In this ECPS interview, Professor Daniel Treisman examines how Trump’s political style intersects with the logic of informational autocracy and democratic backsliding. Drawing on “Informational Autocracy,” he argues that contemporary authoritarianism often relies less on mass repression than on “controlling narratives, selective coercion, and performance legitimacy.” Trump’s pressure on comedians, broadcasters, universities, and law firms, Professor Treisman suggests, reflects a familiar “inclination” toward intimidation—yet “the outcome was different,” because democratic institutions can still generate pushback. The core issue, he stresses, is whether US checks and civil society can withstand “executive aggrandizement”—the drive to “go beyond the formal or traditional powers of the office and consolidate control.”
In an era marked by democratic backsliding, populist leadership, and the reconfiguration of informational power, the resilience of liberal democracy has become a central concern for scholars and policymakers alike. In this wide-ranging interview with the European Center for Populism Studies (ECPS), Professor Daniel Treisman—Professor of Political Science at the University of California, Los Angeles, and Research Associate at the National Bureau of Economic Research—offers a nuanced and empirically grounded assessment of how Donald Trump’s political strategy intersects with the logic of informational autocracy, executive aggrandizement, and democratic fragility.
Drawing on his influential work Informational Autocracy (co-authored with Sergei Guriev), Professor Treisman situates Trump’s threats against comedians, journalists, universities, and other institutional actors within a broader global pattern in which contemporary autocrats rely less on mass repression than on “controlling narratives, selective coercion, and performance legitimacy.” While Trump’s behavior often resembles that of informational autocrats, Professor Treisman emphasizes a crucial distinction: “So, while the inclination is similar, the outcome was different.” Episodes such as the pressure placed on late-night comedian Jimmy Kimmel reveal Trump’s “tendency to expand his power and to overstep traditional limits,” but also the continued—if uneven—capacity of democratic institutions and civil society to push back.
At the core of the interview lies a central analytical question: whether Trump’s conduct represents a failed or incomplete attempt to translate informational autocracy into a still-competitive democratic system. As Professor Treisman puts it, “The real question… is how resilient democratic societies and civil societies in democratic settings can prove to be in response to a leader who seeks what is often called executive aggrandizement.” This concern animates Professor Treisman’s discussion of selective intimidation, signaling repression, and the targeting of elite institutions—strategies designed to “score some visible victories” and deter broader resistance without resorting to outright censorship.
The interview also explores how new media ecosystems and the rise of a tech “broligarchy” complicate classical models of informational control. Professor Treisman highlights the hybrid arrangements created by platform ownership, algorithmic amplification, and strategic alignment between populist leaders and tech elites, noting that these dynamics allow political actors to undermine epistemic authority “without overt censorship.” While Trump has aggressively pressured legacy media through litigation and regulatory threats, his relationship with major technology firms remains more transactional and indirect—distinct from the tightly coordinated media control characteristic of full informational autocracies.
Beyond the US case, Professor Treisman offers comparative insights into charismatic populism in Latin America, bureaucratized authoritarianism in Russia and Hungary, and the structural uncertainties surrounding democratic decline. Reflecting on Democracy by Mistake, he cautions against deterministic readings of democratic erosion, stressing that “mistakes can be forces for good” as well as for authoritarian empowerment. In closing, Professor Treisman urges analytical humility: distinguishing between cyclical stress and durable authoritarian transformation, he argues, remains inherently uncertain, as history “does not come with labels that are easy to read.”
Taken together, this interview provides a sober, theoretically informed reflection on Trumpism, informational power, and the fragile boundaries between democratic contestation and authoritarian drift.
In “From Farce to Tragedy,” the author traces the first year of Donald Trump’s second term as a turning point in American political life. What once carried elements of chaos and dark comedy has hardened into something more deliberate and consequential. Trump’s return to power, framed by him as total vindication, has brought an unprecedented expansion of executive authority, the systematic weakening of institutions, and the normalization of personal loyalty over law. Drawing on sharp observations from leading journalists and scholars, the piece shows how emergency powers, executive orders, and transactional politics have reshaped governance at home and abroad. The result is not renewed greatness, but a spectacle of democratic erosion—an American tragedy unfolding without the comfort of a happy ending.
By Cemal Tunçdemir*
“What the American public always wants is a tragedy with a happy ending,” the American critic William Dean Howells, who was a central figure in Gilded Age American literature, once said. The second coming of Donald J. Trump to the US Presidency was not an accident of fate, nor even absurdity of democracy. It was a sequel demanded by majority of American voters that having once liked the “first season” and asked upon longer run. The real tragedy was not that Trump was Trump, that was obvious from the start, but that so many Americans mistook his loudness for conviction and saw his challenge to the rules as bravery.
“The first time around, there was something almost thrilling about Donald Trump as president,”explains American historian and journalist Thomas Frank, “The respectable world came together against him with a gratifying unanimity: the legacy media, the nonprofits, the universities, the think tanks, the tech sector, the intelligence community. Insulting this imbecile became the most rewarding pastime on earth.” By contrast, according to Frank, for much of 2025, the feeling was darker. “Absolute despair” if you will.
The difference in the second term wasn’t just the lack of the thrilling or accidental comedic elements of the first term. Donald Trump viewed his return to the White House as a profound vindication. In his telling, his four years of exile had proven that he was right about everything. About economy, about “stolen” election, about press, about elites, about universities, about institutions. This absolute conviction liberated him from all doubt, and all rules.
Trump’s unrestrained mind is on full display in a recent letter he sent to the Prime Minister of Norway as he wrote, “Considering your Country decided not to give me the Nobel Peace Prize for having stopped 8 Wars PLUS, I no longer feel an obligation to think purely of Peace.”
“Donald Trump now genuinely lives in a different reality,”observes Anne Applebaum, “one in which neither grammar nor history nor the normal rules of human interaction now affect him.”
“Trump 2.0 is Trump 1.0 in some ways but on steroids,”compares Peter Baker, New York Times’s chief White House correspondent who have covered six US presidents, including Trump in his first term, “A lot of the things that he talked about doing or exploring in the first term -or tried but failed to do or was dissuaded from doing-he’s now doing and in spades.”
Unlike the first term, in the beginning of his second term, there was less confusion, more intent. And more so preparation. Trump has rolled out many of the Project 2025, 900-page Heritage Foundation-led blueprint, he once claimed he has nothing to do with. Many of Trump’s executive orders reshaping the government were outlined in this right-wing policy plan. From the early days of his tenure, Donald Trump began advancing Project 2025’s primary objective: the “deconstruction of the administrative state,” a term coined by his former chief strategist, Steve Bannon. He has expanded the scope of executive power in ways unparalleled in modern history.
By the end of 2025, some 317,000 federal employees were out of the government, according to the Office of Personnel Management. This was the largest reduction of the federal workforce in American history. He even fired members and officials from various independent and bipartisan boards, agencies, and commissions, including dozens of inspectors general, key watchdogs for waste, fraud, and abuse across all government.
One of the things Trump learned was that it matters who is around him, Peter Baker observes, “Many of the people he surrounded himself with in his first term viewed their jobs as keeping him from going off the rails, from doing things they thought were reckless -or illegal even. This term, he’s surrounded by people who not only agree with him but are enabling him and empowering him and want to serve his desires.”
One of the Trump’s most daring test the limits of his presidential power was claiming powers that have typically resides with Congress. In his first year, executive orders have eclipsed actual legislation. Trump has signed 147 executive orders, setting a record for the most signed in any president’s first 100 days of office. By contrast, he has signed only five bills into law, a record low for the first 100 days.
What is truly worrying is that his blatant misuse of emergency powers, which are meant to temporarily increase executive authority only during urgent and rapidly developing situations. The Brennan Center has identified 123 different laws could be triggered by a presidential emergency declaration. Because these powers are extensive, strong safeguards are needed to prevent misuse. Since The National Emergencies Act lacks safeguards, a president can declare an emergency by executive order and renew it every year indefinitely. Congress may vote to terminate an emergency, but only with a veto-proof majority. This flaw was exposed when Trump declared a fake emergency to fund a border wall Congress had rejected.
As a striking example, instead of traditional tariff statutes (such as Section 301 or Section 232) he invoked the International Emergency Economic Powers Act (IEEPA), which is not a general trade statute, to impose sweeping import taxes. To justify invoking the IEEPA, Trump Administration declared “trade deficits” a national emergency. And this audacity has led to a legal drama that has now reached the Supreme Court.
The question is why the White House team ever invoked IEEPA at all, instead of traditional trade laws? The answer is not only that IEEPA provides the President broad authority to respond to a declaration of national emergency. The real answer probably lies in “political anthropology rather than jurisprudence,”writes Gillian Tett, “Trump’s team has a power structure more akin to a royal court than anything that adheres to 21st-century norms.” He always wants to have king-like powers, and his team is looking for loopholes that would allow him to acquire those powers.
This is the posture of a man who has looked at the institutions meant to restrain him -the courts, the lawmakers, the prosecutors- have done nothing and he concluded they are toothless. After the surviving of the fallout of January 6, five years ago, he now moves with the confidence of someone who believes he is beyond the reach of the old rules. He wants a power that is feared and given whatever it wants. For this reason, some critics are no longer debating policy; they are discussing a change in the American regime. But a change to what?
“There is an answer, and it is not classic authoritarianism—nor is it autocracy, oligarchy, or monarchy. Trump is installing what scholars call patrimonialism.” Jonathan Rauch answered the question in his now famous article. “Patrimonialism is less a form of government than a style of governing,” he wrote, “It is not defined by institutions or rules; rather, it can infect all forms of government by replacing impersonal, formal lines of authority with personalized, informal ones.”
The Art of the Deal-Making Presidency
“Nice woman but she does not listen.”
After a reportedly tense phone call in early August, President Trump publicly criticized Swiss President Karin Keller-Sutter with this condescending remark and quickly raised tariffs on Swiss imports to a punishing 39 percent. Couple of days later when two Swiss federal ministers and several government executives flew over to DC, but they got nowhere near Trump. Following months all the effort of traditional statecraft couldn’t resolved months of standoff. What ultimately break the deadlock was not diplomacy or policy talks. It was something shinier.
In early November, small delegation of Swiss titans -all male and, all billionaires- sidestepped the usual diplomatic channels, arriving at the Oval Office with a gold-plated Rolex desk clock and a 1-kilogram engraved gold bar. Before the guests had even leaved the White House, Trump shared a social media post announcing progress. Within the days, the previously urgent “national emergency” posed by Swiss trade deficit seemed to lose its urgency, and tariffs were trimmed to a comparatively modest 15 percent.
As that meeting so strikingly demonstrated, access to the American leader is no longer earned through shared values or sound policy. It is now won through the language of the deal and, above all, the weight of gold.
Trump received gold coated replica of a royal crown from the Silla Kingdom from South Korea President, a golden pager from Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, a gold-plated golf club from Japan, a golden boxing belt from Ukraine. Even Apple CEO Tim Cook presented Trump with a special glass disc on a 24-karat gold base in August 2025 and secured an exemption from 100% tariff on imported semiconductors. Apple gift was a favorite for Trump in the Oval Office until the Swiss came to town. “It was tough to beat Apple, but the Swiss did it,” one administration official told Axios.
Trump even kept original 24-karat gold Club World Cup Trophy for himself so FIFA had to give the winner team, Chelsea, a replica. Not only did he receive the trophy, but he was also awarded a gold medal, which FIFA presents to the players of the winning team.
“The golden age” that Trump promised in his second inaguration speech, has never seemed more literal. He wasn’t only for his trademark “Midas touch” flow, he seeks profit in every policy decision he makes. As Jonathan Rauch explained, in patrimonialism, every policy the president values is considered his own personal property. Some experts call it ‘pay-to-play,’ where foreign governments, businesses, and wealthy donors gaining political and financial advantages such as relaxed regulations and federal contracts by investing in the Trump Organization, supporting MAGA causes or by engaging in excessive flattery.
Trump Towers have been proposed from Damascus to Belgrade. Trump hotels or Trump Resorts are being built in many major cities around the world, primarily in Asia and Africa. As Amy Sorkin puts it Trump has made it clear that no gift is too much for him -even, and maybe especially, someone else’s Nobel Peace Prize medal.
Even presidential pardon power has become big business. In his first-year Trump has pardoned an unusually high numberof wealthy people accused of financial crimes, including money laundering, bank fraud and wire fraud. Wealthy individuals pay millions to lobbying and consulting firms to bring their cases to Trump’s attention.
Trump pardoned cryptocurrency mogul Changpeng Zhao, months after Zhao’s company has struck a $2 billions deal with World Liberty Financial, the Trump family’s new crypto venture. In another revealing example, executives of Wells Fargo Bank, instead of paying the $8.5 million fine imposed for fraudulent transactions, donated $1 million to Trump’s inauguration ceremony in January, and two months later, their fine was reduced to a mere $150,000.
In Trump’s World, Europe Is the Villain
“The foreign policy of President Donald Trump combines the worst of isolationism with the worst of interventionism in a uniquely disastrous way,”says Thomas Reese. He began his presidency as a firm isolationist, but “America First” quickly turned into a wrecking ball -a license to upend America’s role in the world, discarding rules and norms with little restraint.
“I never thought I’d feel nostalgia for the Iraq War,” said Nesrine Malik in The Guardian, but it turns out that the runup to that war, when American Administration did at least strive to convince the Congress and the world of the righteousness of its cause, was the “good old days.” The US removed Venezuela leader Nicolas Maduro based solely on national interest, bypassing all domestic, international authorization or public consent. Trump didn’t just break the rules it showed there aren’t any.
“No autocrat likes to see one of their own seized, shackled and renditioned,” wrote Adrian Blomfield in The Daily Telegraph. However, China and Russia are unlikely to be troubled by Maduro’s removal. They may see it as evidence of the US stepping back globally and focusing on regional dominance. A world divided into spheres of influence, where powerful states act freely, could benefit Moscow and Beijing, as noted by Gideon Rachman in the FT.
Even Trump administration’s new National Security Strategy (NSS) plan within its 33-page framework argues that Russia and China are US peers or potential friends. Instead, it points the finger at a surprising villain: Europe. NSS argues that the real danger isn’t Russian tanks or Chinese factories, but rather the “erasure” of European culture caused by mass immigration and the power of the European Union bureaucracy. The liberal international order, already fragile, found itself mocked not only by adversaries but by its former custodian.
New Civil War and End of Forth Republic?
“Trump isn’t interested in fighting a new Cold War. He wants a new civilizational war,” wrote Thomas Friedman. Trump’s National Security Strategy language unlike any previous surveys, he observes, “It reveals a deep truth about this second Trump administration: how much it came to Washington to fight America’s third civil war, not to fight the West’s new cold war.” According to Friedman, after the Civil War of the 1860s and the second major civil struggle of the 1960s civil rights movement, America is now experiencing its third civil war. “This one, like the first two, is over the question ‘Whose country is this anyway?’ This civil war has been less violent than the first two—but it is early.”
Although the United States has operated under a single constitution, each civil war has produced a new political order, a new republic in all but name. For that reason, a “third civil war” would not just be another crisis; it would signal the end of what some analysts call the “Fourth American Republic.”
As Jamelle Bouie pointed, the Civil War and its aftermath constituted the Second Republic. The Third Republic came into this world through the overwhelming victory of the Democrats in the election of early 1930’s. The legacies of the Third Republic had lived on when the fourth republic began with the achievements of the 1960’s Civil Rights Movement, which included a newly open door to the world. “This was an American republic built on multiracial pluralism. A nation of natives and of immigrants from around the world. Of political parties that strove to represent a diverse cross-section of society,” wrote Bouie, “It’s this America that they’re fighting to destroy with their attacks on immigration, civil rights laws, higher education and the very notion of a pluralistic society of equals.”
A Year of Revelation
The first year of Trump’s second term offered Americans not greatness, but clarity. It showed what happens when empty and noisy demagogic rhetoric substitutes for vision and when power outruns principles. His return to power did not resolve the contradictions of Trumpism; it intensified them. Nationalism that depended on global markets. Capitalism claims to be self-regulating, yet in reality it is owned by the state. Law invoked as rhetoric and rejected as restraint. Freedom of speech demanded abroad and denied at home. Declared himself ‘Peace President’ and change the Department of the Defense name to Department of War.
His supporters too—with their enduring appetite for loud certainty over quiet competence, find themselves caught in a season of paradox. Cheering the dismantling of the very institutions that once established the order they now claim to want again. They back tariffs, immigration, and social spending policies that heavily impact rural America, the backbone of their movement. And most ironically, this coalition of white Christians is led by one of the least religious presidents ever.
And yet, for all the noise he and his administration generate, the first year of his second term also revealed limits. Courts still blocked some actions. States resisted others. Markets reacted unpredictably. Bureaucracies slowed what they could not stop. Polls indicate declining support for him as the Congressional elections approach. Trump raged against these constraints, calling them sabotage, yet their persistence revealed an uncomfortable truth: even an “unbound president” cannot easily escape the structure of a constitutional federal system.
Even in the face of repeated failures to “make America great again,” Trump succeeded at making one thing undeniably great again. It was not the greatness of law, restraint, economy, international leadership or wisdom, but the greatness of spectacle. A spectacle of American tragedy, one that may not have a happy ending this time.
(*) Cemal Tunçdemir is a New York–based veteran journalist with extensive experience covering US politics and international affairs.
In this ECPS interview, Professor Daniel Treisman examines how Trump’s political style intersects with the logic of informational autocracy and democratic backsliding. Drawing on “Informational Autocracy,” he argues that contemporary authoritarianism often relies less on mass repression than on “controlling narratives, selective coercion, and performance legitimacy.” Trump’s pressure on comedians, broadcasters, universities, and law firms, Professor Treisman suggests, reflects a familiar “inclination” toward intimidation—yet “the outcome was different,” because democratic institutions can still generate pushback. The core issue, he stresses, is whether US checks and civil society can withstand “executive aggrandizement”—the drive to “go beyond the formal or traditional powers of the office and consolidate control.”
