the clock ticks on Kyiv’s ability to endure.

[Read: Trump to Russia’s rescue]

So much for the idea that Putin would simply fold and accept a peace deal once he saw Donald Trump in charge. But what can Trump do now?

Quite a bit, actually. Putin can be forced to accept less than his maximal goals, especially by an American president willing to play genuine hardball. Trump’s reference in his phone call to the superiority of American power and its many troops and facilities in Europe was obviously designed to get Putin’s attention, and it might have if Putin thought Trump was actually prepared to bring all that power into the equation. The thing that Putin has most feared, and has bent over backwards to avoid provoking, is the United States and NATO’s direct involvement in the conflict. He must have been in a panic when his troops were bogged down and losing in Ukraine, vulnerable to NATO air and missile strikes. But the Biden administration refused to even threaten direct involvement, both when it knew Putin’s war plans months in advance, and after the initial invasion, when Putin’s troops were vulnerable. Trump’s supporters like to boast that one of his strengths in dealing with adversaries is his dangerous unpredictability. Hinting at U.S. forces becoming directly involved, as Trump reportedly did in his call with Putin, would certainly have confirmed that reputation. But Putin, one suspects, is not inclined to take such threats seriously without seeing real action to back them. After all, he knows all about bluffs—he paralyzed the Biden administration with them for the better part of three years.

Trump has a credibility problem, partly due to the Biden administration’s failures, but partly of his own making. Putin knows what we all know: that Trump wants out of Ukraine. He does not want to own the war, does not want to spend his first months in a confrontation with Russia, does not want the close cooperation with NATO and other allies that continuing support for Ukraine will require, and, above all, does not want to spend the first months of his new term pushing a Ukraine aid package through Congress after running against that aid. Putin also knows that even if Trump eventually changes his mind, perhaps out of frustration with Putin’s stalling, it will be too late. Months would pass before an aid bill made it through both houses and weaponry began arriving on the battlefield. Putin watched that process grind on last year, and he used the time well. He can afford to wait. After all, if eight months from now Putin feels the tide about to turn against him in the war, he can make the same deal then that Trump would like him to make now. In the meantime, he can continue pummeling the demoralized Ukrainians, taking down what remains of their energy grid, and shrinking the territory under Kyiv’s control.

[Read: How Biden made a mess of Ukraine]

No, in order to change Putin’s calculations, Trump would have to do exactly what he has not wanted to do so far: He would have to renew aid to the Ukrainians immediately, and in sufficient quantity and quality to change the trajectory on the battlefield. He would also have to indicate convincingly that he was prepared to continue providing aid until Putin either acquiesced to a reasonable deal or faced the collapse of his army. Such actions by Trump would change the timelines sufficiently to give Putin cause for concern. Short of that, the Russian president has no reason to talk about peace terms. He need only wait for Ukraine’s collapse.

Putin doesn’t care who the president of the United States is. His goal for more than two decades has been to weaken the U.S. and break its global hegemony and its leadership of the “liberal world order” so that Russia may resume what he sees as its rightful place as a European great power and an empire with global influence. Putin has many immediate reasons to want to subjugate Ukraine, but he also believes that victory will begin the unraveling of eight decades of American global primacy and the oppressive, American-led liberal world order. Think of what he can accomplish by proving through the conquest of Ukraine that even America’s No. 1 tough guy, the man who would “make America great again,” who garnered the support of the majority of American male voters, is helpless to stop him and to prevent a significant blow to American power and influence. In other words, think of what it will mean for Donald Trump’s America to lose. Far from wanting to help Trump, Putin benefits by humiliating him. It wouldn’t be personal. It would be strictly business in this “harsh” and “cynical” world.

Kurakhove, Donetsk. 2023. A 59th Brigade artillery unit fires a rocket. (Chien-Chi Chang / Magnum)

Trump faces a paradox. He and many of his most articulate advisers and supporters share Putin’s hostility to the American order, of which NATO is a central pillar. Some even share his view that the American role in upholding that order is a form of imperialism, as well as a sucker’s bet for the average American. The old America First movement of the early 1940s tried to prevent the United States from becoming a global power with global responsibilities. The thrust of the new America First is to get the United States out of the global-responsibilities business. This is where the Trumpian right and some parts of the American left converge and why some on the left prefer Trump to his “neoliberal” and “neoconservative” opponents. Trump himself is no ideologist, but his sympathies clearly lie with those around the world who share a hatred of what they perceive to be the oppressive and bullying liberal world order, people such as Viktor Orbán, Nigel Farage, Benjamin Netanyahu, and Vladimir Putin.

