For decades, American foreign policy was anchored in trust: partners assumed Washington would honor its commitments, and past behavior offered a guide to future action. On that basis, the United States built a network of alliances—countries believed that if attacked, America would come to their aid. Washington signed trade agreements and peace treaties, typically regarded as an honest broker. America was never flawless, but it remained predictable and reliable.
Donald Trump was the first president to abandon that approach deliberately. His predecessors also took steps that eroded confidence, but for Trump it became a governing principle. He floated deals only to abandon them, promised to end wars while widening them. He belittled allies, then courted adversaries. The only consistent pattern was the absence of one.
He explained it bluntly: keeping friends and rivals in suspense was advantageous. It could yield quick concessions, such as pressing Europeans to boost defense spending. His approach also embraced the “madman theory”—projecting recklessness to instill fear. “Xi knows I’m crazy as hell,” he boasted, claiming it would dissuade Beijing from blockading Taiwan.
Some analysts acknowledge that such tactics produced short-term gains. But over the long run they corrode America’s standing: countries will seek protection in new alliances, the U.S. network of partners will weaken, and America will find itself more isolated, with no clear strategy for restoring lost credibility.
Reputation as the Basis of Power
American presidents have long assumed that U.S. power rests on trust. Harry Truman entered the Korean War to stop the Soviet Union. Lyndon Johnson escalated in Vietnam, fearing withdrawal would signal weakness. George W. Bush justified the “surge” in Iraq on the same grounds; Barack Obama kept troops in place to avoid undermining confidence. Yet when he refused to bomb Syria after declaring a “red line,” he was faulted for emboldening adversaries. Joe Biden faced similar criticism for the chaotic withdrawal from Afghanistan.
The reputational impact of these decisions is contested. Political scientist Daryl Press argues that resolve is judged by present interests and capabilities, not past choices. Rosella Capella Zielinski and Alex Weisiger show that reputation matters mainly in crises: states that had once backed down were twice as likely to face future challenges. Research also suggests that trust is forged through consistency and a reputation for resolve.
In Trump’s case, all these theories lose their relevance. He has cast doubt even on NATO’s Article 5, insisting that allies cannot expect protection without “payment.” He pulled the United States out of the Paris climate accord and the Iran nuclear deal, disregarding the costs. He broke America’s own agreement with Canada and Mexico. His stance toward Vladimir Putin swung from criticism to praise. His recent meeting with the Russian leader in Alaska illustrated the pattern: Trump sought to project himself as a negotiator but ceded the initiative, and many judged that he came out the loser.
For him, the political costs of undermining reliability are irrelevant. The goal is psychological pressure and quick wins. If that requires discarding commitments built over decades—so be it.
Emotions as a Political Tool
Trump’s unpredictability is no accident. He has said it outright: “We have to be unpredictable. I don’t want them to know what I’m thinking.” Yet his moves are not always strategic—they often mirror his mood swings. Researcher Todd Hall calls this “emotional diplomacy.” Fear, anger, and the desire for revenge are recurring drivers of his policy.
Many countries have experienced this firsthand. In his first term, Trump praised Justin Trudeau and signed a trade deal; in his second, he accused Canada of fueling a drug flow and imposed tariffs. With India, he showcased friendship with Narendra Modi before later lashing out. His relationship with Volodymyr Zelensky began in tension but shifted once the Ukrainian leader changed tone—Trump suddenly declared he supported Ukraine’s recovery of all its territory.
Foreign leaders have adopted different tactics. The first is flattery. Mark Rutte called Trump a “pragmatic peacemaker”; Benjamin Netanyahu spoke of his “decisive leadership”; Asim Munir even nominated him for a Nobel. But when everyone flatters, the advantage diminishes. Others therefore opt for confrontation: Lula da Silva and Narendra Modi responded forcefully. Yet this rarely made Trump yield and often drew criticism at home.
A third approach is “hedging”: cultivating ties with both the United States and its rivals. Latin American countries have expanded trade with Asia and Europe, Gulf monarchies balance between Washington and Beijing, and Emmanuel Macron insists on “strategic autonomy.”
In the end, these methods yield only temporary gains. Trump’s stance toward the world shifts by the day and is nearly impossible to predict.
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Tactical Gains and Strategic Risks
Trump’s unpredictability has at times produced results. Strikes against Iran impeded its nuclear ambitions. His wavering over military retaliation sowed uncertainty in both Tel Aviv and Tehran. In the end, he intervened to shed the image of a weak leader.
He also succeeded in pressing NATO allies. For years U.S. presidents had urged Europe to raise defense spending, but Trump, by casting doubt on Article 5, forced the issue: at the 2025 Hague summit, allies pledged to raise defense budgets to 5% of GDP. Similarly with tariffs: by threatening new duties, he secured concessions from the EU, including a $750 billion deal to purchase American energy.
But the durability of these gains is doubtful. NATO rests on the guarantee of collective defense, which Trump has undermined. Europe is investing more in security but at the same time accelerating its drive for autonomy. The same applies to tariffs: concessions were extracted, yet Europe is intent on reducing dependence on the United States. Washington’s influence will wane, and the international system will grow less stable.
American politicians have voiced similar warnings. Even if Trump’s successor shares his outlook, they will likely strive for greater predictability. Yet restoring trust will be hard. A state’s reputation extends beyond a single leader. When a president repeatedly breaks promises, doubts inevitably spread to the political system as a whole.
The next leader will inherit allies who both flatter and fear, adversaries testing America’s resolve, and a system in which Washington’s word carries less weight. In a multipolar world, the United States risks having fewer partners and more opponents. Even without Trump this trajectory was inevitable, but he has hastened it.
History will most likely record that Trump traded trust for chaos, leaving the United States less and less believed.