In an era marked by democratic backsliding, populist leadership, and the reconfiguration of informational power, the resilience of liberal democracy has become a central concern for scholars and policymakers alike. In this wide-ranging interview with the European Center for Populism Studies (ECPS), Professor Daniel Treisman—Professor of Political Science at the University of California, Los Angeles, and Research Associate at the National Bureau of Economic Research—offers a nuanced and empirically grounded assessment of how Donald Trump’s political strategy intersects with the logic of informational autocracy, executive aggrandizement, and democratic fragility.
Drawing on his influential work Informational Autocracy (co-authored with Sergei Guriev), Professor Treisman situates Trump’s threats against comedians, journalists, universities, and other institutional actors within a broader global pattern in which contemporary autocrats rely less on mass repression than on “controlling narratives, selective coercion, and performance legitimacy.” While Trump’s behavior often resembles that of informational autocrats, Professor Treisman emphasizes a crucial distinction: “So, while the inclination is similar, the outcome was different.” Episodes such as the pressure placed on late-night comedian Jimmy Kimmel reveal Trump’s “tendency to expand his power and to overstep traditional limits,” but also the continued—if uneven—capacity of democratic institutions and civil society to push back.
At the core of the interview lies a central analytical question: whether Trump’s conduct represents a failed or incomplete attempt to translate informational autocracy into a still-competitive democratic system. As Professor Treisman puts it, “The real question… is how resilient democratic societies and civil societies in democratic settings can prove to be in response to a leader who seeks what is often called executive aggrandizement.” This concern animates Professor Treisman’s discussion of selective intimidation, signaling repression, and the targeting of elite institutions—strategies designed to “score some visible victories” and deter broader resistance without resorting to outright censorship.
The interview also explores how new media ecosystems and the rise of a tech “broligarchy” complicate classical models of informational control. Professor Treisman highlights the hybrid arrangements created by platform ownership, algorithmic amplification, and strategic alignment between populist leaders and tech elites, noting that these dynamics allow political actors to undermine epistemic authority “without overt censorship.” While Trump has aggressively pressured legacy media through litigation and regulatory threats, his relationship with major technology firms remains more transactional and indirect—distinct from the tightly coordinated media control characteristic of full informational autocracies.
Beyond the US case, Professor Treisman offers comparative insights into charismatic populism in Latin America, bureaucratized authoritarianism in Russia and Hungary, and the structural uncertainties surrounding democratic decline. Reflecting on Democracy by Mistake, he cautions against deterministic readings of democratic erosion, stressing that “mistakes can be forces for good” as well as for authoritarian empowerment. In closing, Professor Treisman urges analytical humility: distinguishing between cyclical stress and durable authoritarian transformation, he argues, remains inherently uncertain, as history “does not come with labels that are easy to read.”
Taken together, this interview provides a sober, theoretically informed reflection on Trumpism, informational power, and the fragile boundaries between democratic contestation and authoritarian drift.
Here is the edited transcript of our interview with Professor Daniel Treisman, slightly revised for clarity and flow.
Trump Has Shown Every Inclination of Informational Autocrats
US President Donald Trump held a campaign rally at PPG Paints Arena in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, on November 4, 2024. Photo: Chip Somodevilla.[/caption]
Professor Daniel Treisman, thank you so much for joining our interview series. Let me start right away with the first question: In “Informational Autocracy,” you argue that contemporary autocrats rely less on overt repression and more on controlling narratives, selective coercion, and performance legitimacy. How should we analytically situate Trump’s recent threats against broadcasters and comedians within this framework—are we observing an attempted translation of informational autocracy into a still-competitive democratic setting?
Professor Daniel Treisman: It’s very interesting to think about the various tactics and approaches that Trump has used and to compare them with the kinds of practices we see in informational autocracies. Clearly, there are many parallels, and a great deal looks very familiar.
For instance, in the early 2000s in Russia, President Putin was offended by a comedy show that portrayed him in an unflattering light. It was a satirical program called Kukly. He made it apparent to the authorities at that station that the show had to be canceled, and it was indeed canceled.
You mentioned Trump and comedy in the US, and we know about the recent Jimmy Kimmel case. What is interesting is that, on the surface, the situation looks very similar. Trump was offended by jokes Kimmel had been telling on his show, and he made it clear to the owners of the station that he thought Kimmel should be canceled. The head of the FCC (Federal Communications Commission) then put pressure on the channel.
The outcome, however, was different. Kimmel was taken off the air for a few days—about a week—and then reinstated. He returned very forcefully, speaking about freedom and the need for separation between government and television.
So, while the inclination is similar, the outcome was different. We often see in Trump a tendency to expand his power and to overstep traditional limits. The real question, for me, is how resilient democratic societies and civil societies in democratic settings can prove to be in response to a leader who seeks what is often called executive aggrandizement—going beyond the formal or traditional powers of the office and consolidating control in his own hands. This is precisely the process that characterizes democratic backsliding toward informational autocracy.
In that sense, this episode illustrates how Trump has shown every inclination to do the sorts of things that informational autocrats do, and if he were free to do so, I am sure he would move toward a more authoritarian or informationally autocratic setup. So far, however, we have seen a considerable degree of pushback and resilience on the part of American societal and democratic structures—through checks and balances and other mechanisms.
That said, it has been disappointing that we have not seen more resistance. The docility of Congress under Republican leadership and the questionable judgments of some courts have been troubling for those who view the White House’s attacks on the media, universities, and subnational governments as real threats to democracy. Those developments are certainly discouraging.
Nevertheless, across the board, we continue to see significant resistance, and that is what truly distinguishes full-fledged informational autocracies from developed democracies that manage to survive as democracies. It is not that democracies never produce populist politicians who want to push in an authoritarian direction—they do. These are politicians with authoritarian impulses, sometimes driven by narcissism or by a highly cynical political strategy. What ultimately varies is how far they are able to go.
Trump Is a Populist Proud of Defying Democratic Norms
Much of your work emphasizes that informational autocrats avoid crossing visible “red lines” that would trigger mass backlash. Does Trump’s increasingly explicit intimidation of the media suggest either miscalculation or a belief that democratic norms of speech protection have already eroded enough to absorb such shocks?
Professor Daniel Treisman: That’s a very good question, and it’s difficult to give a simple answer. I think there is sometimes an element of miscalculation. But let me step back for a moment—it’s not entirely clear that this is miscalculation, because we don’t fully understand what Trump’s strategy is.
In some ways, as I’ve said, he looks quite similar to various informational autocrats in authoritarian societies. But in other ways, he is quite different. As you noted, informational autocrats typically try not to appear overtly to be transgressing the rules of democracy. They present themselves as genuine, loyal democrats. They claim to follow constitutional procedures, often using legalistic language, and they frame their power grabs as legitimate exercises of authority for ostensibly valid purposes, such as protecting the public from pornography, terrorism, or similar threats.
The goal of genuine informational autocrats is not to challenge the system openly, but to create the impression that they are operating fully within democratic rules, while accusing their opponents of being undemocratic. They seek to project an image of competence, benevolence, and modernity, and to portray critics as those who threaten democracy.
There is an element of this in Trump’s behavior. He certainly accuses Democrats of being undemocratic. But there is also a distinct bravado—a deliberate defiance of democratic rules and norms. He openly states that when he pushes the Justice Department to investigate his critics and rivals, he is motivated by a desire for retribution. He rejects the idea of impartial justice and openly embraces the politicization of the justice system. In doing so, he often deliberately says things that are meant to provoke outrage and that are clearly undemocratic.
In this sense, he is not an authoritarian pretending to be a democrat. He is a populist politician who is, in some respects, openly proud of being undemocratic. He might argue that this is still democratic because his base supports him—and indeed, he does say that. But he also claims that there are no checks and balances, that the only constraint on him is his own morality, which amounts to a direct denial of the democratic system rather than a pretense of adherence to it.
So, it is difficult to determine whether this behavior reflects miscalculation or is simply part of his strategy, and whether he differs in this respect from informational autocrats. He appears to recognize that he is operating within a democratic system with a powerful civil society and has chosen to confront it directly and test its limits, rather than behaving like informational autocrats such as Orbán or early Putin, who presented themselves as ordinary democratic leaders supported by the majority while depicting their opponents as extremists seeking to undermine or overthrow democracy.
The Strategy Is to Score Visible Victories That Intimidate Others
Donald Trump delivers a victory speech after his big win in the Nevada caucus at Treasure Island Hotel & Casino, flanked by his sons Eric (right) and Donald Jr. (left) in Las Vegas, NV. Photo: oe Sohm.
Informational autocracies often rely on signaling repression—making examples rather than governing through mass coercion. How should we interpret Trump’s selective targeting of journalists, broadcasters, and universities in this light?
Professor Daniel Treisman: Well, it’s not just Trump, of course. This time he came in with a team that had thought carefully about how to attack various institutions in American society that they deeply opposed, including universities, law firms, some courts, and various subnational governments. The goal was quite directly to weaken those parts of what they viewed as a dominant political and cultural elite.
In part, yes, the strategy was to score some visible victories that would intimidate other members of a particular sector. So, you go after one university—like Columbia—very hard, essentially intimidating it into doing a deal, and then all the other universities would cave and negotiate individually with the Department of Education or the White House. There is an element here of signaling toughness, of attempting intimidation on a kind of wholesale scale.
That is quite similar to informational autocracies. There is less, as I mentioned earlier, of a concern with constraining actions to fit the appearance of democracy and normal democratic politics. Instead, there is a deliberate challenge—within the US context—to many of the legal underpinnings and long-standing understandings of the relationship between the presidency and other institutions, some of which have prevailed for decades or even centuries.
That said, this behavior is not entirely distinctive to authoritarian politics. All politicians try to signal their intentions by demonstrating, through particular cases, what their approach will be. What is distinctive here is that the goals of the Trump administration regarding universities and law firms have been very extreme. Essentially, they want greater control and a particular ideological orientation within universities, and they want to exclude intellectual approaches and philosophies they oppose.
With law firms, the aim is to discourage large, professional firms from opposing them or taking cases against them. That message was sent deliberately, through a barrage of attacks on different fronts very quickly during the first weeks and months of the administration, precisely in order to signal resolve and warn others.
So, in some respects, this does resemble informational autocracy. But it is also part of a broader phenomenon. Revolutionary politicians—or politicians seeking to implement fundamental changes—often come into office with a program and strike very hard at the outset to test how far they can go before resistance organizes and pushes back. Sometimes this is an effective strategy: if the initial blow is strong enough, opposition may fail to organize in time, allowing a new status quo to take hold.
Tech Billionaires Are Treated as Leverage Points
How does the rise of a tech “broligarchy”—with key digital venues controlled by figures such as Elon Musk, Mark Zuckerberg, and Jeff Bezos—complicate the classic logic of informational control? How do platform ownership, algorithmic governance, and strategic collaboration with populist leaders such as Donald Trump reshape the dynamics of informational autocracy? To what extent do these hybrid arrangements—combining formal pluralism with asymmetric visibility and amplification—enable populist actors to undermine epistemic authority and institutional trust without resorting to overt censorship?
Professor Daniel Treisman: That’s a great—and complicated—question. I think both informational autocracy and populism are closely tied to information and media. They tend to thrive in periods of technological change, when new media forms emerge.
In the early days of mass newspapers, for instance, that medium created new opportunities for populists to appeal to broader constituencies than had previously been mobilized in politics. We see something similar with the internet. As it became more developed and central to everyday life, it opened up new avenues for outsiders to engage in a different kind of politics. In democracies, this has been a major foundation of the recent populist wave.
In authoritarian contexts, similar opportunities have allowed authoritarian leaders to use the internet to communicate in new ways and to present themselves as democratic and competent through manipulation—much more effectively than old-style propaganda, which relied heavily on intimidation but was less successful in creating a convincing, all-encompassing political image. In this sense, new information technologies have reshaped not only perceptions of individual politicians but also broader understandings of the political system itself.
New information technology is therefore a central driver of the changes we are seeing in both democratic and authoritarian systems. In the American case, more specifically, the relationship between Trump and major technology firms—led by tech billionaires such as Elon Musk, Mark Zuckerberg, and others—is complex.
Going into Trump’s second term, there was something of a meeting of the minds between Silicon Valley and the Trump team. Many in the tech sector felt that the industry—and tech billionaires personally—had been mistreated by the Biden administration, citing what they perceived as hostility, attempts to censor right-wing or libertarian views, overregulation, and even the debanking of entrepreneurs involved in new areas such as cryptocurrency. This generated real antagonism toward the Democrats among parts of Silicon Valley, aligning well with the attitudes and plans of the Trump camp.
This was particularly evident in the case of Elon Musk, who was effectively given carte blanche to move aggressively against the federal bureaucracy and dismantle large parts of the government in a short period of time. At the same time, there have also been tensions—if not open confrontations—between the Trump administration and some tech leaders. Still, many of them appear to perceive shared opportunities.
Although Musk is no longer in the administration and clearly disagrees with Trump on certain issues, such as fiscal policy, he—and many other tech billionaires—continue to see opportunities in the current political environment. Not all, of course; some remain aligned with the Democrats. But many hold libertarian views and see Trump as more receptive to their ideas about technological development, the treatment of billionaires, and the balance between regulation and freedom.
The Trump administration has also actively sought to influence the media environment, particularly legacy media, by pressuring the owners of major networks. In ways reminiscent of informational autocracies, Trump has relied on defamation suits, libel actions, and other legal tools to intimidate and pressure media organizations.
With social media, however, the approach has been more indirect. Trump created his own social network and has shown little interest in directly regulating platforms such as X or Facebook. Instead, he treats tech billionaires much like other wealthy actors—as leverage points. If he wants something, he applies pressure, and as long as his demands are not too costly, they tend to comply. There is little incentive for them to engage in open confrontation.
That said, this does not amount to the kind of comprehensive, day-to-day control characteristic of full informational autocracies, where authorities maintain close, behind-the-scenes relationships with most media outlets and allow only marginal opposition voices without real influence or mass reach.
In short, the parallel between Trump and informational autocrats in this domain—much like in others—is imperfect. Some features are strikingly reminiscent of informational autocracy, while others differ substantially. These differences reflect both contextual factors—such as the scale and global reach of US-based technology companies compared to media in smaller authoritarian states—and Trump’s own distinctive political style.
Caricature: Shutterstock.
Pluralism Survives, but the Playing Field Is Tilted
You and Sergei Guriev stress that modern autocrats seek to preserve the appearance of pluralism while hollowing it out. To what extent do Trump’s regulatory threats and litigation strategies resemble this logic of simulated legality rather than outright censorship?
Professor Daniel Treisman: I don’t think there is outright censorship. I don’t see outright censorship. It is much more a matter of trying to persuade—trying to send signals to the media to tone down criticism—or, as I mentioned, of confronting them with defamation suits or costly regulatory interference.
So, I think pluralism does exist; we do see pluralism in the United States. At the same time, there are constant efforts to tilt the playing field. Many of these efforts are not new. Republicans in the US political system have been doing this for a very long time—and not just Republicans; Democrats often use similar tools—to gain small, localized advantages, or sometimes larger ones, through practices such as gerrymandering or by refining voting laws in ways they believe will favor them.
All of that is, sadly, part of the American political tradition. Trump has often turbocharged this kind of behavior, as in the Texas mid-decade gerrymandering of congressional constituencies, but it is not radically new.
So, pluralism survives. There are efforts to win within a pluralist context, and there are also efforts to intimidate the opposition in this Trumpian, rather anarchic and blatant way. But I do not see real censorship or the kind of cohesive system we find in fully developed informational autocracies.
It is much more anarchic. Who knows how things will develop? Nobody can predict the future, but at present, it looks rather different to me.
Mistakes Are Easier to See in Retrospect
In“Democracy by Mistake,” you highlight how democracy often emerges—and collapses—not through design but through elite error. Looking at the US today, which elite misjudgments (judicial restraint, partisan polarization, media fragmentation) most plausibly explain the vulnerability of democratic guardrails?
Professor Daniel Treisman: In the US, we don’t really know. We don’t yet know whether what we are witnessing is an intense challenge to the democratic system—one that the forces of democracy will ultimately defeat—or whether we are observing a more gradual, long-term erosion in the quality of American democracy. For now, we have to reserve judgment.
Mistakes are much easier to identify in retrospect than as they are happening. One could argue that Trump has made many mistakes, and one could equally argue that leaders of democratic forces in the US have made many mistakes as well. Mistakes are universal and ubiquitous. Not all mistakes lead to the collapse of a regime—far from it.
For that reason, it is difficult to look at the US system and identify a single fateful mistake whose consequences we will clearly see five years from now. The main message of that article, for the current situation is this: we should not assume that everything is rational or part of a carefully crafted plan. Mistakes can be forces for good when they contribute to the failure of anti-democratic politicians and regimes. But mistakes can also be forces for harm when they enable or empower authoritarian actors.
Trump Fits the Family of Charismatic Populists
This editorial image, captured in Belgrade, Serbia, showcases an array of novelty socks featuring the likenesses of Vladimir Putin, Aleksandr Lukashenko, Viktor Orban, and Donald Trump in Belgrade, Serbia on December 12, 2024. Photo: Jerome Cid.
Comparatively, how should we distinguish Trump’s personalization of power from Latin American charismatic populism (e.g., Chávez) and from the more bureaucratized authoritarianism of leaders like Putin or Orbán?
Professor Daniel Treisman: Clearly, Trump isn’t very good at bureaucracy. There are some people in his administration who do bureaucracy well—Russell Vought, head of the Office of Management and Budget, for example—and that is why they have had a greater impact on the federal bureaucracy than in Trump’s first term. But as an individual, Trump is clearly not a very systematic bureaucratic operator.