Trump’s problem, however, is that unlike his fellow travelers in anti-liberalism, he will shortly be the president of the United States. The liberal world order is inseparable from American power, and not just because it depends on American power. America itself would not be so powerful without the alliances and the open international economic and political system that it built after World War II to protect its long-term interests. Trump can’t stop defending the liberal world order without ceding significantly greater influence to Russia and China. Like Putin, Xi Jinping, Kim Jong Un, and Ali Khamenei see the weakening of America as essential to their own ambitions. Trump may share their hostility to the liberal order, but does he also share their desire to weaken America and, by extension, himself?

Unfortunately for Trump, Ukraine is where this titanic struggle is being waged. Today, not only Putin but Xi, Kim, Khamenei, and others whom the American people generally regard as adversaries believe that a Russian victory in Ukraine will do grave damage to American strength everywhere. That is why they are pouring money, weaponry, and, in the case of North Korea, even their own soldiers into the battle. Whatever short-term benefits they may be deriving from assisting Russia, the big payoff they seek is a deadly blow to the American power and influence that has constrained them for decades.

[Read: How Trump can win the peace in Ukraine]

What’s more, America’s allies around the world agree. They, too, believe that a Russian victory in Ukraine, in addition to threatening the immediate security of European states, will undo the American-led security system they depend on. That is why even Asian allies far from the scene of the war have been making their own contributions to the fight.

If Trump fails to support Ukraine, he faces the unpalatable prospect of presiding over a major strategic defeat. Historically, that has never been good for a leader’s political standing. Jimmy Carter looked weak when the Soviet Union invaded Afghanistan, which was of far less strategic significance than Ukraine. Henry Kissinger, despite his Nobel Prize, was drummed out of the Republican Party in the mid-1970s in no small part because of America’s failure in Vietnam and the perception that the Soviet Union was on the march during his time in office. Joe Biden ended an unpopular war in Afghanistan, only to pay a political price for doing so. Barack Obama, who moved to increase American forces in Afghanistan, never paid a political price for extending the war. Biden paid that price in part because the exit from Afghanistan was, to say the least, messy. The fall of Ukraine will be far messier—and better televised. Trump has created and cherished an aura of power and toughness, but that can quickly vanish. When the fall of Ukraine comes, it will be hard to spin as anything but a defeat for the United States, and for its president.

This was not what Trump had in mind when he said he could get a peace deal in Ukraine. He no doubt envisioned being lauded as the statesman who persuaded Putin to make a deal, saving the world from the horrors of another endless war. His power and prestige would be enhanced. He would be a winner. His plans do not include being rebuffed, rolled over, and by most of the world’s judgment, defeated.

Whether Trump can figure out where the path he is presently following will lead him is a test of his instincts. He is not on the path to glory. And unless he switches quickly, his choice will determine much more than the future of Ukraine.

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In a news conference today, President-Elect Donald Trump previewed his second-term approach to foreign policy. One theme was force: He didn’t rule out using the military to seize the Panama Canal or to acquire Greenland, and floated the idea of employing “economic force” to compel Canada to operate as an American state. Some of his ideas seem largely symbolic; at one point, he suggested renaming the Gulf of Mexico to the Gulf of America. But these statements also fall into what my colleague David Frum has called a zero-sum attitude toward the rest of the world. Either a foreign country is with Donald Trump—and ready to collaborate with American interests—or it is against him.

Trump’s transactional outlook has put foreign leaders in a difficult position—including Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau, who announced his resignation yesterday. Trump has threatened in recent months to impose 25 percent tariffs on Canada, and he’s relished taunting the nation, repeatedly making comments about Canada joining the United States, including calling the prime minister “Governor Trudeau.” Almost immediately after Trudeau announced his decision yesterday, Trump wrote on Truth Social that the Canadian prime minister was stepping down because “many people in Canada LOVE being the 51st State,” and suggested that Trudeau had resigned in direct response to the threat of tariffs.

