For a movement that swears by isolationism, Donald Trump’s foreign behavior has always been oddly restless. “America First,” we were told, a creed of retreat, a promise to stop policing the world, to mind our own borders and not the business of others. Yet, here we are again, watching the former president lob verbal grenades into the internal affairs of countries from Argentina to Denmark, as if the self-declared champion of American withdrawal can’t resist dipping his fingers into everyone else’s stew.
There’s something almost theatrical about it, the self-styled nationalist who scolds others for interfering in U.S. politics but then takes an active, gleeful interest in foreign leaders and domestic squabbles thousands of miles away. One day it’s Argentina’s inflation crisis, the next it’s Denmark’s prime minister, who apparently offended Trump’s ego years ago by calling his idea to buy Greenland “absurd.” He hasn’t forgotten. He never does.
Trump’s version of isolationism has never truly been isolation. It’s more like selective engagement driven by personal pique, applause potential, or opportunities to posture as the global alpha. When he praises or condemns another country, it’s rarely about U.S. interests; it’s about the Trump brand. If a foreign leader mirrors his bravado or talks tough, Trump calls them “strong.” If they question him, they’re “nasty,” “weak,” or “failing.” It’s the politics of the playground, repackaged as foreign policy commentary.
His supporters might argue that his intrusions aren’t the same as traditional intervention, no troops, no treaties and no aid programs. But interference isn’t just about armies or embargoes; it’s also about rhetoric and influence. When a former U.S. president with a massive following decides to comment on another country’s elections or leadership, it carries weight, especially when that figure is actively seeking to return to power. The MAGA movement, for all its talk of staying out of global affairs, has become addicted to global attention.
This paradox reveals something deeper about the modern right-wing populist identity: it wants to reject globalism while basking in global relevance. Trump doesn’t want America to lead quietly by example; he wants America ...meaning himself, to dominate the conversation everywhere. He doesn’t reject the world; he just wants the world to revolve around him.
Take Argentina. Trump recently hailed Javier Milei, the far-right libertarian economist who rose to power promising to slash government waste and battle “socialist decay.” To Trump, Milei isn’t just a foreign leader, he’s a kindred spirit, a reflection of what Trump imagines himself to be: a truth-teller surrounded by elites too afraid to face “reality.” Never mind that Argentina’s history, economy, and political culture share little resemblance with the U.S. in Trump’s mind, every populist uprising is part of his own mythology. He can’t help but see himself in others.
Then there’s Denmark, that small, prosperous nation that had the audacity to tell him “no.” The Greenland incident still rankles him, the idea that a sovereign country refused his transactional fantasy of buying another country’s territory. He insulted the Danish prime minister, canceled a state visit, and sulked publicly. Even now, his occasional jabs at European leaders carry that lingering resentment. Isolationism, apparently, doesn’t mean forgiving or forgetting.
And yet, MAGA continues to market itself as the anti-global crusade, the movement that will “bring our soldiers home,” “end the endless wars,” and “focus on America.” It’s a seductive message, especially after decades of foreign entanglements that yielded little but exhaustion. But Trump’s version of it is hollow, because he can’t resist turning even isolationism into theater. The stage may change, from NATO summits to social media posts about South American elections but the performance remains the same: Trump the disruptor, inserting himself where he swears America doesn’t belong.
His meddling also exposes the weakness at the heart of his ideology. True isolationism requires restraint, the ability to ignore, to let the world move on without comment or interference. Trump has never demonstrated that capacity. His political style depends on conflict, on keeping the world spinning around his words. When he comments on another country’s politics, he’s not advancing American interest or policy; he’s feeding his own need for relevance and applause.
It’s not even new. As president, he praised North Korea’s Kim Jong-un as “very talented” and said he “fell in love” with the dictator’s letters. He encouraged Brexit but then insulted Britain’s leadership. He mocked Canada, berated Germany, flattered Russia, and tried to bully Mexico. Every interaction was about dominance, who bowed, who praised, who dared to challenge him. This was not isolationism; it was egoistic adventurism cloaked in nationalist rhetoric.
The irony is that many of his supporters genuinely believe in a quieter America, an end to the global policing that has drained resources and morale. But Trump’s foreign antics betray them. While they dream of a fortress America, he’s jetting around rhetorically, aligning himself with any leader who flatters him and bashing any who doesn’t. It’s less about protecting America than about protecting his own myth of strength.
So when he inserts himself into Argentina’s politics or takes another swipe at European leaders, it’s not strategy, it’s reflex. He can’t stand a stage he isn’t on. And as 2024 politics heat up, expect more of it: more “advice” to other nations, more boasts about how much their leaders “respect” him, more claims that “everyone” wants him back in the White House because “the world was safer when Trump was in charge.”
But this constant global meddling exposes the hypocrisy of MAGA isolationism. You can’t claim to reject global entanglement while constantly trying to shape the global narrative. You can’t say “America First” while making every other country’s problems a subplot in your own story. And you certainly can’t sell yourself as the champion of national sovereignty while undermining it elsewhere for attention.
Trump’s brand of isolationism, then, is not about withdrawal. It’s about replacement, replacing global cooperation with global spectacle, diplomacy with personal drama, policy with performance. It’s not that he wants to pull America out of the world; he just wants to pull the world into his orbit.
And that, perhaps, is the truest definition of Trumpism abroad, not isolation, but self-obsession on a planetary scale.
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