In that respect, he is more like charismatic populists. Putin does not have this kind of anarchic character, and Orbán is also much more systematic and skilled in statecraft and bureaucratic politics—although, of course, Orbán is also an effective populist and could be described by some as charismatic.
With regard to Chávez and other Latin American populists, Trump is obviously not quite like the left-wing populists of Latin America. Chávez had a revolutionary, Bolivarian discourse and a semi-Marxist worldview, and he maintained close emotional and political ties with other left-wing administrations across Latin America and Central America. That is quite different from Trump. Trump, after all, arrested the leader of the regime that evolved out of Chávez’s rule.
That said, there are right-wing populists in Latin America as well—Bolsonaro, for example—who are much more similar to Trump. Although Bolsonaro has more of a military background, in terms of personality and political approach Trump is closer to that type. Even when compared with left-wing populists like Chávez, Trump shares the fact that he is a populist who appeals—at least rhetorically, if not always through policy—to the masses of ordinary people whom he claims have been neglected and disrespected. That was also a central part of Chávez’s appeal.
So, I would say that Trump is distinctive in many ways, but he also clearly fits within the broader family of charismatic populists.
History Does Not Come with Labels
Finally, drawing on your work on predictability and early warning, which indicators should scholars prioritize to distinguish between episodic democratic stress and the onset of durable authoritarian transformation?
Professor Daniel Treisman: I should say at the outset that my work on predictability and prediction is quite limited, but I have been thinking about what is a philosophically deep question: the difference between trends and cycles. And I think the basic answer is that there is no definitive answer. You cannot know whether what appears to be changing at a particular moment represents a shift in the underlying trend—a breakpoint toward a new trajectory—or merely a cyclical fluctuation.
We see this across many spheres. If we look at the spread of democracy over the past 200 to 250 years—focusing here on the West, on Europe and the Americas—we observe both a very strong upward trajectory, from almost no democracies (depending, of course, on how one defines democracy) to a much larger number of countries that can be considered at least electoral democracies.
At the same time, we have seen waves: periods in which the share of democracies increases, followed by periods in which it declines or at least plateaus. In each of these moments of cyclical slowdown or reversal, people have proclaimed, “This is the end of democracy.” In every reverse wave, there has been fear that what we were witnessing was not just a cycle but a permanent shift away from democracy as a long-term reality. So far, those fears have been proven wrong in each case.
That said, I do not think there is any particular indicator or observational technique that can reliably tell us whether a change will be permanent or temporary. This reflects a deep feature of the world we live in and of our ability to understand history from within, rather than in retrospect. Looking backward, it is easy to apply statistical tests or analytical frameworks to determine whether a change was cyclical or represented a trend shift—it is almost trivial. But as history unfolds, I do not think there is any way to know for sure whether we are seeing something genuinely new or something that is repeating in a familiar pattern.
Different scholars have developed different mental models of the world, emphasizing one perspective or the other. Some believe in progress; others emphasize stagnation or endless repetition. This tension has run through Western philosophy and social science from the very beginning. My own position is to emphasize the high degree of uncertainty involved, and to push back against claims that we can clearly identify a change in the trend when it may well be a change in the cycle.
This is why I have written critically about responses to what some describe as a democratic recession, or even a reverse wave of democracy, in recent years. I think the evidence has not—or at least has not yet—fully supported such claims. There is growing evidence of a slowdown in the rate of democratic advance, and probably some degree of average backsliding. But there is an important distinction between backsliding and the long-term collapse of democracy.
So, we all need to remain attentive to this distinction and recognize that events, as they unfold, do not come with easily readable labels. We should have some respect for long-term trends, without assuming that they will automatically continue. There does seem to be a certain structural logic at work in many domains. The same is true of the stock market: there are both trends and cycles, and it is impossible to know on any given day whether a sharp drop is cyclical or part of a new trend. As we know, people have made—and lost—trillions of dollars betting on precisely that distinction.
Giving an interview to the ECPS, Professor Francisco Rodríguez argues that today “Venezuela is no longer about Venezuela; it is about demonstrating power.” He reassesses Chavismo’s constitutional refoundation, noting that “not even the most hardline opponents of Chavismo question the Constitution today,” while stressing that redistribution collapsed when oil rents vanished: “The model of oil-rent redistribution simply does not work if there are no rents to distribute.” Professor Rodríguez highlights the durability of moral antagonism—“us versus them”—and shows how social policy can operate as rule: “We bring you food; we take care of your family’s needs.” Crucially, he links the post-Maduro landscape to Delcy Rodríguez’s room for maneuver, arguing that if she can claim Washington is no longer backing the opposition, she can frame Maduro’s seizure as “a strategic victory.” Yet he warns that US demands for “power-sharing with the opposition” would be “deeply problematic for Chavismo.” He concludes that Trump’s approach is transactional: “not demanding political reform… [but] asking Venezuela to sell oil.”
Giving an interview to the European Center for Populism Studies (ECPS), Professor Francisco Rodríguez—Senior Research Fellow at the Center for Economic and Policy Research and Faculty Affiliate at the University of Denver’s Josef Korbel School of International Studies—offers a comprehensive analysis of Venezuela’s post-Maduro political trajectory. Situating the case at the intersection of populist state resilience, authoritarian adaptation, and shifting US power strategies, Professor Rodríguez advances a stark diagnosis: “Venezuela is no longer about Venezuela; it is about demonstrating power.” In his account, the country has become a geopolitical signal—a site through which coercive capacity, transactional hegemony, and the limits of democratic opposition are being tested.
Professor Rodríguez begins by reassessing the foundational pillars of the Chávez-era project—constitutional refoundation, oil-rent redistribution, and the moralization of politics—arguing that these were not merely leader-centered strategies but elements of a durable populist state architecture capable of surviving leadership decapitation. While personally critical of the 1999 Constitution, he notes that “not even the most hardline opponents of Chavismo question the Constitution today,” underscoring how deeply constitutional refoundation has been absorbed into Venezuela’s political ethos. Even critics, he observes, now invoke the Constitution “as a model that the Maduro government is failing to uphold.”
On political economy, Professor Rodríguez emphasizes that populist redistribution depends on material abundance. “The model of oil-rent redistribution simply does not work if there are no rents to distribute,” he argues, pointing to a 93 percent collapse in oil revenues between 2012 and 2020. This collapse, compounded by US sanctions, forced the regime toward pragmatic—and even neoliberal—adjustments, not as a matter of ideological conversion but constraint. As Professor Rodríguez puts it, the economy remained closed “not because the government didn’t want it open, but because the United States government didn’t allow it.”
A central theme throughout the interview is the durability of moralized politics. Chavismo’s framing of politics as an existential struggle between “the people” and apátridas (stateless persons in Spanish/Portuguese, S.C) continues to structure both regime and opposition behavior. Professor Rodríguez cautions that this antagonistic grammar cannot be easily abandoned, particularly because “the opposition has also embraced a moralized framework, albeit from the opposite angle.” This mutual entrenchment helps explain why moments that might have enabled institutional cohabitation—most notably the opposition’s 2015 parliamentary victory—instead produced escalation and breakdown.
Within this transformed landscape, Professor Rodríguez devotes particular attention to Delcy Rodríguez’s room for maneuver. He argues that her political viability now hinges on whether she can credibly claim that Washington is no longer backing the opposition. Under those conditions, Maduro’s seizure can be reframed as “a strategic victory,” preserving Chavismo’s narrative of confrontation. At the same time, Professor Rodríguez warns that any US demand for “power-sharing with the opposition” would be “deeply problematic for Chavismo,” requiring a fundamental rewriting of its moral and institutional grammar.
The interview culminates in Professor Rodríguez’s assessment of US intervention under Donald Trump. Contrary to expectations, Trump did not demand democratization or power transfer, but oil. “What Trump is effectively doing now is not demanding political reform,” Professor Rodríguez explains; “he is asking Venezuela to sell oil to the United States.” This approach reflects a broader logic of informal empire: “It is more efficient to rule through domestic elites who follow US directives than to administer the country directly.” In this sense, Venezuela becomes less a national case than a global message—one that signals the new rules of transactional power, and the risks they pose for democratic oppositions worldwide.
In this ECPS interview, Professor Stephan Klingebiel argues that Trump-era populism signals a durable shift in global governance rather than a passing disruption. He stresses that the “rise of populism, nationalism, and right-wing populism predates Trump,” and warns that Washington is now “actively fighting all forms of multilateralism” through withdrawal, defunding, and the systematic contestation of UN language on issues such as “climate change,” “gender,” and “diversity.” Professor Klingebiel links this normative erosion to the weaponization of trade, tariffs, and development finance, which turns rules-based cooperation into coercive bargaining. He also highlights how geoeconomic competition is reshaping North–South relations by expanding bargaining space for resource-holding states. Looking ahead, he proposes a “global order minus one” as a pragmatic pathway to sustain multilateralism amid fragmentation.
In an era marked by intensified geopolitical rivalry, the resurgence of right-wing populism, and the erosion of long-standing international norms, the future of multilateral governance has become a central question for scholars and policymakers alike. In this wide-ranging interview with the European Center for Populism Studies (ECPS), Professor Stephan Klingebiel—Head of the Department of Inter- and Transnational Cooperation at the German Institute of Development and Sustainability (IDOS)—offers a sober and incisive assessment of how Trump-era populism is reshaping global governance and what realistic alternatives may still be available.
At the heart of Professor Klingebiel’s analysis is a rejection of the notion that Trump-era populism represents a temporary aberration. Instead, he situates it within a broader and more durable constellation of political, ideological, and technological shifts. As he emphasizes, “the rise of populism, nationalism, and right-wing populism predates Trump,” extending across parts of Europe and the Global South. Trump, in this sense, is not an anomaly but a catalyst—“a prominent role” within a system that is unlikely to disappear in the near future.
A central theme of the interview is the normative and material hollowing-out of multilateralism. Professor Klingebiel argues that populism does not merely weaken international cooperation through withdrawals and defunding; it reframes cooperation itself as a zero-sum loss. In Trump’s discourse, he notes, the United States is consistently portrayed as a victim: “Canada, Europe—[they] have long lived at the expense of the United States.” This logic underpins what Klingebiel bluntly describes as an administration that is “actively fighting all forms of multilateralism.”
The interview traces how this antagonism manifests across institutions and issue areas—from the US withdrawal from dozens of international organizations to the systematic erosion of consensus-based norms within the United Nations. Particularly alarming, Klingebiel warns, is Washington’s effort to excise concepts such as “climate change, gender, gender-based violence, and diversity” from multilateral language, producing a chilling effect that leaves international organizations “no longer in a position to be explicit about real global challenges.”
Beyond institutions, Professor Klingebiel examines the weaponization of trade, tariffs, supply chains, and development finance, describing a shift from rules-based governance to coercive bargaining. This marks, in his view, a decisive break with past practices, where even hegemonic power was at least nominally constrained by international law. Recent cases—such as US actions in Venezuela—signal a world in which legal justification is no longer even rhetorically necessary.
Yet the interview is not purely diagnostic. Looking ahead, Klingebiel introduces one of his most provocative ideas: the possibility of sustaining multilateralism through a “global order minus one.” If a broad coalition of states remains committed to multilateral norms, he argues, such an order could both isolate unilateral obstruction and create incentives for eventual re-engagement. While acknowledging that “we are most likely not going back to the situation we had five or ten years ago,” Klingebiel insists that political choices made now—particularly by Europe and like-minded partners—will decisively shape whether the future belongs to cooperative governance or competitive fragmentation.
Together, the interview offers a penetrating reflection on populism, power, and the fragile future of the international order.
In this ECPS interview, Professor Stephan Klingebiel argues that Trump-era populism signals a durable shift in global governance rather than a passing disruption. He stresses that the “rise of populism, nationalism, and right-wing populism predates Trump,” and warns that Washington is now “actively fighting all forms of multilateralism” through withdrawal, defunding, and the systematic contestation of UN language on issues such as “climate change,” “gender,” and “diversity.” Professor Klingebiel links this normative erosion to the weaponization of trade, tariffs, and development finance, which turns rules-based cooperation into coercive bargaining. He also highlights how geoeconomic competition is reshaping North–South relations by expanding bargaining space for resource-holding states. Looking ahead, he proposes a “global order minus one” as a pragmatic pathway to sustain multilateralism amid fragmentation.
In an era marked by intensified geopolitical rivalry, the resurgence of right-wing populism, and the erosion of long-standing international norms, the future of multilateral governance has become a central question for scholars and policymakers alike. In this wide-ranging interview with the European Center for Populism Studies (ECPS), Professor Stephan Klingebiel—Head of the Department of Inter- and Transnational Cooperation at the German Institute of Development and Sustainability (IDOS)—offers a sober and incisive assessment of how Trump-era populism is reshaping global governance and what realistic alternatives may still be available.
At the heart of Professor Klingebiel’s analysis is a rejection of the notion that Trump-era populism represents a temporary aberration. Instead, he situates it within a broader and more durable constellation of political, ideological, and technological shifts. As he emphasizes, “the rise of populism, nationalism, and right-wing populism predates Trump,” extending across parts of Europe and the Global South. Trump, in this sense, is not an anomaly but a catalyst—“a prominent role” within a system that is unlikely to disappear in the near future.
A central theme of the interview is the normative and material hollowing-out of multilateralism. Professor Klingebiel argues that populism does not merely weaken international cooperation through withdrawals and defunding; it reframes cooperation itself as a zero-sum loss. In Trump’s discourse, he notes, the United States is consistently portrayed as a victim: “Canada, Europe—[they] have long lived at the expense of the United States.” This logic underpins what Klingebiel bluntly describes as an administration that is “actively fighting all forms of multilateralism.”
The interview traces how this antagonism manifests across institutions and issue areas—from the US withdrawal from dozens of international organizations to the systematic erosion of consensus-based norms within the United Nations. Particularly alarming, Klingebiel warns, is Washington’s effort to excise concepts such as “climate change, gender, gender-based violence, and diversity” from multilateral language, producing a chilling effect that leaves international organizations “no longer in a position to be explicit about real global challenges.”
Beyond institutions, Professor Klingebiel examines the weaponization of trade, tariffs, supply chains, and development finance, describing a shift from rules-based governance to coercive bargaining. This marks, in his view, a decisive break with past practices, where even hegemonic power was at least nominally constrained by international law. Recent cases—such as US actions in Venezuela—signal a world in which legal justification is no longer even rhetorically necessary.
Yet the interview is not purely diagnostic. Looking ahead, Klingebiel introduces one of his most provocative ideas: the possibility of sustaining multilateralism through a “global order minus one.” If a broad coalition of states remains committed to multilateral norms, he argues, such an order could both isolate unilateral obstruction and create incentives for eventual re-engagement. While acknowledging that “we are most likely not going back to the situation we had five or ten years ago,” Klingebiel insists that political choices made now—particularly by Europe and like-minded partners—will decisively shape whether the future belongs to cooperative governance or competitive fragmentation.
Together, the interview offers a penetrating reflection on populism, power, and the fragile future of the international order.
Here is the edited transcript of our interview with Professor Stephan Klingebiel, slightly revised for clarity and flow.
Trump-Era Populism and Global Governance
Donald J. Trump, the 47th President of the United States, at his inauguration celebration in Washington, D.C., on January 20, 2025. Photo: Muhammad Abdullah.
Professor Stephan Klingebiel, thank you so much for joining our interview series. Let me start right away with the first question: Is Trump-era populism best understood as a temporary disruption to global governance, or does it mark a structural shift toward a new “normal” defined by transactionalism and power asymmetries? What makes such a shift durable—or reversible?
Professor Stephan Klingebiel: Thank you very much for this question. It is, of course, not an easy one, as it touches on many different dimensions. To begin with, I do not think that what we are currently witnessing is something that will simply disappear in the near future. The rise of populism, nationalism, and right-wing populism predates Trump. We saw these developments earlier in parts of Europe, such as Hungary, and also in several regions of the Global South.
What we are dealing with, then, is a broader system or constellation in which Trump plays a prominent role, but he is by no means the only actor. There are numerous other political figures, institutions, and ideological currents that are unlikely to vanish any time soon. As a result, this is a reality we will probably have to contend with for the foreseeable future.
These dynamics are also connected to wider structural trends. In some parts of the world, for instance, we see growing frustration among younger generations—this is particularly evident on the African continent. At the same time, the influence of traditional media is declining, while social media is gaining prominence. Social media, in turn, has the capacity to mobilize emotions in ways that differ significantly from earlier forms of political communication. From this perspective, it is important to recognize that the impact of social media is not a temporary phenomenon, but one that is likely to remain with us for some time.
The United States Is Actively Fighting All Forms of Multilateralism
How does populism erode multilateral cooperation not only materially (through withdrawal or underfunding) but also normatively, by reframing cooperation as loss rather than collective gain?
Professor Stephan Klingebiel: I think we need to emphasize that, typically—and this is true for almost all populist leaders and movements—multilateral approaches are not really part of populist political identity or thinking. It is very much the opposite. As a populist leader, you emphasize national interest and present yourself as a victim. Just listening to many speeches by President Trump, including his most recent one in Davos, we see this clearly: he portrays the United States as a victim, arguing that the rest of the world—Canada, Europe—has long lived at the expense of the United States. The conclusion, of course, is that a populist leader then seeks to turn this around and make the rest of the world pay. In this narrative, the international system is framed as fundamentally unfair to the hegemon, to the United States. In that sense, the United States is actively fighting all forms of multilateralism.
We see this in many ways. The most visible manifestations are defunding and withdrawal from international organizations. At the beginning of January this year, President Trump announced that the US would withdraw from a total of 66 international organizations. We have also already seen the defunding of a number of other international institutions to which the United States was a part.
