There is something deeply unsettling about watching an US president weaken an alliance in the hope of winning the affection of a dictator. Donald Trump’s decision to substantially reduce joint military exercises with South Korea is being presented as diplomacy, cost-cutting and perhaps even clever deal-making. It is none of those things convincingly. It is, instead, another example of an US foreign policy increasingly shaped by personal chemistry, transactional grievances and the president’s curious fascination with strongmen.
The immediate issue is the annual Ulchi Freedom Shield exercises, designed to keep US and South Korean forces prepared for the very contingency that has haunted the peninsula for generations. Trump has ordered them scaled back, with this year’s exercise shortened from 11 days to five and some field training reduced. He has cited their cost, South Korea’s refusal to assist the United States over Iran and, most revealingly, his “very good relationship” with Kim Jong Un.
That last argument should make every ally nervous. Military exercises are not declarations of war. They are rehearsals designed to prevent one. Soldiers who train together learn how to communicate, coordinate and respond under pressure. Commanders discover weaknesses before an actual crisis discovers them for everyone. Removing that preparation does not magically make North Korea less dangerous. It merely makes the other side less prepared.
And what exactly has Kim done to earn this extraordinary consideration? North Korea remains a nuclear-armed dictatorship ruled by a family dynasty that has spent decades threatening its neighbours, building missiles and maintaining one of the world's most repressive political systems. This week, as the exercises were being curtailed, Pyongyang launched more than 10 short-range ballistic missiles.
That is a rather peculiar definition of “unthreatening.” Trump appears to believe that personal diplomacy can substitute for strategic consistency. Perhaps he imagines that Kim, flattered by US restraint, will reward him with another summit and perhaps another memorable photograph. But international security is not a celebrity friendship club. Dictators may enjoy presidential attention while simultaneously calculating how much they can extract from it.
The greater damage may be done not in Pyongyang but in Seoul. South Korea has lived beside North Korea for decades. Its citizens do not need a Washington lecture about the theoretical possibility of war. They know the geography, the missiles and the history. Yet Trump has effectively told an ally that its security preparations can be reduced because Washington wants to improve relations with its adversary.
That is a remarkable inversion of alliance politics. Worse, the decision reportedly caught Seoul by surprise. An alliance cannot function on the principle that one partner announces major security changes through social media while the other discovers them afterward.
Trump may regard alliances as transactions, America provides protection, allies provide gratitude, money and obedience. But alliances are not hotel bills. They are accumulated trust. Once that trust is damaged, it cannot simply be invoiced and repaid.
There is a final irony. If Trump genuinely wants South Korea to become more responsible for its own defence, weakening the alliance may accomplish precisely the opposite of what Washington wants. Seoul could conclude that US protection is no longer dependable and accelerate efforts to build greater independent military capability, including renewed arguments for a domestic nuclear deterrent.
Kim Jong Un would understand that perfectly. The United States once built alliances to contain dictators. Trump increasingly seems willing to weaken alliances to charm them.
That is not peace through strength. It is strength converted into leverage and then spent on the wrong people.
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