During his first term, two US journalists reportedly interviewed Donald Trump at Mar-a-Lago for a book they were researching on his first presidency. Towards the end, they asked an unusual question: why did he want to buy Greenland? Trump’s response was revealing in its simplicity. He liked making deals. That was what he was good at. When pressed on why such an idea did not occur to others, he replied that he was a real estate developer; if handed a map, he would instinctively point to the prime properties and want to acquire them. At the time, the remark was treated as a curiosity – another eccentric aside in an unconventional presidency. In retrospect, it reads less like a joke and more like a governing philosophy.
In his second term, the metaphor has hardened into intent. After Venezuela, Greenland has re-emerged not as a speculative purchase but as an object of strategic desire. The Panama Canal may be next. Senior aides have spoken openly of a world where power determines outcomes and restraint is a luxury. The language is blunt: sovereignty is secondary; strength is decisive. What once sounded like a developer’s boast now manifests as a doctrine. The world order is no longer approached as statesmanship shaped by history, law, or diplomacy. Trump thinks like a developer-deal maker surveying land – assessing location, leverage, and value. In that worldview, territory is not sacred; it is underoptimised. Borders are not inviolable; they are negotiable. Resistance is an obstacle to be overcome, not a legitimacy to be respected. The danger is not merely rhetorical. The modern international order – however flawed – rests on a fragile consensus: that borders cannot be changed by force, that sovereignty is not for sale, and that power must be constrained by rules. When the most powerful state in the system begins to speak as though these principles are optional, the entire structure weakens.
For smaller states, the implications are existential. Just as ordinary citizens and local governments often find themselves helpless against land sharks backed by money and muscle, weak nations risk becoming prey in a global marketplace where might masquerades as entitlement. Strategic geography, mineral wealth, and location suddenly matter more than law, consent, or history. What makes this moment particularly unsettling is that the usual mechanisms of restraint no longer function. The United Nations Security Council is paralysed when a permanent member is the transgressor. The General Assembly can express outrage but cannot enforce compliance. Regional alliances are ineffective without the concurrence of the great powers. Diplomacy, in its classical sense, presumes shared rules; when rules are rejected, diplomacy becomes theatre rather than persuasion.
So, what can the world do when the referee is also the strongest player? The uncomfortable answer is that there is no immediate institutional remedy. Moral condemnation will not deter a power that has decided moral authority is dispensable. Legal arguments collapse in the face of vetoes. Collective security arrangements falter when their anchor state becomes unpredictable. If pushback is possible at all, it will not come from law or declarations. It will come from structure, markets, and time. The one arena where American power is substantial but not absolute is the global economy. Here, US dominance rests less on coercion than on confidence. The dollar’s status as the world’s reserve currency is sustained not by force, but by trust – trust in American stability, predictability, and institutional restraint. A real estate approach to geopolitics corrodes that trust.
The response, therefore, will not take the form of confrontation, but of hedging. It is already visible if one looks carefully. Trade settlements are slowly diversifying away from the dollar. Central banks are adjusting reserve compositions. Alternative financial and payment systems – once dismissed as symbolic – are being quietly developed. None of this amounts to rebellion. It is insurance against volatility. Similarly, strategic autonomy is becoming a global preoccupation. States are reducing dependency in critical domains – energy, defence procurement, technology, supply chains. Exposure is being managed. This is not ideological resistance; it is risk management.
The real peril of dealing with a real estate president is not that he wants to take territory. It is that he treats the world as a collection of assets rather than a community of peoples. In doing so, he accelerates a transition already underway: from a world organised around American leadership to one organised around American unpredictability. Small countries will suffer first, just as small landowners do. But they will also adapt – through coalitions, diversification, and cautious disengagement. The map will not be redrawn overnight. It will be redrawn slowly, through the withdrawal of consent.
Empires do not collapse when they are challenged. They collapse when others stop believing in them. That, perhaps, is the most enduring principle of all.
The writer is the former civil servant enjoys traversing the myriad spaces of ideas, thinkers, and books.
Disclaimer: The views expressed above are the author's own. They do not necessarily reflect the views of DH.