However, what I would stress is that there are many additional ways in which the US has, over the past months, weakened—and to some extent even undermined—multilateralism. One example is the International Conference on Development Finance held last summer in Sevilla, Spain. The United States remained involved in the preparatory process until the very last moment, largely in order to slow down and weaken the negotiations and to ensure that the final outcome document would be as weak as possible. At the very end, the United States announced that it would not participate in the conference at all. In that sense, it did not show up in Sevilla. What is particularly striking, however, is that the US had already been spoiling the process before the conference and then, immediately afterward, resumed efforts to weaken the outcome document, build alliances, and contest the results of the conference.
More broadly, we can see that the United States is pursuing a range of strategies. One additional point is that, from the very beginning of the second Trump administration—in February and March 2025—the US administration has been working with a list of key terms and concepts it actively seeks to oppose. These include concepts such as climate change, gender, gender-based violence, and diversity. As soon as an international organization publishes a report or document addressing climate change or any of these other issues, the United States attempts to eliminate this kind of language and thinking.
This is particularly dangerous because, in institutions such as the United Nations—where many decisions are consensus-based—we now face a situation in which, across executive boards and institutional bodies, the United States consistently intervenes to block or dilute agreed language. For example, it seeks to replace “climate change” with terms like “extreme weather.” This practice is already shaping the internal thinking and behavior of international organizations. Increasingly, they are no longer in a position to speak openly about major global challenges. Instead, they try to avoid explicit language in order to escape constant confrontation with the United States. At the same time, the United States is actively seeking allies to challenge what was previously a broad global consensus, further eroding the normative foundations of multilateral cooperation.
We Are Entering an Era of Competing Organizations and Conflicting Norms
The headquarters of the United Nations in New York City. Photo: Dreamstime.
Are we witnessing the end of universal multilateralism, or its mutation into selective, interest-based cooperation? How does your concept of like-minded internationalism fit into this transition?
Professor Stephan Klingebiel: It is probably too early to draw definitive conclusions about what kind of new era, we are entering. Much of this is still evolving. What is clear, however, is that there are very powerful forces actively trying to undermine the existing international order, most notably the United Nations. Even in the past, we saw situations in which certain actors—Russia, for example—did not accept international law in many respects, and similar patterns could be observed with other governments as well.
The key difference today, however, is that we previously had a very strong group of countries, including the United States, committed to ensuring that this international order functioned effectively. What we see now is that the United States itself is aligning with forces that are seeking to undermine—and in some cases even dismantle—this system.
Just a few days ago, President Trump publicly described the United Nations as an enemy. From this perspective, it is not difficult to understand that any international order in which the United States does not occupy a clearly dominant position is framed as contrary to American interests. The proposal of a so-called “peace council” by President Trump represents an open challenge to the United Nations. My assumption is that even if this initiative ultimately fails, and even if Trump is no longer president, the broader trend toward competing international organizations, rival groupings, and conflicting norms about the rules of the game will persist.
This brings us to the question of like-minded internationalism. On the one hand, a populist leader can seek out like-minded countries, as President Trump is doing. On the other hand, states that remain committed to multilateralism can also pursue cooperation among like-minded partners. This is something we can already observe. If you look at recent speeches in Davos—by leaders from Canada, France, and several other countries—you can see attempts to articulate collective action against the advance of right-wing populism.
At the same time, such efforts require substantial power backing to be effective. While we can see early signs of countries trying to organize this kind of counterpower, it remains a very difficult and uncertain undertaking.
We Are Seeing the Construction of a System Based on Coercive Power
Trump’s use of tariffs and trade threats as coercive tools, or as a “trade bazooka,” reflects a shift from rules-based trade to punitive bargaining. What are the long-term systemic risks of normalizing trade as a geopolitical weapon?
Professor Stephan Klingebiel: We can now observe this dynamic across many policy areas. It relates to trade and tariffs, but also to foreign investment, access to critical minerals, and other domains. What is particularly new is the extent to which Trump is explicitly weaponizing all of these tools—imposing, or threatening to impose, tariffs whenever a country is deemed, from his perspective, not to be behaving in a desirable way.
One positive feature of the past was that, to a large extent, different policy areas were kept separate. If there was a conflict related to trade, it was addressed through trade instruments and negotiation. Today, this separation has largely disappeared. From a European perspective, we increasingly see that almost everything can be linked to questions about US support and positioning—for example, in relation to Russia’s aggression against Ukraine—even when the issues at stake are, in principle, unrelated.
We have seen statements suggesting that if the European Union seeks to regulate US technology companies, this could have consequences for NATO. In reality, these issues are not directly connected, but this administration is deliberately trying to weaponize all the tools at its disposal. Tariffs, in particular, appear to be one of the most immediate and effective instruments Trump can use to respond to a situation. This is deeply concerning. It signals the construction of a system based on coercive power, rather than leadership through partnership. It is no longer about win-win outcomes or cooperation, but about imposing outcomes that align with what the US leadership wants to see.
As a brief aside—and this applies to many of the points I have made—this situation strongly reflects what European countries are currently experiencing, and it is highly relevant for them. At the same time, it is important to recognize that, from the perspective of many countries and actors in the Global South, such coercion and dominance—whether by the United States or by the West more broadly—is not new. These practices have long been part of their political reality.
From a European standpoint, the liberal international order now appears to be at serious risk, and this concern is entirely justified. Yet for many countries in Latin America, the Caribbean, or Africa, experiences such as military intervention are not unprecedented. In conversations I have had over recent weeks and months, academics, political leaders, and policymakers from these regions often say: this is our normal experience as relatively small and powerless countries. US-led military interventions, particularly in Latin America over past decades, are a familiar reference point. This perspective deserves to be taken seriously.
There is also an important additional dimension. In many respects, there is truth in the argument that the international system has never been fair to large parts of the world. What is new today is that Europe and other Western countries are now feeling the impact directly, because these same coercive tools are increasingly being used against them. Yet there remains a crucial difference compared to the past. Historically, the US government—and Western governments more broadly—at least operated with a set of double standards. There were formal commitments to principles such as territorial integrity and sovereignty, and when military interventions occurred, they were typically accompanied by some form of justification grounded in international law.
If we look at events such as what happened in Venezuela in early January 2026, it was clear from the outset that there was no attempt by the US administration to justify its actions on the basis of international law. This marks a significant departure from earlier practices. In the past, Western actors were at least under pressure to frame their actions within legal justifications. Today, the United States no longer appears interested in invoking international law even as a reference point. In this sense as well, we are confronting a new situation.
Geoeconomics Has Become a Very Crucial Dimension
How does the weaponization of trade, supply chains, and development finance reshape North–South relations, particularly for countries dependent on access to Western markets and institutions?
Professor Stephan Klingebiel: I think what we have already seen over the last couple of years—and this is only partly related to the second administration of President Trump, as we observed it especially during the COVID period and even before—is that we are now in a situation where supply chains, access to critical minerals, and energy security have become much more important. Geoeconomics has therefore become a very crucial dimension.
In many ways, this increasingly gives even poorer, or very poor, countries a relatively powerful bargaining instrument. Just look, for example, at the situation of a number of Sahel countries, which are now in a position to offer what they have—whether in terms of international support in United Nations General Assembly decisions or access to minerals such as uranium and other resources—to different actors: European countries, the United States, but also China and Russia, particularly when it comes to uranium.
This gives many relatively small or economically less important countries much more power at their own disposal. And this kind of multi-alignment is something that, from this perspective, is seen by many actors in the Global South—on the African continent and beyond—as a positive trend.
Greenland — Seeing Territorial Integrity Questioned Is Deeply Troubling
Colorful houses in Greenland. Photo: Dreamstime.
How should we interpret Trump’s renewed rhetoric and pressure around Greenland—symbolically and strategically? Does this signal a revival of territorial or quasi-imperial logics under populist leadership?
Professor Stephan Klingebiel: This is really—especially from a European perspective—a game changer. I think what we constantly see with the Trump administration is the need to make sense of what is actually going on. There is so much happening at the same time. Some of these activities may be relevant, while others appear to be mere rhetoric or deliberate distractions. At the beginning of his second term, or even before, Trump was already using narratives about Canada, the Panama Canal, and Greenland.
Many observers initially had the impression that this was little more than window dressing—aimed at domestic audiences rather than reflecting serious intentions. However, seeing these intentions articulated so explicitly—we want to take over Greenland—and accompanied by statements that the United States would be willing to use force or military power, including reiterations of this position in Davos and elsewhere, marks a clear escalation. Announcing, over a prolonged period, that the use of military power is not excluded represents a direct challenge to international law.
This is a genuinely new dimension, and it brings us back to an era when imperial ambitions were an accepted part of international politics. From the perspective of European countries, many countries in the Global South, and the normative framework of international law, there has long been a shared hope that the territorial integrity of states would remain a foundational principle of global order. Seeing this principle openly questioned by the world’s most powerful military actor is deeply troubling.
We are therefore at a turning point, and we are still grappling with what effective responses to this new situation might look like. At the same time, this rhetoric constitutes a real threat emanating from the administration. Over the past few weeks, we have seen at least some renewed movement toward European unity. It is also important to recognize that Europe—the European Union (EU) together with the UK, and other partners—as well as countries in the Global South, are not merely in a position to wait and observe. They also have the capacity to respond.
The United States itself depends heavily on the rest of the world—for trade, access to critical minerals, and political support, among other things. In this sense, the debate around Greenland is indeed a game changer. It is likely to shape strategic concepts and political priorities for years to come.
We Can Oppose Attempts to Establish a System of Hemispheres
In a fragmented, multipolar order, are spheres-of-influence politics becoming inevitable again? For smaller and middle powers, does this create new room for maneuver—or deepen structural dependency?
Professor Stephan Klingebiel: I think this is very much a concept associated with President Putin in Russia, and it seems to have been taken up by President Trump as well. If you look at the National Security Strategy from early December 2025, it reflects, more or less, exactly this kind of thinking—how the world should be organized by large powers such as the United States. In this view, regions are defined in which major powers exercise special influence, with the United States claiming its own hemisphere, understood as the Western Hemisphere.
Whether this will ultimately become the dominant way in which the world is organized remains to be seen. At the very least, however, we can observe a real risk that this kind of concept may become attractive to a number of countries.
At the same time, we need to recognize that the imperial era—when colonial powers simply ruled over other countries and territories—is quite different from today’s reality, characterized by a very different global economy. In many parts of the world, there is now an alternative understanding of how the international order should be organized. We also see significant economic and military potential in Europe and elsewhere.
So, in a sense, this intention—we want to rule our own hemisphere—is clearly present. But whether it will actually define the future organization of the international system is still uncertain. Importantly, this is also a moment in which many actors and countries are trying to push back against such ideas. European actors, for example—the European Union and the UK—have the potential to link up with partners in the Global South who are not in a weak position in many respects. So we can oppose those intentions and approaches that seek to establish a system of hemispheres.
Europe Needs the Capacity to React Within Days or Even Hour
European Commission headquarters with waving EU flags in Brussels. Photo: Viorel Dudau.
What realistic policy alternatives exist to prevent a spiral of authoritarianism, protectionism, and institutional decay? If you had to prioritize three concrete steps for Europe, what would they be?
Professor Stephan Klingebiel: I think one main challenge we need to overcome is organizing collective action. Collective action, as we know, is often difficult to organize because, within one group, there are different views and different interests. Just look at the tariff threats from the US over the past weeks and months. We saw a situation in which, for example, the interests of France, Germany, and other EU countries diverged, making it difficult to arrive at a clear, unified position.
But this is not impossible. With the Greenland escalation over the last few weeks, we saw that collective action can indeed be achieved. So, organizing collective action is crucial. A second point is that collective action among a like-minded group is a requirement—a precondition—for success. At the same time, we also need to recognize that, in certain moments, a smaller group of actors may need to provide leadership, particularly in shaping concepts and strategies.
It is also useful to consider one advantage President Trump has: as the leader in power, he can decide overnight what he wants to do. For the European Union, it is far more difficult to speak with one voice within a very limited timeframe. What this means is that Europe needs to develop the capacity to react within short periods—within days or even hours.
This kind of leadership by some European countries—without neglecting the views and interests of smaller EU members or other actors—should ensure that there is a capable, small group in a position to respond quickly. Like-mindedness is one requirement, but it must also translate into an approach that is agile in many ways: agile in terms of speed, and agile in terms of producing solutions that are ready to confront new challenges, such as political leaders openly stating their intention to take over another country.
In this regard, I think it requires a strong willingness to mobilize political, economic, and military resources, and the capacity to make decisions swiftly. These are some of my responses to your question.
A Global Order Minus One Could Become a Powerful Incentive
And finally, Professor Klingebiel, looking ahead, do you foresee a reconstitution of multilateralism, a stable equilibrium of fragmented governance, or a drift toward competitive blocs—and what political choices today will be decisive in shaping that outcome?
Professor Stephan Klingebiel: It is difficult to make any serious forecast at this point about how the world might look. However, what we have seen over the last couple of weeks is a growing discussion suggesting that we should consider—perhaps even actively push for—a global order that could be described as a “global order minus one.” This would mean that if there is a broad consensus among countries that want to uphold a multilateral approach, that want to keep the United Nations relevant—or even make it more relevant—while the United States takes a different position, it might still be possible to sustain a strong and effective form of multilateralism.
In such a scenario, we would be in a position to isolate, in many ways, what the United States is doing. Even from a conceptual perspective, this kind of global order minus one could become a powerful tool to incentivize the United States to rejoin the international consensus. If the United States were the only major player outside such an order, this would entail significant political and economic costs, as well as increased military risks for the United States itself.
What I want to emphasize is that we are most likely not returning to the situation we had five or ten years ago. Instead, we may be moving toward a different configuration in which global governance needs to be reformed in many ways—not least to incorporate rising actors from the Global South and to make the system fairer overall—but where this new arrangement could also generate substantial pressure on the United States to re-engage.
This perspective is also relevant when considering other actors that are not particularly committed to multilateralism, such as Russia. When it comes to China, the picture is somewhat different, but in all these cases, alignment remains necessary in various ways. A global order minus one may thus represent one possible pathway for navigating and potentially overcoming the difficult situation we currently face.
Giving an interview to the ECPS, Professor Francisco Rodríguez argues that today “Venezuela is no longer about Venezuela; it is about demonstrating power.” He reassesses Chavismo’s constitutional refoundation, noting that “not even the most hardline opponents of Chavismo question the Constitution today,” while stressing that redistribution collapsed when oil rents vanished: “The model of oil-rent redistribution simply does not work if there are no rents to distribute.” Professor Rodríguez highlights the durability of moral antagonism—“us versus them”—and shows how social policy can operate as rule: “We bring you food; we take care of your family’s needs.” Crucially, he links the post-Maduro landscape to Delcy Rodríguez’s room for maneuver, arguing that if she can claim Washington is no longer backing the opposition, she can frame Maduro’s seizure as “a strategic victory.” Yet he warns that US demands for “power-sharing with the opposition” would be “deeply problematic for Chavismo.” He concludes that Trump’s approach is transactional: “not demanding political reform… [but] asking Venezuela to sell oil.”
Giving an interview to the European Center for Populism Studies (ECPS), Professor Francisco Rodríguez—Senior Research Fellow at the Center for Economic and Policy Research and Faculty Affiliate at the University of Denver’s Josef Korbel School of International Studies—offers a comprehensive analysis of Venezuela’s post-Maduro political trajectory. Situating the case at the intersection of populist state resilience, authoritarian adaptation, and shifting US power strategies, Professor Rodríguez advances a stark diagnosis: “Venezuela is no longer about Venezuela; it is about demonstrating power.” In his account, the country has become a geopolitical signal—a site through which coercive capacity, transactional hegemony, and the limits of democratic opposition are being tested.
Professor Rodríguez begins by reassessing the foundational pillars of the Chávez-era project—constitutional refoundation, oil-rent redistribution, and the moralization of politics—arguing that these were not merely leader-centered strategies but elements of a durable populist state architecture capable of surviving leadership decapitation. While personally critical of the 1999 Constitution, he notes that “not even the most hardline opponents of Chavismo question the Constitution today,” underscoring how deeply constitutional refoundation has been absorbed into Venezuela’s political ethos. Even critics, he observes, now invoke the Constitution “as a model that the Maduro government is failing to uphold.”
On political economy, Professor Rodríguez emphasizes that populist redistribution depends on material abundance. “The model of oil-rent redistribution simply does not work if there are no rents to distribute,” he argues, pointing to a 93 percent collapse in oil revenues between 2012 and 2020. This collapse, compounded by US sanctions, forced the regime toward pragmatic—and even neoliberal—adjustments, not as a matter of ideological conversion but constraint. As Professor Rodríguez puts it, the economy remained closed “not because the government didn’t want it open, but because the United States government didn’t allow it.”
A central theme throughout the interview is the durability of moralized politics. Chavismo’s framing of politics as an existential struggle between “the people” and apátridas (stateless persons in Spanish/Portuguese, S.C) continues to structure both regime and opposition behavior. Professor Rodríguez cautions that this antagonistic grammar cannot be easily abandoned, particularly because “the opposition has also embraced a moralized framework, albeit from the opposite angle.” This mutual entrenchment helps explain why moments that might have enabled institutional cohabitation—most notably the opposition’s 2015 parliamentary victory—instead produced escalation and breakdown.
Within this transformed landscape, Professor Rodríguez devotes particular attention to Delcy Rodríguez’s room for maneuver. He argues that her political viability now hinges on whether she can credibly claim that Washington is no longer backing the opposition. Under those conditions, Maduro’s seizure can be reframed as “a strategic victory,” preserving Chavismo’s narrative of confrontation. At the same time, Professor Rodríguez warns that any US demand for “power-sharing with the opposition” would be “deeply problematic for Chavismo,” requiring a fundamental rewriting of its moral and institutional grammar.
