There was a time, long ago, when Americans pretended to believe in things—freedom, democracy, justice, the idea that if some leering despot charged across a border with guns blazing, it was our solemn duty to stand in his way and give him a good thrashing. There was a time when this country, for all its hypocrisies, at least had the good manners to keep them partially concealed beneath a lace doily of moral justification.
That time is gone.
The illusion is shattered, the mask discarded, and in its place we have a grotesque spectacle—a howling mob of triumphant ignoramuses, newly crowned in their own minds as the masters of the world, gloating in the destruction of whatever flickering principles once animated this republic. The old America—the one that made at least a passing effort to oppose murderous strongmen—has been replaced by something new: a gibbering chorus of third-rate Caesars, convinced that history began the day they were born and that anything which occurred before their arrival on this earth is irrelevant at best and suspicious at worst.
At the center of this circus, of course, stands Trump. He has returned, as such men always do, on a tide of grievance and dull-witted resentment, having once again triumphed over his most formidable enemy: a woman with an uninspiring campaign. Trump did not win so much as he festered his way back—like mildew, or a preventable disease a nation refuses to vaccinate against. His victory was not proof of strength but proof of rot. And now, drunk on his own vindication, he is doing what every tinpot despot does when given power: punishing the weak.
Ukraine, bloodied and battered after three years of war, was expecting support. It received, instead, the great golden boot of American indifference, pressed firmly against its throat. The war, Trump tells us, could have been avoided—not because Russia shouldn’t have invaded, but because Ukraine should have known better than to resist. They should have understood that standing up for their survival was, in fact, the greatest of all sins: disrespect.
And here we arrive at the central doctrine of the Trumpoisie, the creed that has replaced the old American ideal of earned respect: Respect is not something one deserves. It is something one demands.
In this new America, respect does not come from moral decency, sacrifice, wisdom, or courage. It is not the result of noble actions or just causes. It is not something given to those who stand for what is right. In this new America, respect is not earned—it is extorted. It does not flow from courage or principle, but from brute force and the ability to humiliate others.
It is why Trump believes Putin must be respected—not because he is good, but because he is powerful. It is why Trump himself must be respected—not because he is wise, but because he shouts, bullies, and sues his way to the throne. It is why the Trumpoisie—a bubbling gumbo of goons, grifters, and God-fearing degenerates—now shriek in unison that Zelensky, for all his courage, must be humiliated and cast aside. Not because he lacks decency or righteousness, but because he has not groveled.
This is the new American worldview, and it is, to put it plainly, the worldview of the feudal idiot.
The occupant of the Oval Office, having decided that the Ukrainian President’s insufficient trembling is an affront, now brandishes the ultimate instrument of retribution: a brazen threat to withdraw the big umbrella unless the smaller man signs on the dotted line—bestowing on American business interests a kindly chunk of Ukraine’s minerals in exchange for being spared the miseries of an unmitigated onslaught.
One might expect that Trump, in throwing Ukraine to the wolves, was merely shifting American loyalties toward the Russian strongman. But that would be a misreading of the scene. Trump is not changing sides—he was never on Ukraine’s to begin with. He has always fancied himself a made man in the transnational cartel of oligarchs, a fellow untouchable in the league of unaccountable bastards. And so, when Zelensky refused to grovel—not just before Trump, but before Putin as well—he didn’t just violate some tedious diplomatic formality. He committed a crime against the code. He insulted not just one despot, but the entire brotherhood of power.
This is why Trump’s rebuke of Zelensky took on that peculiar tone of schoolyard exasperation, the weary chastisement of a boss explaining the order of things to an impudent underling: Do you not understand how the world works, little man? You didn’t just disrespect me. You disrespected us. You disrespected a fellow boss, a fellow billionaire, a fellow titan of unchecked power. Do you think that will stand?
And in true Trumpian fashion, this moral tantrum served its secondary function: deflection. His betrayal of Ukraine could not be seen for what it was—an act of petty authoritarian self-interest—so he framed it as the inevitable consequence of Zelensky’s own failure. It was not Trump who had thrown Ukraine to the wolves, but Zelensky himself, for foolishly refusing to kneel before them. It was not Trump who had abandoned Ukraine, but Ukraine that had, through its insolence, made abandonment necessary.
The bully, ever fragile, is always the real victim.
Hence, we have the spectacle of two mightily offended billionaires—one in Washington, one in Moscow—now pondering how best to discipline that uppity fellow in Kyiv, who has had the nerve to plead for the continued survival of his country.
