It seems that every few years, Donald Trump finds a way to remind the world that his understanding of international alliances is less about diplomacy and more about deal-making. His latest suggestion that NATO should consider expelling Spain because of its lagging defense spending isn’t just a policy proposal. It’s a symptom of a deeper illusion that NATO somehow belongs to the United States, or worse, to him personally.
This isn’t a new strain of thinking for Trump. Ever since his first campaign in 2016, he’s treated alliances like golf courses, judged not by their strategic value or shared history, but by how much profit they seem to generate. NATO, in his view, is not a collective defense pact but a kind of corporate enterprise, where member nations are delinquent customers and the United States is the creditor-in-chief.
The notion that he could “throw out” a sovereign country like Spain from NATO is, of course, absurd. Membership in NATO isn’t subject to the whims of one leader, no matter how loud his voice or how large his social media following. The alliance operates by consensus, not command. Yet Trump’s comment reveals something larger than a lack of understanding, it shows his persistent desire to reshape global cooperation into a system of personal leverage.
To him, NATO is not an institution born from the ashes of World War II to safeguard democratic nations against authoritarian aggression. It’s a tool, a shiny lever to pressure countries into buying more American weapons, to bend governments into compliance, and to perform the ultimate political trick: turning shared security into a business transaction.
Let’s not forget that Spain, while spending less on defense than some NATO targets, contributes significantly to alliance missions and operations. Spanish troops have served in Afghanistan, the Baltics, and across the Mediterranean. Madrid hosts the Rota naval base, a critical hub for U.S. and NATO operations. In short, Spain pulls its weight where it matters most, through cooperation, not competition. But for Trump, contribution isn’t measured in service or sacrifice; it’s measured in dollars, preferably ones that flow into U.S. arms contracts.
His argument about “fairness” in NATO spending has always sounded more like a salesman’s pitch than a statesman’s concern. “Pay your share or face consequences,” he warns, as though he’s collecting rent rather than maintaining an alliance. Beneath this rhetoric lies a familiar pattern: using intimidation to secure financial gain for the American defense industry, an industry that thrives on fear and friction.
Trump has often bragged that under his watch, European nations increased their defense budgets, claiming credit as though he’d closed a billion-dollar business deal. In reality, the trend began before his presidency, driven by rising global tensions and Russia’s aggression. But Trump turned a collective response into a personal victory lap, conflating international policy with self-promotion.
His latest jab at Spain fits neatly into that same narrative. The point isn’t truly about defense spending; it’s about demonstrating dominance. In Trump’s world, alliances exist to be exploited. If they can’t be monetized, they can be mocked. His threats against Spain aren’t meant to reform NATO, they’re meant to remind his followers, both domestic and international, that he sees himself as the boss of the free world.
The irony, of course, is that such behavior weakens the very alliance he claims to be improving. NATO’s strength lies not in coercion, but in consensus. It thrives on trust, not transactionalism. When a leader treats allies like business partners and friendship like a ledger, the foundation of mutual defense begins to crack.
Imagine, for a moment, the message this sends to adversaries. Russia and China don’t need to undermine NATO if Western leaders do it themselves. When Trump publicly questions the loyalty or worthiness of member states, he hands propaganda victories to those who would love nothing more than to see the alliance unravel. His “America First” bravado too often translates into “Allies Last,” a dangerous posture in an era when collective security is more crucial than ever.
There’s another dimension to this illusion, the personal one. Trump has always conflated the power of the presidency with personal ownership. To him, the Oval Office was not a position of stewardship but a platform for brand management. NATO, like the United Nations, the G7, or even the U.S. military, becomes part of his imagined empire. It’s not about serving the American people; it’s about asserting the Trump brand on the global stage.
His talk of expelling Spain, then, is less a policy stance than a performance. It feeds into his base’s narrative that the world is taking advantage of America and that only a strongman businessman can fix it. But this “fix” is pure illusion. You cannot negotiate loyalty, you cannot invoice trust, and you cannot fire an ally.
What makes this rhetoric so insidious is its appeal to simplicity. The global system is complex, alliances, treaties, shared intelligence, and interwoven economies don’t lend themselves to catchy slogans or Twitter insults. But Trump thrives on simplification. “They don’t pay.” “We lose.” “Kick them out.” These phrases reduce the complexity of global cooperation to a binary of winners and losers, perfectly suited for soundbites but deadly for diplomacy.
If Trump truly believes NATO is a business, then he misunderstands what makes it powerful. NATO is not profitable in the traditional sense; it’s profitable in the sense that it has preserved peace among member nations for seventy-five years. It’s an insurance policy, not an investment portfolio. The dividends are measured in stability and deterrence, not dollars.
And yet, here we are again, watching Trump flirt with dismantling what generations of leaders painstakingly built. His disdain for multilateralism is not rooted in strategy but in ego. The more global cooperation succeeds, the less he can claim sole credit. The more NATO acts collectively, the less room there is for his performative bravado.
In the end, the real danger isn’t that Trump could expel Spain, he can’t. The danger is that his rhetoric erodes the faith and unity that NATO depends on. When allies begin to question whether the United States views them as equals or as clients, trust begins to rot. And once trust is gone, no amount of spending targets or defense contracts can restore it.
Trump’s illusion of ownership over NATO is a mirror of his broader worldview: that power is something to possess, not something to share. But alliances, by definition, are shared enterprises. They require humility, patience, and the willingness to see beyond short-term profit. Those virtues may be alien to Trump, but they remain essential to the survival of the free world.
If he wants to run NATO like a business, he should remember one crucial fact: businesses can go bankrupt. Alliances, when neglected, can too. And if NATO ever collapses under the weight of self-interest, it won’t be because of Spain’s defense budget, it will be because one man mistook leadership for ownership, and partnership for profit.
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