The interview culminates in Professor Rodríguez’s assessment of US intervention under Donald Trump. Contrary to expectations, Trump did not demand democratization or power transfer, but oil. “What Trump is effectively doing now is not demanding political reform,” Professor Rodríguez explains; “he is asking Venezuela to sell oil to the United States.” This approach reflects a broader logic of informal empire: “It is more efficient to rule through domestic elites who follow US directives than to administer the country directly.” In this sense, Venezuela becomes less a national case than a global message—one that signals the new rules of transactional power, and the risks they pose for democratic oppositions worldwide.
Here is the edited transcript of our interview with Professor Francisco Rodríguez, slightly revised for clarity and flow.
Between ‘Us Versus Them’ and External Power: Chavismo After Maduro
Iconic sites in central Caracas, where buildings are decorated with murals promoted by the Chávez and Maduro governments. Photo: Dreamstime.
Professor Francisco Rodríguez, thank you very much for joining our interview series. Let me start with the first question: With Nicolás Maduro removed yet the Chavista state apparatus largely intact, how should we reinterpret the foundational choices of the Chávez era—constitutional refoundation, oil-rent redistribution, and the moralization of politics—as elements of a populist state project capable of surviving leadership decapitation?
Professor Francisco Rodríguez: First of all, thank you very much for having me, and thank you for the opportunity to have a conversation about Venezuela and its populist model and evolution. Let me start by addressing the three aspects you mention. One of them is the Constitution. To a certain extent, constitutional refoundation is something Chavismo achieved quite remarkably, and it has become deeply ingrained in the Venezuelan ethos. The evidence for this is that there is very little, if any, discussion among Venezuela’s political actors about the need to change the Constitution. This is not to say that I think the current Constitution is good. On the contrary, I am quite critical of the way it expands executive power, and I believe that reform in this area will be necessary. But the reality is that not even the most hardline opponents of Chavismo question the Constitution today. In fact, they often invoke it as a model that the Maduro government is failing to uphold.
Turning to the other two points you raised—moralization of politics and oil rents—I think what we have seen over the past few years, roughly over the past decade, is that the model of oil-rent redistribution simply does not work if there are no rents to distribute. In Venezuela, those rents effectively disappeared. Oil revenues declined by 93 percent between 2012 and 2020. They have recovered somewhat since then, but they remain around 75 percent lower than their peak in 2012. As a result, the government has far fewer resources to redistribute, and, to some extent, it has already been forced to move toward a neoliberal policy paradigm. The main reason it has not gone further in that direction is that the economy has been under sanctions, which has prevented the implementation of some basic elements of the neoliberal model, such as opening the economy to foreign investment. This closure was not due to a lack of willingness on the government’s part, but rather because the United States government did not allow it.
Moralized Politics, External Pressure, and Strategic Uncertainty
This brings us to the third point: the demoralization of politics. This is something Chavismo will have to grapple with and much depends on how the current intervention evolves. Chavismo’s narrative has long been one of moralization—of us versus them—casting its opponents as apátridas, people without a sense of the fatherland. This narrative was effective over the past decade, during a period of open confrontation with the United States. But what has happened now is that the US has prevailed, in the sense that it has imposed its power on Venezuela and compelled Venezuelan authorities to react according to its dictates. Venezuelan authorities are therefore no longer acting autonomously. How do they sustain this narrative under these conditions? In the two weeks since Maduro’s seizure, they have been playing a dual game: complying with US demands while simultaneously maintaining the narrative that Maduro has been kidnapped and must be returned. In this way, they can still preserve the idea of confrontation.
The problem—and we will probably return to this later—is that this confrontation has its own dynamics. It is not something Chavismo can easily abandon, because the opposition has also embraced a moralized framework, albeit from the opposite angle: an “us versus them” discourse that pits the good against the bad, or decent society against a corrupt criminal mafia. This is not a narrative that can be changed at will. Yet if, for example, as a White House spokesperson suggested —and as President Trump has hinted—a White House visit by Delcy Rodríguez is being contemplated, it will become very difficult to sustain that confrontational narrative.
This leads to the final question: is there a way for Chavismo to continue evolving, and what will its core narrative be? Is this a strategic retreat—a case of “we have to do this to defend the project”? Or does it mean abandoning some of the project’s foundational tenets altogether?
It Is Too Early to Tell Whether Adaptation Will Become Strategy
Late Venezuelan President Hugo Chávez attended the ceremony marking the laying of the foundation stone for a monument to Simón Bolívar in Moscow, Russia on October 15, 2010. Photo: Dreamstime.[/caption]
In your work, you highlight how Chavismo constructed politics as a moral antagonism between “the people” and existential enemies. After Maduro’s seizure, does this moralized populist logic appear less as a contingent discursive strategy and more as a durable institutional grammar that shaped courts, security forces, and rent allocation?
Professor Francisco Rodríguez: I am tempted to respond as Zhou Enlai is said to have responded to a question about the French Revolution: it is too early to tell. It later emerged that the question was lost in translation and was actually about the May ’68 revolts, but the answer certainly applies here as well. What we are seeing now is very short-term adaptation to external circumstances, which, depending on how events unfold, may later be interpreted as strategic. Let me illustrate this with the example of Chávez after the 2002 coup.
After returning to power following the 2002 coup, Chávez adopted a very conciliatory tone. He even asked for forgiveness for his previous attitude, acknowledging that he should not have fired the PDVSA (Venezuela’s state oil company) managers in the manner he did—an episode widely perceived as humiliating, or at least framed that way by Chávez himself. Crucially, at that moment he also acceded to the main demand of economic elites: changing the economic cabinet. He brought in a group of pragmatists to run the economy, and they remained in place for about a year. One year later, however, Jorge Giordani—Chávez’s chief architect and ideologue—was back in charge of economic policy.
Some interpret this episode as Chávez merely playing along, and there is certainly some truth to that. But there is also another dimension, linked to the enduring dynamics of confrontation. That economic cabinet survived through the general strike and the oil strike against Chávez and was only replaced once Chávez concluded that he was back in confrontation mode—that the opposition was again trying to overthrow him—and that he therefore needed a command economy capable of asserting control over oil resources. This entailed abandoning efforts to accommodate the private sector. If we look back at that moment, Chávez imposed exchange controls in January 2003 during the oil strike, but crucially, he did not lift them once the strike ended. In effect, he shifted from a strategy of trying to bring the private sector into a governing coalition and broadening his base of support to one centered on confrontation: controlling oil rents and disciplining the private sector through control of those rents and access to foreign exchange.
Trump Is Not Demanding Reform—He Is Asking for Oil
One of the key uncertainties today is how the United States will proceed. US policy will shape many of the constraints facing Venezuela. If the US were to station warships off Venezuela’s coast and dictate terms, Venezuela would have little room to maneuver. But this is a somewhat unusual version of coercion coming from the Trump administration. President Trump’s first administration was the one that stopped buying oil from Venezuela. What Trump is effectively doing now is not demanding political reform, elections, or the transfer of power to María Corina Machado. Instead, he is asking Venezuela to sell oil to the United States—something Venezuelan authorities had long been asking Trump to permit. This is not a demand that makes the Delcy Rodríguez regime uncomfortable.
To the extent that Venezuelan authorities can establish a working relationship with the Trump administration, and as long as Washington maintains this stance, the moral and institutional grammar you describe is likely to persist. This episode can easily be framed as yet another chapter in the “us versus them” struggle. It is important to recall that Chavismo’s confrontation has never primarily been with the United States, but rather with the domestic opposition and economic elites. If Delcy Rodríguez can credibly claim that Venezuela has won US support and that Washington is no longer backing the opposition, she can present this as a strategic victory. She does not need to deny that Maduro’s capture was problematic; she only needs to frame it as having defeated the opposition on that front.
Under those conditions, the discourse of confrontation would be preserved and would continue to be embedded in Venezuelan institutions. The real difficulty would arise if the US were to change course and demand power-sharing with the opposition. That scenario would be deeply problematic for Chavismo. While it might still be manageable, it would be extraordinarily difficult to justify to supporters. It would be just as challenging for Delcy Rodríguez as for María Corina Machado to explain why they should cooperate, why they should sit at the same table. Such a shift would require a profound rewriting of the moral narrative and the institutional grammar that accompanies it, because any genuine power-sharing arrangement would have to extend into the institutions themselves. That would represent a fundamentally different political game from the one Chavismo has played over the past quarter century.
Venezuelan opposition leader and ousted lawmaker María Corina Machado during a street protest movement of civil insurrection against the government of Nicolás Maduro in Caracas, Venezuela, 2017. Photo: Edgloris Marys.
The Difference Between Chávez and Maduro Is Abundance, Not Personality
From a populism studies perspective; to what extent did Chavismo succeed in transforming a charismatic, plebiscitary project into a post-charismatic regime—one in which moral legitimacy, clientelism, and coercion became routinized within the state itself?
Professor Francisco Rodríguez: That’s a great question. It is tempting to focus on the contrasting personalities of Chávez and Maduro, but I would place much greater emphasis on material and economic constraints. Chávez governed during an era of abundance. When he came to power, Venezuelan oil was selling for about $9 a barrel; by the time he died, it was selling for more than $100.
Those rents later collapsed for two main reasons. The first was the sharp decline in oil prices between 2014 and 2016. The second was the political crisis triggered by that collapse, which led, among other things, to US economic sanctions. This raises an unavoidable counterfactual question—one that is necessarily subjective: how would Chávez have reacted to the complete erosion of rents? Would he have behaved differently from Maduro? My view is that he probably would not have.
Had Chávez found himself unable to win elections and facing both a hostile domestic opposition and a US government effectively seeking his removal, I believe he would have become just as repressive as Maduro. There is little in Chávez’s governing style to suggest otherwise. We need only recall the period leading up to the 2004 recall referendum, when Chávez used the Maisanta list to regulate access to public employment in a highly clientelist manner—shoring up support before the vote and intimidating not so much committed opposition voters as potentially neutral citizens and public employees who might have contemplated opposing him. In that sense, similar dynamics would likely have prevailed under Chávez.
That said, as an economist, I am not best equipped—nor is my discipline particularly well suited—to analyze questions of popular or leader charisma. What I can say is that Chávez’s association with a period of prosperity, driven by oil rents and reflected in improvements in living conditions and social indicators through expansive social spending, would likely have made the ensuing crisis resemble Cuba’s “Special Period.” The enduring memory of better times, and of restored dignity and living standards for many of the poor, might have been sufficient to sustain Chávez’s support—something Maduro has been unable to claim.
Chavismo Was Surprised by the Scale of Its Own Electoral Defeat
This contrast is still evident in public opinion today: Chávez remains widely popular, while Maduro does not. As a result, Maduro has relied far more heavily on coercion and institutional control, a tendency that reached an extreme in the 2024 elections, when the government concluded that it had no option but to brazenly steal the vote. Ironically, the fact that Maduro resorted to fraud suggests that he believed victory was still possible. This episode marked a moment when Chavismo was genuinely surprised by the depth of its loss of popular support.
It is important to stress, however, that this surprise did not stem from ignorance of opinion polls or a failure to monitor public sentiment. Careful readings of polling data suggested the election would be relatively close. Nor was it due to an inability to track electoral performance in real time; the government possesses a fairly robust system for doing so, which led it to believe it had mobilized roughly five million votes—enough to make the contest tight even under the opposition’s most favorable assumptions.
What Chavismo was not prepared for was the possibility that, of those five million mobilized voters, around one million would ultimately vote not for Maduro but for Edmundo González. In that moment, the very structures the regime had built revealed their limits. Returning to your question, this suggests that mechanisms of coercion were not fully routinized. They had been routinized for a long period during which they functioned effectively, as evidenced in 2021, when the opposition participated in elections, European Union observers were present, and the government swept the regional contests. At that time, the clientelist model worked.
By 2024, however, something had shifted. That structural break is precisely what the model—one that had kept Maduro in power for twelve years—is now struggling to confront.
CLAPs, Causality, and the Mechanics of Populist Rule
Given that Chávez-era distributive systems continue to function after Maduro’s removal, how should we reassess social policy not merely as welfare provision but as a populist technology of rule—and what does your work on targeted benefits tell us about how redistribution becomes a mechanism of political loyalty under authoritarian populism?
Professor Francisco Rodríguez: I think it is important for me to explain briefly what my work does and what it does not do. This relates, in part, to the broader conversation between economics and the social sciences and to what economists typically try to accomplish. We generally aim to identify causal effects. In my World Development paper on how clientelism works, I use a natural experiment—the repetition of elections in the Venezuelan state of Barinas—to evaluate how social transfers respond to elections. More specifically, I examine the effect of electoral competitiveness on social transfers.
To do so, I use the government’s food package distribution system—the Local Committees for Supply and Production (CLAPs). What I find is quite interesting. When this natural experiment is used to identify causal effects, the results show that, as a consequence of the election, social benefits were targeted more toward median voters—those located in the middle of the political spectrum. This has important implications for the standard narrative on populism. Much of the literature assumes that government supporters are more likely to receive social benefits. That is true as a correlation, as a descriptive statistic, and that point is undeniable. But descriptive statistics are not the same as causal effects. This pattern may exist because the government is actively targeting its followers, but it may also exist because supporters are more likely to self-select into these programs.
It is easy to find anecdotal evidence of opposition supporters saying, “I’m not going to take a food package from the government; I’m not going to give them my information, because that allows them to control me. I don’t like that food; I think it’s poor-quality or even dangerous.” This behavior must be disentangled from other causal factors, such as income differences. Pro-opposition supporters tend to have higher incomes and can therefore more easily opt out of these programs. That disentangling is precisely what the causal experiment helps to achieve.
Between Welfare and Control
So, it is one thing to say that the government uses these programs electorally to target median voters, which is what my paper demonstrates. But it is also important to recognize that, descriptively, government supporters still tend to be the main beneficiaries of these programs. Another key finding in the data is that when people are asked, “Why are you getting CLAP boxes?” or “Why are you not getting CLAP boxes?”, the overwhelming majority respond, “I’m getting them because I registered,” or “I’m not getting them because I didn’t register.” Very few respondents—less than 10 percent—say, “I’m getting them because I support the government,” or “because I have friends in the government,” or “I’m not getting them because I’m not on the government’s side.”
This means that the system is politically targeted, but not necessarily in the way it is often assumed. As a result, voters’ reactions to it are also quite different from what is commonly presumed. In many respects, it appears as the state doing what it is expected to do: delivering food to people and to families. In another paper that I am about to publish in a collection with the Inter-American Development Bank, we estimate the calorie effect of the CLAP program and find it to be substantial—around 500 calories per person. In the context of a massive economic collapse, that can make the difference between famine and the avoidance of famine.
What we are seeing, then, diverges in important ways from standard assumptions. There are, of course, other mechanisms of control. The Carnet de la Patria, for example, operates much more in the classic quid pro quo clientelist manner: if you support me, you receive a monetary transfer. The government uses cash in this way, and it is often considered legitimate for it to do so. As Maduro once explicitly stated during a campaign speech, “This is dando y dando—you give, I give.” He was referring not to CLAP boxes, but to cash transfer programs.
How Everyday Welfare Became a Source of Regime Resilience
At the same time, there is another set of programs that is essentially universalistic. Even if these programs can be politically targeted for strategic reasons, they are universalistic in the sense that everyone is presumed to have access to them, and in practice, those who want access can obtain it. This closely resembles how the Misiones functioned under Chávez, or programs such as Misión Mercal. No one was asked for a government ID card or a Socialist Party card to buy subsidized food at Mercal supermarkets. You simply went in. Yet when you entered the store, saw the staff, and examined the packaging, it was clear that there was political messaging. The implicit message was that the government was doing good things for you. In this sense, it is comparable to Donald Trump signing COVID relief checks and sending them out as personal checks.
My view, then, is that when we try to understand why Chavismo’s popularity—and even Maduro’s support—has remained at around 30 percent, which appears to be roughly what he obtained in the election, we need to ask why, in the context of such a severe economic crisis, it did not fall to 10 percent. In Peru, for example, presidents often have single-digit approval ratings. Why did this not happen in Venezuela? Why was the revolution, in that sense, so resilient? The answer lies in its continued ability to build sources of legitimation, largely by conveying the idea that the state is being administered for you and on your behalf. Even amid economic crisis, the message remains: we are doing our job; we bring you food; we take care of your family’s needs.
When the Model Didn’t Change—but the Conditions Did
The persistence of Chavista governance raises questions about personalism. In retrospect, where do you see the key discontinuities between Chávez and Maduro—particularly regarding elite cohesion, coercive capacity, and the role of elections as rituals of legitimation rather than mechanisms of accountability?
Professor Francisco Rodríguez: Here again, I would return to the counterfactual I mentioned earlier: how different is what we are seeing now from what we might have seen under Chávez had he faced an economic crisis similar to the one Maduro confronted? My view is that the differences are not as pronounced as they are often assumed to be. I do not see major discontinuities in the political model itself, or even in the modes of governance. Many of the apparent discontinuities are better explained by external factors—most notably the collapse of oil revenues and the imposition of economic sanctions, both of which emerged from a particular evolution of the political conflict. That evolution did not stem from the imposition of a fundamentally different governing model, but rather from a deeper issue: the absence of compromise as a viable option within the political culture.
If there is a moment that can be identified as truly decisive—and again, this is not because Maduro is fundamentally different from Chávez—it is the opposition’s victory of a supermajority in the 2015 parliamentary elections, a result that Chavismo initially accepted. The government did not annul or steal the elections and formally recognized the outcome. It did, however, challenge the election of several legislators from the state of Amazonas, a move that ultimately deprived the opposition of its supermajority. That supermajority would have enabled the opposition to initiate proceedings against the Supreme Court or convene a constituent assembly. In that sense, it was a kind of nuclear option, and Chavismo neutralized it by invalidating those legislative seats, while still allowing the opposition to retain a simple majority.