To be sure, cynics among us will ask: “Is this not simply extortion, orchestrated on the grand stage?” But hush your prattle, dear cynic, for the President is quick to remind us that he must be respected by virtue of his office and wealth, and the same courtesy belongs to his grizzled comrade in the Kremlin—never mind that both men’s moral stock is, at best, questionable. If the Ukrainian refuses to pay the customary tribute of obsequious flattery, he shall be punished, and no amount of talk about a “bullying dictatorship” or “imperiled sovereignty” will change the boss’s mind.
Indeed, the logic from the West Wing runs thus: Why invest American treasure in defending a leader who can’t even muster the basic courtesy of bootlicking? Why uphold decades of tradition in thwarting dictators if that tradition fails to feed the hungry ego of the Commander-in-Chief? After all, 80 years of standing firm against strongmen is small potatoes compared to the cosmic significance of our President’s personal feelings.
And so the entire moral scaffolding that once underpinned our posture on the global stage collapses in an instant—toppled by an ego so tremulous that it demands constant reassurance of its grandeur. The Ukrainians, who neglected to dispatch a brass band of compliments, are now singled out for a lesson in the new brand of Realpolitik: if you cannot stroke the big cheese’s vanity, prepare for the avalanche of his pique.
The Death of Principle, the Rise of the Bully-Worshipers
It was once assumed that Americans—though occasionally inclined toward superstition, vulgarity, and bellowing displays of self-congratulation—at least maintained a collective memory that stretched further back than a goldfish’s. It was believed, however foolishly, that a people who had spent the 20th century engaged in the unpleasant business of stopping tyrants might remember why they did it. That they might recall, however dimly, that when a certain kind of man with a certain kind of mustache decides to redraw the map with blood, it is generally advisable to stop him before he gets too ambitious.
But this was a miscalculation.
What we now know is that a large portion of the American people have, in fact, achieved total emancipation from history. They are free, at last, from all responsibility to remember anything that happened before last Tuesday. When confronted with the idea that past wars might teach us something about present wars, they scoff and say, “Who cares? That was before my time.” When reminded that the world once paid an unspeakable price for allowing dictators to swallow smaller nations, they yawn and change the channel.
It is the attitude of the dumbest farmhand in the village, who, having heard that his great-grandfather was killed by a rattlesnake, announces that he personally has never seen a rattlesnake, and therefore he assumes they do not exist.
Thus, when Trump, in his infinite grievance, declares that Ukraine must fend for itself, he is not met with outrage. He is met with cheers. And when he sneers that Zelensky is “disrespectful” for fighting for his own country, the howling mass nods along.
Why? Because Zelensky, as they whisper among themselves, but also publicly on X and Truth Social, is Jewish.
And here we have the other revolting ingredient in this repulsive stew: not only does the Trumpoisie believe that the weak deserve what they get, they also believe, in the dimmest, murkiest corners of their minds, that perhaps Ukraine deserved this war because their leader, inconveniently, belongs to the wrong tribe.
The antisemitism that oozes through this crowd is not the fiery, public, torch-wielding sort. It is something dumber, lazier, a kind of half-conscious grumbling that cannot explain itself but is sure that Zelensky is “shifty,” that Ukraine “has secrets,” that, at bottom, there is something about the man that they just don’t trust. It is the type of antisemitism that does not think but feels, that does not articulate but resents. And so, as Trump throws Ukraine to the wolves, the Trumpoisie shrugs and mutters that maybe, just maybe, they had it coming.
The Collapse of American Dignity
And so, with a single tantrum from a single man, America’s 80-year tradition of standing against conquest crumbles into the dust. In its place, we have the Oligarch’s Code: Might makes right. The strong are entitled to do as they please. The weak are weak because they deserve to be.
It is, at last, the total realization of Trump’s own philosophy: that those who win deserve to win, those who lose deserve to lose, and the only true sin is failing to debase yourself before those in power.
That this doctrine has found such willing adherents in America is, at first glance, shocking. But upon further examination, perhaps it is inevitable. This is, after all, a country where large swaths of the population still believe that wealth equals intelligence, that morality is a hindrance to success, and that history is nothing more than a series of anecdotes used to justify whatever prejudices they already held.
The only remaining question is whether anyone with a functioning brain, a working memory, and a shred of decency will have the will to stand up and say: Enough.
For the moment, that answer is unclear. What is clear, however, is this: America, having spent a century fashioning itself as the sworn enemy of tyrants, has now revealed what it always feared to admit.
America now does not oppose tyrants.
It envies them.
Copyright © 2025 by Paul Henry Smith