Trump is tying himself more to Trudeau’s resignation than he should. The prime minister’s downfall was rooted in factors that have bedeviled him for years: Canada has suffered from high inflation and cost of living, and Trudeau has also faced backlash over immigration. And though the first few years of Trudeau’s term came with progressive policy wins (and international celebrity), it also produced a series of ethical and personal scandals. His approval ratings have tanked in recent months.

Trudeau’s attempts to stay on good terms with Trump, including by visiting him at Mar-a-Lago, seemed to contribute to the perception among some on his staff that he was not equipped to handle a second Trump term. In a pointed resignation letter, Deputy Prime Minister Chrystia Freeland said that she was “at odds” with her boss over the best way forward, arguing that Canada needed to take Trump’s threats more seriously and not resort to “political gimmicks.” Freeland’s resignation, which came as a surprise, only hastened the prime minister’s downward trajectory; by this month, many of his allies were pushing him to step down. He will remain in office until a new party leader is selected later this year.

In Trump’s first term, Trudeau managed to frame himself as a progressive foil to Trump. The leaders had some open differences, and Trump did impose some tariffs at the time, a narrower set than what he is threatening now. But Trump’s policy agenda, especially at the start of his term, was less about antagonizing allies than it was about domestic and culture-war issues (and shortly after he started focusing on tariffs, the coronavirus pandemic derailed everything else). But the approach Trump seems to be taking in his next term posed a new challenge for Trudeau. If Trudeau’s “domestic political position had been just a little bit stronger,” David wrote to me in an email, “he might have tried to gamble on a confrontational policy—bad for the Canadian economy, yes, but good for his own survival.” President Claudia Sheinbaum of Mexico seems to be navigating a similar dilemma; she first threatened counter-tariffs in response to Trump’s warnings, then appeared to walk this back, stating that there was no possibility of a tariff war with America.

Trump is pleased with Trudeau’s demise right now. But in reality, the president-elect is making it harder for the U.S. to work productively with Canada in the future. Cooperating closely with the Trump administration may now become a political liability in Canada, David predicted, and Trudeau’s Liberal Party will seek to embarrass any future Conservative government that gets too close to Trump. Ultimately, David warned, Trump is playing a “dangerous game.”

Related:

America’s lonely future The political logic of Trump’s international threats

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Today’s News

A New York appeals court denied Donald Trump’s request to delay the sentencing hearing in his criminal hush-money case. Florida District Judge Aileen Cannon blocked the Justice Department from releasing Special Counsel Jack Smith’s final report on his investigations into Trump’s classified-documents case and election-interference case. The House passed a bill that would require ICE to detain undocumented immigrants charged with nonviolent and minor-level crimes.

Dispatches

Work in Progress: Republicans have promised to deliver “crypto-friendly regulations” that will supposedly “bring an unheralded era of American prosperity,” writes Annie Lowrey. But the clock is ticking on a crypto crash. The Weekly Planet: Climate models can’t explain what’s happening to Earth, Zoë Schlanger writes.

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Evening Read

Illustration by Stephan Dybus

The Agony of Texting With Men

By Matthew Schnipper

My friend’s boyfriend, Joe Mullen, is a warm and sweet guy, a considerate person who loves dogs and babies. When I see him in person, once every month or two, he makes a point to ask me what I’ve been up to, how my life is going. Joe is a big music fan, and we share a love of music made by weird British people. I once got excited for him to check out an artist I thought he’d like. So I asked him for his number, and later I sent him a Spotify link to an album. “Hi :) It’s Schnipper,” I wrote. “I think u would dig this guy’s stuff.” I figured this might be the first step into a portal of greater closeness, a relationship of our own. Man to man. Except it wasn’t, because Joe did not text me back.

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Culture Break

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Explore. Adaptations of Sherlock Holmes stories are exploding now that the detective is in the public domain. Critics believe that it should have happened decades ago, Alec Nevala-Lee writes.

Examine. At the Golden Globes, nobody had much to say about the presidential election—or politics at all, Hannah Giorgis writes.

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Stephanie Bai contributed to this newsletter.

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