In almost any political system, one would then expect negotiations over cohabitation to follow. Typically, a government in that position would approach the legislature and say, “Let’s work this out. Let’s find a way to govern together. What do you want, and what do we want?” But no such effort was made—by either side. There are, after all, different ways of operating within a political system. One is through negotiation; another is through economic incentives or coercion, which governments routinely employ. Minority parties are bought off; opposition blocs are peeled apart. The government controls the state apparatus and oil rents and can easily approach opposition legislators individually or target small centrist parties, offering ministerial posts or control over specific policy areas—housing, the environment, minority rights. These are standard political tools.
Moral Antagonism and the Breakdown of Political Compromise
In this case, the government had two basic options. It could have sat down with the opposition coalition to negotiate a coexistence arrangement that would allow governance and the passage of legislation. Alternatively, it could have pursued a piecemeal strategy, fragmenting the opposition to construct a working majority. Maduro did neither, and the opposition likewise refused to engage in such processes.
This is where I would locate the core problem. I would hesitate to call it a discontinuity in the political model itself, but it was certainly a discontinuity in outcomes. The system was simply not designed to operate under a constitutional arrangement that required cohabitation. And this is not unique to Chavismo. It reflects a deeper feature of Venezuelan political history. During the democratic period that began in 1958, parliamentary and presidential elections were held simultaneously, ensuring that presidents almost always governed with a compliant Congress. The lone exception was in 1993, when Rafael Caldera won the presidency with only a plurality, leaving his party without congressional control and forcing some form of accommodation.
The belief that governments do not need to negotiate with the opposition is deeply ingrained in Venezuelan political culture. That is where the system—on both sides—ultimately breaks down. And it breaks down, once again, because of the politics of moral antagonism we discussed earlier. How can you justify governing alongside an actor you have portrayed as an existential enemy, as the embodiment of unpatriotic or immoral behavior? You cannot. Neither side could.
This dynamic was evident on the opposition side as well. When Henry Ramos Allup assumed the presidency of the National Assembly, he announced that the opposition would seek a constitutional route to remove Maduro from office within six months. In effect, he was openly advocating regime change. Both sides were locked into this confrontational mode, and their inability to move beyond it precipitated the escalation of the political conflict—ultimately leading to the adoption of scorched-earth strategies that inflicted severe damage on the economy.
From Democratic Opposition to Zero-Sum Politics
And finally, Professor Rodríguez, drawing on your New York Times analysis of Machado’s hardliner identity—including the symbolic handing over of her Nobel Peace Prize medal to President Trump—what does this episode reveal about the risks of moral absolutism, charismatic personalization, and alignment with coercive external power in populist contexts? More broadly, what does the Venezuelan case tell us about Trump’s transactional approach to authoritarian regimes and the dangers it poses for democratic oppositions elsewhere?
Professor Francisco Rodríguez: It is a very revealing episode because it encapsulates a central dilemma in opposition politics. Moderates within the opposition struggle to mobilize voters around their projects and are highly vulnerable to being denounced as collaborationists or as having been co-opted by the government. As a result, moderate opposition figures tend to reach a political dead end. Once they attempt to articulate an alternative based on compromise, they quickly lose momentum.
Returning to my earlier point about confrontation as part of the modus vivendi, the issue is not that no one has questioned this logic. Rather, within the opposition, those who have challenged it have not been electorally successful. This is evident in the case of Henri Falcón, who failed as a candidate in 2018 despite Maduro being as unpopular then as he was in 2024, according to opinion surveys. The same dynamic is visible with Henrique Capriles, who was once a highly popular opposition leader but lost significant support after adopting a more moderate stance. It is also evident in the case of Manuel Rosales, the governor of Zulia, who emerged as a plausible replacement after Machado was disqualified. Rosales had credibility as someone who had reclaimed Zulia from Chavismo and governed from the opposition without framing politics as a zero-sum struggle. Yet he was ultimately sidelined, largely because Machado’s supporters undermined him on the grounds that they reject any form of collaboration.
It is also important to recall that Machado herself was a vocal critic of Juan Guaidó, whom she regarded as too conciliatory toward Maduro. Her main criticism was that, as president of the 2015 National Assembly and interim president, he failed to invoke constitutional powers to formally call for foreign military intervention—effectively inviting external troops into the country. She criticized him forcefully for this. Looking further back, Machado was present at the swearing-in of Pedro Carmona as de facto president following the 2002 coup against Chávez. This is not mentioned simply to question her democratic credentials—though it is often raised in that context—but to underscore the narrative that underpins her political stance: the belief that Chavismo was never democratically legitimate. In her view, Venezuela was already a dictatorship in 2002, and a coup against that dictatorship was therefore justified.
Crisis, Charisma, and the Appeal of No Compromise
Venezuela’s controversial President Nicolas Maduro speaks during a rally on the 22nd anniversary of the coup against Hugo Chavez in Caracas, Venezuela, on April 13, 2024. Photo: StringerAL.
This narrative resonates strongly in a country that has experienced the largest economic contraction ever recorded in peacetime, where roughly a quarter of the population has emigrated, poverty rates have exceeded 90 percent, malnutrition—virtually nonexistent in the mid-2010s—has risen to more than 25 percent, and the government has grown increasingly authoritarian. In such conditions, it is understandable that voters are drawn to a leader who argues that Maduro remains in power because previous challengers were not forceful or resolute enough. This is how Machado constructs her political persona: as the uncompromising figure, the leader unwilling to strike a deal with Chavismo, the one who promises not coexistence but defeat. Her slogan, hasta el final—“to the end”—signals a final confrontation in which victory is assured.
This narrative mobilized voters on two levels. Traditional opposition supporters embraced it enthusiastically, given their deep hostility toward Chavismo. At the same time, more centrist voters—some of whom had previously supported Chavismo—were also drawn to her. In many respects, Machado embodied characteristics associated with Chávez himself: a young, decisive, energetic leader offering a dramatic rupture. The promise she made closely resembled the promise Chávez made in 1999. This helps explain why roughly a third of the Venezuelan electorate reports supporting María Corina Machado while simultaneously viewing Chávez as a good president.
That support, however, did not entail a transformation of her underlying narrative or that of her core constituency. Instead, it reinforced a political posture fundamentally incompatible with governing alongside Chavismo. This is where the Trump administration’s intervention becomes especially revealing. The decision was to remove Maduro—to decapitate the regime—without fully dismantling it. Comprehensive regime change would have required military occupation, significant loss of US personnel, and a long-term commitment unlikely to be sustained by public opinion. As Iraq and Afghanistan demonstrated, the costs of occupation often exceed those of initial military victory.
Instead, the United States adopted an approach reminiscent of earlier interventions, such as in Cuba and the Philippines after the Spanish-American War or in the Dominican Republic, Haiti, and Nicaragua in the early twentieth century. The logic is straightforward: military leverage and conditionality remain in place, while local actors govern. It is more efficient to rule through domestic elites who follow US directives than to administer the country directly.
Why Machado Didn’t Fit the New Power Strategy
This framework also helps explain how Trump has framed his relationship with Machado. The implicit message is that she is admirable—even symbolic, as evidenced by the Nobel Peace Prize medal—but politically impractical. Incorporating her into governance would disrupt the broader strategy. After Maduro’s removal, Venezuela ceased to be primarily about Venezuela; it became a demonstration of power. The operation showcased the US capacity to remove a foreign leader with extraordinary efficiency, without the loss of American lives, and to detain him in the United States. Many observers, myself included, believe this likely involved internal collaboration, making it resemble a palace coup under the cover of military intervention. For Trump, however, the narrative is unambiguous: this is what American power looks like.
This is where Trump’s arrangement with Delcy Rodríguez acquires broader significance. The message is simple: compliance is rewarded. Speaking recently in Davos, Trump claimed—characteristically exaggerating—that Venezuela would earn more in the next six months than it had in the previous twenty years. That assertion is plainly false, given that those twenty years include the Chávez-era oil boom. But the rhetoric is less important than the underlying signal: the new Venezuelan authorities are doing what Washington demands, and they are being rewarded for it.
Trump delivered this message before an audience of European leaders, implicitly asking them which path they wished to follow—whether in relation to Venezuela, Greenland, or other geopolitical issues. Cooperation would bring benefits; resistance would invite hostility. This logic extends beyond Europe to the Middle East, including Gaza, and to Latin America more broadly. It reflects an effort to reassert US dominance in what Trump conceives as the Western Hemisphere, consistent with a revived Monroe Doctrine logic.
What emerges from this approach is an attempt to construct a functional protectorate—economically, and perhaps politically. Yet a protectorate, by definition, lacks full sovereignty. Under such conditions, the meaning of democracy becomes ambiguous. The likely outcome is an authoritarian system, potentially evolving into a form of competitive authoritarianism. Even if Venezuelan oil revenues were to increase by only a fraction of Trump’s exaggerated claims, the resulting economic growth—on the order of 20 to 25 percent annually for several years—would make such a regime politically viable.
Just as Maduro’s popularity collapsed with the economy, Delcy Rodríguez could gain substantial legitimacy if she presided over sustained economic expansion. That is the bargain Trump is offering—not out of benevolence, but because he wants Venezuela to serve as a showcase: a revitalized economy demonstrating the rewards of alignment with US hegemony. Ultimately, that is the message Trump seeks to send to democratic oppositions and authoritarian regimes alike: these are the new rules, and this is what you get when you play along.
Iran is entering a critical juncture as renewed protests expose both the fragility and the resilience of the Islamic Republic. In this in-depth interview with the ECPS, Dr. Kamran Matin argues that since the 2009 Green Movement, the Iranian regime has ruled “primarily through coercion rather than consent,” relying on repression while retaining the support of only a small social base. Yet violence alone does not explain regime survival. As Matin emphasizes, the Islamic Republic endures “not only through violence, but through a fragmented opposition” that lacks organizational depth, ideological coherence, and a credible alternative vision. Drawing on political economy, Gramscian theory, and regional geopolitics, Dr. Matin analyzes why economic shocks quickly become systemic political crises in Iran—and why, despite widespread de-legitimation, the unresolved question of “what comes next” continues to constrain revolutionary outcomes.
Iran has entered one of the most volatile phases of its post-1979 history. The protest wave that erupted after the sharp currency shock of late December 2025 quickly escalated into explicitly anti-regime mobilization, revealing not only the depth of socio-economic dislocation but also the political vulnerabilities of the Islamic Republic. In this interview with the European Center for Populism Studies, Dr. Kamran Matin—Reader in International Relations at the University of Sussex—offers a theoretically informed analysis of the current conjuncture, foregrounding two interlinked claims that capture the central stakes of the moment: “Since 2009, [the] Iran regime has ruled by coercion, not consent,” and “[the] Iran regime survives not only through violence, but through a fragmented opposition.”
For Dr. Matin, the disputed 2009 election and the Green Movement mark a critical turning point in the regime’s mode of rule. As he emphasizes, “almost all of these signals are present in some form, but at least since 2009—going back to that critical moment—the Iranian state, the Islamic Republic, has ruled primarily through coercion rather than consent.” In his account, the erosion of consent is not merely ideological but institutional: the narrowing of factional pluralism and the weakening of reformist mediation diminished the regime’s capacity to manage dissent through electoral incorporation. The result, he argues, is a system that “retains the support of a small segment of Iranian society—perhaps 10 to 15 percent at most, and maybe closer to 10 percent,” while relying on “brute force: repression, torture, imprisonment, surveillance, and so on” to govern the remainder.
Yet Dr. Matin’s analysis also resists purely repression-centered explanations of authoritarian durability. Alongside state violence, he argues, regime survival is sustained by the organizational weakness and strategic incoherence of its opponents. “I would argue that, in addition to massive levels of violence, what sustains the regime is precisely the fractured nature of the opposition, its disorganization, and the absence of a political discourse that appeals equally to the main segments of society.” Even as protests broaden to include bazaar networks, students, workers, women, and peripheral provinces, the opposition—he contends—lacks the institutional capacity to translate mobilization into a viable transition project. “Apart from state violence,” he continues, “this lack of an organized alternative—ideologically, discursively, and organizationally—is a key factor keeping the regime in power.” The enduring strategic dilemma is therefore not simply the de-legitimation of the regime, but the absence of a credible successor: “Many people ask themselves, ‘What comes next?’”
Across the interview, Dr. Matin situates these dynamics within wider debates on revolutionary crises, hegemonic contestation, and regional geopolitics. He examines how economic shocks in a rentier political economy can rapidly become systemic political conflict; how coercion is deployed through targeted and exemplary violence; and how opposition plurality can both energize revolt and inhibit the formation of a unifying, “national-popular” project. Taken together, Dr. Matin’s intervention offers a stark but analytically precise assessment of Iran’s predicament: a regime increasingly dependent on coercion, confronting a society in revolt—yet facing an opposition still struggling to answer the question that shadows every revolutionary moment: what comes next?
Please cite as: Riddervold, Marianne; Rosén, Guri & Greenberg, Jessica R. (2026). “Introduction.” In: Populism and the Future of Transatlantic Relations: Challenges and Policy Options. (eds). Marianne Riddervold, Guri Rosén and Jessica R. Greenberg. European Center for Populism Studies (ECPS). January 20, 2026. https://doi.org/10.55271/rp00121
This report examines how the resurgence of right-wing populism—most visibly under Donald Trump’s second presidency—reshapes the foundations of transatlantic relations. Moving beyond short-term diplomatic disputes, the authors argue that domestic polarization and illiberal democratic trends now pose the most serious long-term threat to EU–US cooperation. Anchored in the four liberal pillars of the Atlantic order—security, trade, international institutions, and democratic values—the analysis shows how populist governance undermines shared norms, weakens multilateralism, and destabilizes trust. The report concludes with policy options for the EU, emphasizing strategic adaptation without abandoning the liberal principles that have long sustained the transatlantic alliance.
Several years ago, John Peterson (2018, 647) wrote that
the future of US–European relations and the liberal international order depend less than we might expect on what the US or Europe do to invest in their alliance or in foreign policy more generally. What really matters is domestic democratic politics in Europe and America.
Donald Trump’s return to the presidency in January 2025, together with the consequential shifts in United States (US) foreign policy, makes Peterson’s claim appear well-founded. We are now witnessing nothing short of a deep and potentially durable rift between the European Union (EU) and the US.
With weakening transatlantic relations, broader geopolitical uncertainties and war on the European continent, the EU must navigate simultaneous internal strains and external pressure. The increasing support for radical right parties across Europe and their influence on EU institutions and domestic agendas make it more challenging for the EU to unify and present a cohesive front in response to Trump’s attempt to destabilize the transatlantic alliance. The EU faces new challenges that are the consequence of Trump’s policies in defence, trade and his undermining of international institutions, democratic norms and the rule of law. At the international level, the EU’s goal to be a global leader in promoting democracy, human rights and international law both in its immediate vicinity and globally requires proactive and strategic actions to defend and enhance the current liberal order. With Trump’s return to the presidency, EU leaders must reevaluate transatlantic relations and recalibrate EU policy to mitigate risks from shifts in US foreign policy.
This report assesses how changes in US foreign policy under a right-wing populist president affect the EU–US relationship and offers concrete policy recommendations on pressing issues. Focusing on the links between foreign-policy shifts, domestic polarization and antiliberal democratic trends, the report examines how domestic dynamics may constitute the most severe long-term challenge to transatlantic cooperation. It also evaluates specific policy challenges and opportunities for strengthening that cooperation in the years ahead.
‘Transatlantic relations’ is a broad concept that refers to the historic, economic, strategic, cultural, political and social relations that exist between countries in North America and Europe. A key feature of international relations since the end of the Second World War, we here define it as the overall set of relations between the EU and the United States, ‘within the broader framework of the institutional and other connections maintained via NATO and other institutions’ (Smith 2018, 539). After several decades of close cooperation, no other regions in the world have such strong ties as North America and Europe. Transatlantic cooperation is a cornerstone of the United States-originated post-war liberal order, which originated from the liberal idea that democracy, human rights, liberalized trade and active participation in international institutions produce economic gains and advance stability, peace and human dignity. The transatlantic relationship emerged as a security alliance under American leadership, established to protect Europe from the Soviet Union. Its continuing relevance after the Cold War has been driven primarily by the shared values, identities and strategic outlooks that have united its members (Schimmelfennig 2012). Despite differences in specific policy issues, a core set of shared liberal values was always at the heart of this relationship. Risse (2016), for instance, describes the transatlantic relationship as a security community – one grounded not only in common strategic and economic interests, but also in shared liberal ideas. Ikenberry (2008; 2018) similarly frames the transatlantic relationship as the ‘Atlantic Political Order’, a security community that moved beyond its defence origins to rest on liberal tenets, free trade and cooperation through multilateral institutions within and outside the United Nations (UN) system (Riddervold and Newsome 2018, 2022; Risse 2012; Smith et al. 2024).
For West, and later most European nations, the Atlantic order provided a framework within which liberal democracies could secure greater protection and influence, and a framework within which the European integration project could evolve. Being part of this liberal hegemonic system meant integration into a comprehensive network of economic, political, and security institutions (Tocci and Alcaro 2012; Riddervold and Bolstad 2026; Smith et al. 2024). The relationship with the United States has thus been central to European states’ foreign policies, just as ties with Europe have long been a core element of US international strategy.
While there have always been disagreements both over values and interests in the transatlantic relationship, we seem to have reached a point where this contestation does not just affect domestic developments, but also the very basis of the transatlantic relationship itself (Riddervold and Bolstad 2026). There is no longer a clear consensus that European and US markets and political institutions are bound together by common goals and interests. Trump is withdrawing from international cooperation in the UN. In the realm of security, he has cast doubt on American security guarantees in NATO and its commitment to come to the aid of its European allies in the event of an external attack. In trade, the administration’s focus has been more on tariffs and trade restrictions than on the need to uphold global and transatlantic free trade and strong relations. And not least, as the US National Security Strategy of December 2025 clearly illustrates, the deepening transatlantic divide is fundamentally rooted in a clash of values between Trump’s America and the EU. This illustrates the growing value divide between the two partners and risks undermining the liberal basis of the different pillars on which transatlantic relations have rested and thus the transatlantic relationship writ large (Riddervold and Bolstad 2026). Viewed together, these developments mean the transatlantic relationship is at a critical crossroads, where substantive shifts are more probable now than continued adherence to long-standing institutional collaboration and norms (Jones 2025).
By exploring developments in US foreign policies and how these are linked to domestic polarization and antiliberal democratic ideas, chapters in this report shed light on how this domestic factor poses a severe challenge to the transatlantic relationship. Authors focus on how the rise of right-wing populism – with an increasing portion of the population resisting globalization, international institutions, free trade and even democratic values on both sides of the Atlantic (e.g., de Vries et al., 2021; Mansfield et al., 2021; Rogowski et al., 2021; Walter, 2021) – affects the transatlantic relationship. After all, ‘the futures of the liberal order, transatlantic alliance and western democratic politics are inextricably bound together’ (Peterson 2018, 638).
To gain a comprehensive understanding of how US policies under Trump affect EU–US relations, we draw on Ikenberry (2008, 2018) to distinguish between four liberal pillars on which the transatlantic relationship has rested: security, trade, international institutions and democratic values. The report is organized accordingly and is composed of four main parts that each start with a chapter giving a broader historical overview of developments in the domain, followed by three case studies of how US policies now affect the transatlantic relationship. To systematize the changes we observe, we distinguish between three possible scenarios that are discussed in the different chapters: that transatlantic relations are breaking apart due to domestic polarization and/or structural geopolitical changes, that they will muddle through due to ongoing changes based on functional cooperation, networks and interdependencies; or that we in fact over time, despite current challenges, may be witnessing a change towards a different and redefined but stronger relationship (Tocci and Alcaro 2012); Riddervold, Trondal and Newsome 2021).
Framework: The Four Pillars of Transatlantic Relations
Drawing on Ikenberry (2008, 2018), the ‘Atlantic Political Order’ has been built on four foundational, interlinked pillars established under US liberal hegemony: security alliances, trade and finance, common institutions and rules, as well as shared democratic, liberal norms.
Ikenberry identifies two mutually beneficial bargains that have underpinned the transatlantic relationship. The ‘realist bargain’ involved the United States using its military strength to support its European (and other) allies, with Europe agreeing to subsume a US-led system. This bargain was institutionalized through NATO and numerous bilateral security agreements between the United States and its Western allies. The ‘liberal bargain’ involved Europe accepting US leadership in exchange for security protection, access to US markets, technology and resources within an open world economy, amongst other things, resulting in a strong trade and financial relationship.
While security and trade form the first two pillars, the transatlantic relationship has also formed the core of what is often called the multilateral system, meaning international cooperation within the UN and other international organizations built under US leadership after the Second World War. Ruggie (1982) referred to key parts of this system as ‘embedded liberalism’, where economic liberalism was integrated into a managed global economy, giving governments greater control over trade and economic openness. Institutions designed to support this framework aimed to reinforce cooperation, while strengthening US ties with its post-war partners and reducing concerns about domination and abandonment. Over time, this rules-based order expanded beyond monetary and trade cooperation to cover security, development, health and, more recently, global challenges such as climate change, with states increasingly relying on multilateral frameworks for coordinated action (Zürn 2018). Multilateral cooperation and institutions have also been so central to the EU that it is described as part of the ‘EU’s DNA’ (Smith 2011).
Lastly, while focused on security and trade, the transatlantic relationship has, as discussed above, had a liberal value-based core, extending beyond economic and strategic cooperation and institutional rules and institutions to also include broader commitments to democracy and human rights. While the order’s principles, like Franklin D. Roosevelt’s ‘Four Freedoms’ and post-war multilateralism, were framed as universal, its structure was shaped by Cold War realities and centred on the United States and its democratic allies. Initially focused on Western Europe and Japan, the community of democracies expanded after the Cold War to include a larger and more diverse group of nations. While often being accused of double standards and with much variation in their foreign policies, from Wilson to Biden, US presidents before Trump have operated on the belief that democracies possess a unique ability to cooperate due to shared interests and values (Riddervold and Bolstad 2026). This belief reinforced the idea that the ‘free world’ was not merely a temporary alliance against the Soviet Union, but a growing political community united by a common liberal democratic vision. For Europe, the Atlantic order ‘provided a ‘container’ within which liberal democracies could gain greater measures of security, protection and economic prosperity as well. To be inside this liberal hegemonic order was to be positioned inside a set of economic, political and security institutions. It was both a Gesellschaft – a ‘society’ defined by formal rules, institutions and governmental ties – and a Gemeinschaft, a ‘community’ defined by shared values, beliefs and expectations (Ikenberry 2018, 17).
Changes under Trump: Three Possible Scenarios
Across the post-war era, US presidents – despite partisan differences – have consistently prioritized and maintained the transatlantic partnership. Successive administrations from both parties regarded robust NATO alliances, international cooperation and extensive trade links with Europe and other partners as vital to American security and economic prosperity.
With the re-election of Trump in 2024, all four pillars of the relationship are now being challenged. Domestic policies directly and indirectly disturb the shared interests, interdependence, institutions and values that have served to uphold a strong transatlantic relationship (Risse 2016; Riddervold and Newsome 2022; Smith et al 2024). Regarding security interests, Trump is questioning the United States’ commitments to NATO, forcing the EU to step up the game in security and defence. This change, however, also reflects longer-term structural and domestic trends. Indeed, the need to counter China’s global expansionism is one of the few issues where the US political elite, across both parties, agree. American voters also consider China one of the main threats to the United States (Smeltz 2022; Bolstad and Riddervold 2023). Domestically, the view on transatlantic relations is somewhat mixed. On the one hand, Congress continues to be less polarized on foreign policy than on domestic issues, and there are different perspectives on foreign policy within the Republican Party (see Alcaro, this volume). Polls also show a continued, although declining, commitment to NATO and European allies (Smeltz 2022). On the other hand, however, studies suggest that Democrats and Republicans are increasingly divided on whether the United States should focus on domestic problems or continue to support international engagement (Smeltz 2022). The United States’ changing security policies under Trump are also evident in the president’s more aggressive foreign policies and his apparent willingness to use the United States’ might to enforce American interests, also vis-à-vis its traditional allies.
Weak informal ties also make the transatlantic relationship vulnerable to changing US administrations. Despite close cooperation for decades, the transatlantic relationship rests on rather few formal institutional ties. There is for example no trade agreement between the EU and the United States. As Elsuwege and Szép (2023) note, many networks, in epistemic communities, non-governmental organizations (NGOs) and international organizations are essentially informal and political rather than based on formal legal or institutional structures. Hence, although many of these expert communities and diplomatic and other networks may persist under Trump (see Smith, this volume), and as such help stabilize the relationship somewhat, the lack of formal institutions makes the transatlantic relationship more vulnerable to changes introduced by the policy decisions of different administrations. Formal institutions are harder to break and are more consistent and stable over time compared to informal networks, which depend more on the people they consist of. Moreover, Trump and his team have extended the number of administrative positions referred to as political and thus subject to change substantially (Wendling 2024). Over time, this is likely to affect informal transatlantic diplomatic and expert networks.
At the same time, observers argue that the current challenges should not be exaggerated (Tocci and Alcaro 2012). The transatlantic relationship has withstood crises before, such as disagreements following the US-led invasion of Iraq in 2003, which at the time was described as the biggest crisis ever facing the transatlantic relationship (Abelson and Brooks 2022). Tocci and Alcaro (2012) even found that the transatlantic relationship has changed and reemerged through periods of stability and crisis, with structural changes, crises and disagreements leading to a renewed relationship between the United States and Europe, rather than to a breakdown or a weakening.
To discuss if and how transatlantic relations are changing under Trump, all our chapters engage with the following three scenarios:
A first scenario suggests that transatlantic relations disintegrate in one or more policy areas, owing to diverging interests and responses to structural geopolitical changes, or to domestic political changes linked to antiglobalization, America First or isolationist sentiments.
A second scenario suggests that the EU–US relationship will be able to muddle through contemporary geopolitical and domestic challenges by undergoing a functional adjustment where cooperation is maintained in policy areas where this is seen as mutually advantageous (Tocci and Alcaro 2012, 15). This adjustment is made possible by factors such as pre-existing interdependencies, networks and institutionalized relations or overlapping interests in issue-specific areas. If these types of agreements are found in many areas, the overall relationship will be stronger than if they are only found in some domains.
A third scenario posits that the transatlantic relationship might even move forward in the face of global uncertainty and common challenges. This scenario could, for example, arise in the face of external shocks, as part of a broader balancing game, and/or because changing global structures and shared challenges reinforce and strengthen existing networks and interdependencies. These new forms of cooperation will be more resilient if they are formally institutionalized. However, it is also possible that convergence in a new and redefined relationship follows populist or right-wing trends, for example, securitization of borders or a shared set of policy approaches intended to weaken liberal values like pluralism, civic freedoms and human rights.
Structure of the Report
Within each section of the report, a background chapter introduces the overarching debate, followed by three case studies focusing on observed changes, policy implications and recommendations for EU responses.
Section 1: Security (Alcaro, Pomorska and Morgenstern-Pomorski, Sus, Wong)
In security, NATO has traditionally served as the alliance’s institutional backbone, but the EU has also increasingly taken on a bigger role, especially after Russia’s 2022 full-scale invasion of Ukraine (Fiott 2023; Grand 2024; Rieker and Giske 2023). Originally established to deter and, if necessary, defend against Soviet expansionism, NATO’s survival beyond the Cold War was largely due to the common values, identities, and worldviews on which it was founded (Schimmelfennig, 2012). NATO is a trust-based pact whose deterrent power rests on the expectation that Article 5 will be honoured rather than on legal enforcement. Recent US conduct, however, has strained that normative foundation: proposals for a transactional, ‘two-tier’ NATO tied to defence spending and rhetoric about Greenland contribute to undermining the alliance’s values-based solidarity and the liberal principles of sovereignty and self-determination (Riddervold and Bolstad 2026). The clearest manifestation of an eroding liberal consensus and increasing strategic divide is visible in responses to Russia’s 2022 invasion of Ukraine: under Biden, the United States acted with Europe to condemn a breach of core international norms and lead a coordinated response grounded in multilateral and human rights arguments (Bosse 2022; Riddervold and Newsome 2022). Three years later, the Trump administration’s posture – advocating neutrality and even entertaining recognition of Russia’s annexation of Crimea and other territorial areas – diverges sharply from the liberal principles that have sustained the transatlantic order since the Second World War.
Section 2: Trade (E. Jones, K. Jones, Poletti, Young)
A second foundational pillar of the transatlantic relationship has been a shared commitment to liberal trade principles, which holds that regulated free trade through rules-based institutions such as the World Trade Organization (WTO), the World Bank, and the International Monetary Fund (IMF), produces mutual economic gains and stabilizing interdependence (Ikenberry 2018; Keohane and Nye 2012). Both the United States and the EU have at times fallen short of these ideals: the EU has long sheltered its agricultural sector, and no comprehensive EU–US trade agreement has materialized despite deep commercial ties (Risse 2016), while public concerns about consumer protection and other values helped derail the Transatlantic Trade and Investment Partnership or TTIP (de Ville and Siles-Brügge 2016). Rising populism has amplified scepticism toward multilateral bodies such as the WTO and weakened domestic support for trade liberalization (Kerremans 2022). Under Trump’s second administration, protectionist policies, tariff measures and abrupt renegotiations have strained transatlantic trade and regulatory cooperation, undermined trust, and contravened core WTO principles such as the most favoured nation (MFN) principle, whereas the EU continues to champion the WTO and rules-based trade – summed up in the claim that ‘with Europe, what you see is what you get’ (von der Leyen 2025) – producing a widening divergence over economic liberalism and deepening the transatlantic divide.
Section 3: International institutions (Drieskens, Fiorino, Smith, Veggeland)
Right-wing populist, antiglobalization currents on both sides of the Atlantic have increasingly challenged multilateral cooperation and liberal institutions, with the Trump administration providing the clearest political expression of this transatlantic divergence. Under his second term, Trump has initiated a rolling back of American engagement with international bodies – reaffirming withdrawals from the World Health Organization (WHO), the UN Human Rights Council (UNHCR) and the Paris Agreement, slashing foreign aid as ‘wasteful spending’, and framing multilateral institutions as inefficient, elite-driven constraints on national sovereignty. These moves reflect a broader ideological shift from liberal internationalism toward a sovereignty-first, ‘America First’ posture that casts multilateral commitments as threats to identity and autonomy. At the same time, the EU has become a focal point of populist ire in the US narrative – portrayed as an external extension of domestic liberal opponents (Belin 2024) – so that withdrawals and unilateralism both signal and deepen a growing rupture between US populist politics and the EU’s commitment to global governance.
At the heart of the widening transatlantic divide is a core value conflict between the Trump administration and the EU, where rising illiberal social trends erode the liberal democratic norms that long anchored transatlantic ties. Far-right populists on both sides of the Atlantic are actively critical of democratic and rule of law institutions that were so central to deepening US–European cooperation following the end of the Cold War (Carothers 2007). The US administration’s support has likewise emboldened self-proclaimed ‘illiberal’ leaders in Europe. This approach was starkly visible at the 2025 Munich Security Conference, where Vice President JD Vance echoed populist rhetoric and signalled support for Germany’s ostracized far-right Alternative für Deutschland (AfD), while figures within the administration (and allied private actors) openly backed illiberal parties and attacked democratic institutions and higher education. The administration’s challenges to election legitimacy (e.g., claims about Romania’s 2025 vote), its cuts to federally funded research, its elimination of long-standing programs to support democracy, rule of law and humanitarian assistance, both in and in collaboration with European partners, and its differing approach to regulating misinformation further widened the values gap with Europe. Attacks on US higher education, and cuts to funding for programs that enhance European–US scholarly exchange, undermine scientific collaboration, threaten transatlantic opportunities for innovation and undercut long-standing commitments to citizen diplomacy. Although far-right movements in the United States and Europe vary in context, they share a populist, nativist orientation – what Mudde (2007, 19) describes as an exclusionary ideology hostile to nonnative elements – that reframes democracy as majoritarian rule and rejects liberal protections for minority rights and the rule of law.
Our conclusion sums up key findings and provides recommendations for how the EU should respond to changing transatlantic relations.
(*) Marianne Riddervold is a research professor at Arena, Centre for European Studies at the University of Oslo and at the Norwegian Institute of international affairs (NUPI). She is also a senior fellow at the UC Berkeley Institute of European studies. Email: mariarid@arena.uio.no
(**) Guri Rosén is Associate Professor of Political Science at the Department of Political Science at the University of Oslo, Norway. She is also a senior researcher at Arena, Centre for European Studies at the University of Oslo, Norway. Email: guri.rosen@stv.uio.no
(***) Jessica Greenberg is a professor of Anthropology at the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign. She is a political and legal anthropologist, with expertise in the anthropology of Europe, postsocialism, human rights, social movements, revolution, democracy and law. Her most recent book is Justice in the Balance: Democracy, Rule of Law and the European Court of Human Rights (Stanford University Press, 2025). Email: jrgreenb@illinois.edu
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Please cite as: Alcaro, Riccardo. (2026). “Overview and Background: Right-wing Nationalism, Trump and the Future of US-European Relations.” In: Populism and the Future of Transatlantic Relations: Challenges and Policy Options. (eds). Marianne Riddervold, Guri Rosén and Jessica R. Greenberg. European Center for Populism Studies (ECPS). January 20, 2026. https://doi.org/10.55271/rp00122
Abstract The rise of right-wing populism in Europe and the United States is often seen as a threat to the transatlantic relationship. This movement challenges the internationalist, institutional and liberal principles that have long underpinned US–European ties and sustained American leadership. In the United States, Donald Trump has pushed conservatism toward nationalism and nativism. His administration’s multiple – often conflicting – approaches make both transformation and rupture of the transatlantic bond plausible outcomes. Traditional Republicans still see alliances as tools to contain rivals; MAGA conservatives advocate isolationism and protectionism, and the nativist right envisions a ‘civilizational alliance’ of Christian nation-states in the West opposing liberal internationalism. Trump himself treats alliances as client relationships, rewarding loyalty and punishing defiance. Understanding this interplay of forces is essential to interpreting the volatility of Trump-era policies toward Europe and evaluating their implications for the European Union (EU) and the continent’s security.
Keywords: transatlantic relations; national conservatism; New Right; Trump foreign policy; European strategic autonomy
There is a growing sense amongst experts and policymakers that the transatlantic relationship, as we have come to know it in the 80 years since the Second World War, has run its course (Fahey 2023). In part, transatlantic change reflects broader systemic change, as the United States adapts irregularly but inexorably to a global context in which the centre of geopolitical gravity has shifted from the Atlantic to the Pacific. Equally important, however, is the questioning of the ideational and strategic foundations of the transatlantic relationship in the domestic landscapes of the United States and, to a lesser extent, Europe. Hence, while the transatlantic relationship will evolve in light of global structural shifts, the interplay between domestic political dynamics across the ocean will determine its quality and direction (Laderman 2024–25). For Europeans, the stakes are high indeed, given the United States’ role in the defence of Europe and the amplification of European clout in an international system built over decades around the Euro–Atlantic order.
Were political elites in the United States and Europe to forge a new alliance infused with ideational commonalities and grounded in strategic convergence, the relationship could be revived in a different form. Alternatively, ideological affinities may enhance a sense of common belonging across like-minded parties but may be insufficient to provide a platform for structured foreign policy coordination. The transatlantic relationship would thus become a series of arrangements based on the contingent interests of either side. Finally, absent any form of strong transnational ties, the relationship may drift apart, potentially giving way to systemic competition. Intermediate forms of these scenarios of partnership, functional relationship (a way of muddling through where cooperation is issue-contingent) and breaking apart are equally plausible (Alcaro and Tocci 2014). One such form that does not neatly fit into any of these three scenarios is a relationship in which the United States’ hierarchical centrality is reasserted through the weakening and fragmentation of the European side.
The manner in which the relationship adapts to systemic changes is thus being forged in domestic political struggles about the value and relevance of the transatlantic bond, especially in the United States. The main – although not the only – drivers of such political fights are forces that in the 2010s were grouped under the heading of right-wing populism, but which today should be described as distinct instances of national (or nationalist) conservatism. On the rise in a number of European Union (EU) member states, national conservatism has scored massive political victories in the United States, where President Donald Trump has served as its standard-bearer (The Economist 2024).
This introductory chapter briefly explains Trump’s Europe policy in light of the different strands of thought within his administration and his personalistic understanding of power. Next, it recaps how European countries have adjusted. Finally, it draws preliminary conclusions about how national conservatism and Trump’s personalistic hold on power can affect Europe’s domestic debate and choices regarding the transatlantic relationship.
Multifaceted American Conservatism and Europe
In the Trump administration, the Republican Party and the US conservative world at large coexist with different visions of America’s role in the world and the corresponding foreign policy priorities – including with regard to Europe (Dueck 2019). At the risk of oversimplifying, the conservative foreign policy debate breaks down into three broad categories – primacists, conservative realists and civilizational warriors – that define schools of thought conceptually distinct from one another, even if they are not always mutually exclusive in terms of policy options.
The primacists comprise what is left of traditional Republican internationalism (Ruge and Shapiro 2022). The liberal and universalist impetus that once positioned the United States as the leader of the free world and guarantor of the international system – a proposition extended to economic relations through the promotion of unrestrained movement of goods and capital and the globalization of efficiency-based supply chains – has faded. Yet the conviction endures that America’s hegemonic position should be preserved through deep involvement in global affairs (Schake 2024).
From this perspective, alliances and partnerships are essential to augment the United States’ capacity to push back against a coalition of adversaries whose strategic alignment is assumed to be strong and long-term due to their authoritarian regimes and anti-Western orientation: the ‘axis of four’ of China, Russia, North Korea and Iran (as well as their minions like Venezuela) (Kendall-Taylor and Fontaine 2024). Although of lesser importance, international organizations and treaties retain utility insofar as they can be used to promote narratives and policy recipes in line with US interests and thus isolate rivals.
Europe occupies a significant position in this vision because NATO guarantees the continental hegemony of the United States, and the European countries act as a first line of defence against Russia and as a check on Moscow’s ambitions. While important, Europe’s capacity to strengthen its military is not an absolute priority for primacists, as it may, after all, affect the United States’ ability to influence European countries’ foreign policy. It follows that continuous investment of political and military resources in NATO and the defence of Ukraine remains critical to weakening Russia and ensuring European followership (Michta 2024).
Although it no longer enjoys the same degree of public support as it once did, this school of thought retains significant influence within the US foreign policy establishment — particularly among Washington think tanks, conservative media outlets such as The Wall Street Journal, senior members of Congress (with Senator Lindsey Graham leading the group of Republican foreign policy hawks), and within the administration itself, where it is represented primarily by Secretary of State Marco Rubio.
Conservative realists encompass a range of diverse voices united by a common desire to see the United States act upon narrowly defined national interests (Borg 2024). A segment of the public opinion sees US exceptionalism as a national peculiarity that does not need to be exported abroad and favours a limited international role for the United States, largely free of any binding commitments arising from alliances or membership in international institutions. Among foreign policy experts, this strand of thought has its roots in the realist school of International Relations, which appreciates alliances and multilateral regimes insofar as they can help limit the United States’ military exposure.
Those grouped under the conservative realism label tend to agree on certain foreign policy priorities, most notably the need to prevent or contain the emergence of China as a threat to geopolitical balances in East Asia and, potentially, globally too. Still, conservative realism is open to the construction of a multipolar system in which US military might (which remains of paramount importance) works primarily for deterrence and offshore balancing, and the defence of US interests is made more sustainable through the pursuit of stability-oriented arrangements with rival powers (Mearsheimer and Walt 2016).
From this perspective, the notion that allies and partners of the United States may acquire greater autonomy is acceptable inasmuch as they can better guarantee the stability of the geopolitical theatres that have absorbed a disproportionate share of US political and military resources – namely the Middle East and Europe – so that Washington can concentrate more extensively on the Asian front. A more integrated and potentially autonomous EU is less a threat to America’s primacy (to which conservative realists do not have an obsessive attachment) than it is an opportunity to share the burden for continental stability and the containment of Russia (Williams 2025). It is also the best option to reduce the security risks that a downgrading of the United States’ strategic commitment to Europe and its military presence across NATO countries would carry with it (Chivvis 2025).
While still in the minority, this strand of thought has moved beyond academia. It resonates with the inward-looking instincts of the MAGA crowd, but also with the section of the left-wing electorate that has grown weary of what it perceives as American militarism abroad. It has also entered the foreign policy debates inside the Beltway as a regular voice in favour of restraint. However, conservative realism has made little inroads into the administration, even if ‘China prioritizers’ like Undersecretary of Defence Elbridge Colby may be loosely associated with it.
The third category, the civilizational warriors, has its ideological roots in the national conservatism espoused by much of the US new right (Hazony 2022). This strand of thought holds together the forceful reassertion of American absolute sovereignty against any form of long-term international commitment with the conviction that America is the core, engine and apex of Western civilization. Civilizational warriors do not construct the West as an alliance of states bound by shared strategic interests and a common commitment to universalistic values such as human rights, democracy and the rule of law. Rather, they conceive of it as a community of nations from Europe and of European descent linked to one another by history, Christianity (or the Judeo-Christian tradition) and, to some at least, race.
Civilizational warriors see this community as threatened not so much by the authoritarianism and militaristic expansionism of rival powers like Russia. Instead, it is migrants with an alien ethnic, linguistic and religious background and globalist elites promoting open trade, globalized supply chains and the supposedly intolerant and degenerate ‘woke’ ideology that risk subverting Western freedoms, welfare and cultural traditions. This vision is shared, in whole or in part, by sections of the MAGA movement, as well as by tech billionaires like Elon Musk and Peter Thiel, and has its most prominent reference point in Vice President JD Vance (Lopez 2025).
Europe is both the object of nostalgia and the source of hatred for those holding this view. On the one hand, the EU is deeply resented not just because of its potential to empower its member states, but also because it embodies the set of values that this movement despises most: supranationalism, inclusivity, diversity, and cosmopolitanism (Franke 2025). On the other hand, the European nations are the natural candidates to join the United States in a ‘civilizational alliance’ against migrants and the enemies from within (Samson 2025).
US foreign policy under the second Trump administration comprises elements of these various strands of conservatism, which explains the at times wild oscillations in rhetoric and policy actions on display regarding the Ukraine war and the approach to NATO and Europe’s security in general. While this multiple origin makes US foreign policy look incoherent, another element gives it greater intelligibility – namely, Trump’s understanding of power (Moynihan 2025). The US president sees power as a never-ending exercise in renegotiating relations, in which the stronger side, the United States, uses its vast array of assets – from tariffs to military assistance to investment – to extract ever more concessions (Bertoldi and Buti 2025). He views US alliances and partnerships as a client system in which the US’s burden is diminished, and its advantage is aggressively pursued. Similarly, rival powers are less systemic enemies to be defeated than potential interlocutors for deals in which influence is shared according to each party’s relative power and interests (Feaver 2024).
What makes this combination of extreme transactionalism and penchant for unrestrained sovereignty unique is the construction of the US national interest as inexorably linked to Trump’s personal power, and the ensuing blurring of the line between public and private interests. The elevation of personal ties with Trump, his family and his closest entourage, above formal relations between state institutions, creates incentives for allies, partners and rivals alike to contribute to his political and private fortunes. Governments that do not have to worry excessively about domestic opposition, such as the Arab Gulf dynasties, which have struck multi-billion-dollar deals with the Trump administration (and generously contributed to the financial and crypto ventures of the president’s family), have adapted with relative ease. For European governments, which are often supported by multi-party parliamentary coalitions and are subject to greater scrutiny from the press and public opinion, the process is more complicated.
Europe’s Adjustments: The Benefits and Costs of Appeasement
European adjustment to US foreign policy under Trump has taken on different forms. There has been an extensive use of flattery to win the US president’s favour, with European leaders echoing his rhetoric or developing new language consistent with it (Shapiro 2025; Brands 2025). More significantly, European governments have made efforts to meet US expectations beforehand. They have raised military and security-related spending to address the US’s longstanding concern about NATO’s uneven burden-sharing, agreed to buy US weapons on behalf of Ukraine, maintained economic pressure on Russia, and shown readiness to support a post-war settlement through deployed military assets (Scazzieri 2025; Ondrych 2025). Some have signalled their value to the pursuit of strategic goals that the Trump administration deems priorities, as when Finland agreed to build icebreakers to strengthen the United States’ hold on the Arctic (Foroohar 2025).
In return, the Europeans have often resorted to damage limitation. The latter has involved absorbing the effects of Trump’s most disruptive policies – such as tariffs, the phasing out of military transfers to Ukraine, and threats to take Greenland from Denmark – through coordinated diplomatic engagement, notably at the level of leaders. The objective of these efforts has been to prevent unwelcome outcomes such as a deal with Russia to the detriment of Ukraine and Europe’s security, further tariff escalation or the opening of new disputes (for instance over climate or digital regulations) (Momtaz et al. 2025).
These tactics have yielded some results. Trump’s recurrent outbursts against NATO have ceased, and the administration’s rhetoric on Europe has improved. Most importantly, support for Ukraine has not been interrupted, and sanctions on Russia have been maintained, even if Moscow’s stubborn rejection of any US opening and Kyiv’s deft management of Trump’s expectations have arguably been more consequential than European entreaties (Mikhelidze 2025). Even so, Europe’s reactive approach has limits and carries risks and costs. As mentioned above, support for maintaining a significant military presence in Europe is fading in the US public and even among elites. Thus, the most the European governments can hope for is to coordinate the downgrading of US assets within NATO with Washington so that it does not leave them overly exposed, and cultivate bilateral military relations to keep as many of those assets as possible on their national soil.
In addition, Trump’s volatile nature and transactional approach force European governments into continuous efforts to appease him, which in turn feeds his tendency to renegotiate the terms of their arrangements and add new demands. An example is Trump’s initial insistence that US sanctions on Russia could happen if the EU first adopted impossibly high tariffs on China and India as retribution for purchasing Russian oil (he later cast aside this condition, but not because of European opposition) (Hoskins 2025). Even when no demand is explicitly uttered, the Europeans may opt for alignment to avoid injecting an irritant into the transatlantic relationship, as their endorsement of the US bombing of Iran (an eventuality they had long opposed) attests (Azizi and Van Veen 2025).
This highly reactive and largely accommodating attitude means EU and national policymakers end up sharpening the tension between the urgent need to keep the United States engaged, on the one hand, and the long-term goal of reducing European vulnerability to external pressure through more integrated EU institutions and capacities, on the other. The domestic incentives to invest diplomatic resources and political capital in greater EU integration, by nature a slow and cumbersome process, diminish if bilateral action can more easily secure gains from a US administration that is short on sympathy for the supranational EU.
The commitment to investing in a systematic and extensive upgrade of EU governance and capabilities is also affected by the fact that Trump’s power-based, sovereignty-driven foreign policy approach, which has been given an aura of legitimacy by European appeasement, has emboldened Eurosceptic forces that share ideological affinities with US national conservatism.
Trump and Europe’s Right: So Far, So Close?
There is much in common within the transatlantic right-wing galaxy, spanning a nationalist attachment to sovereignty, visceral opposition to immigration, revulsion at the ‘degenerate’ woke values of liberal progressivism, resentment against regulations in the digital and climate sectors, as well as impatience with political and constitutional checks and balances. Ideological affinities underpin growing ties between US and European right-wing movements, with institutions from Poland and Hungary (a central reference point for the US new right) quite active in promoting a transatlantic community of right-wing intellectuals and activists.
However, replicating the American right’s success in Europe is not as straightforward. The European right remains fractious and its relationship with its US counterpart anything but linear (Balfour et al.2025). On a number of issues, European right-wing parties follow national preferences that are not easily reconcilable – the Hungarians and Poles, for instance, oppose greater burden-sharing in migration management and stronger fiscal capacity in Brussels, both of which the Italians would support. Marked divisions also exist regarding Russia. Some, notably the Polish and Scandinavian right as well as parts of the Italian right, view Russia as a threat and favour support for Ukraine. The bulk of the European right continues to nurture some sympathy towards Moscow, although this has become much more muted in the wake of the Ukraine war. They see Russian nationalist and authoritarian conservatism as a natural interlocutor for the preservation of Europe’s cultural and religious heritage as well as its stability and energy security. Adding to these policy divergences are party and leadership rivalries, with three distinct right-wing groups in the European Parliament.
In short, the electoral strength of right-wing parties does not translate into an equally strong capacity to shape policies at the EU level, let alone create a coherent foreign policy platform on which to engage the United States. Right-wing parties, like anyone else, must also contend with the harm inflicted by US tariffs on EU exports and wavering security commitments, as well as with Trump’s scarce popularity in most of Europe (O’Brien 2025). Even internally, the US president’s average approval rating has been stuck in the mid-to-low 40s (RealClearPolitics 2025).
The reality is that the deliberately confrontational approach to politics of right-wing nationalism and Trump’s personality tends to generate counterbalancing dynamics of aggregation. Moreover, Trump’s power-based foreign policy, even when one shares its nationalist premises, fuels a demand in Europe for security and welfare that cannot be met in full through a critically unbalanced relationship with the United States, which is constantly open to review. Russia’s war of conquest in Ukraine and Trump’s nationalistic and unilateralist re-orientation of US foreign policy are tangible manifestations of a geopolitical reality that is not just debated in foreign policy circles but felt across populations in Europe. It follows that the pragmatic logic underlying European appeasement of Trump can also be applied to the EU. Whether regarded as an alternative, a complement or merely an accessory to the relationship with the United States, the EU’s potential to improve member states’ military, energy, technological and industrial assets, as well as protect their regulatory sovereignty and trade – including to contain the costs of renewed US–China tensions – is easier to appreciate for elites and general public alike. The weakness of pro-EU political forces, which may be more a problem of leadership than policy, obscures but cannot erase these structural realities.
Political forces that remain committed to the transatlantic bond, or that regard the relationship with Washington primarily through a pragmatic lens, should recognize that the advantages of accommodation diminish over time. The current US administration, in all its iterations of conservative views of US foreign policy and with Trump’s power-infused understanding of foreign relations, is largely insensitive to European objections, not least because it perceives little or no cost in adopting positions that openly contradict European preferences. Persisting in appeasement not only reinforces this dynamic but also undermines collective efforts to enhance the EU’s capacity to withstand external pressure and adapt to a gradual recalibration of American commitments to the continent. By the same token, European nationalist movements that oppose deeper integration should reflect on the tangible costs of failing to forge a common stance in response to US measures (be they on trade, technology or other strategic issues) that harm the very constituencies these movements claim to defend.
An Uncertain Future
There can be little doubt that the political struggles on the future of the transatlantic relationship across Europe are being fought on a favourable terrain for the right-wing forces and President Trump himself. Nevertheless, those struggles are not settled yet, and the future is open to different scenarios.
In one possible scenario – consistent with the worldview of US primacists – the United States would maintain its commitment to Europe’s defence in exchange for a greater European contribution to continental security and, more broadly, Washington’s pursuit of global hegemony. This approach would not only entail participation in the containment of Russia but also complete alignment in pushing back against China’s influence and isolating other adversarial powers, such as Iran. Such an arrangement would loosely represent a continuation of the post-war transatlantic relationship, albeit one in which normative and institutional dimensions are downgraded since the development of European military capabilities becomes instrumental to the consolidation of a rigidly hierarchical Euro–Atlantic structure. The relationship would thereby assume the form of a hub-and-spoke system, characterized by a stronger bilateralization of US security and defence ties with individual European states, the relative marginalization of NATO as a locus of transatlantic consensus-building, and indifference or mild hostility towards the EU. Although not entirely compatible with President Trump’s aversion to long-term commitments, this configuration of US–European relations would nonetheless chime with his conception of America’s alliances and partnerships as a clientelist network reaffirming US centrality.
In another scenario, the development of integrated European capacities for resource generation and defence and security provision would endow EU member states with greater bargaining power in dealings with Washington across domains ranging from trade and relations with China to the security governance of Europe itself. This dynamic would clash with Trump’s anti-EU instincts and his ambition to reassert American primacy. Yet, it would resonate with his transactional understanding of international relations and with his preference, shared by conservative realists, for a substantial US retrenchment from Europe.
Both scenarios rest on the assumption that transatlantic political elites would frame their domestic political interests in terms of the strategic advantages of preserving a strong Euro–Atlantic coalition, although in the second case, the relationship would be more prone to engendering largely contingent, functional forms of cooperation. However, another scenario envisions the inverse dynamic, whereby strategic security concerns are subordinated to short-term political expediency, particularly on the European side.
In such a context, the containment of Russia, the management of tensions with China or the pursuit of stability in the Middle East would rank lower on the hierarchy of priorities than the quest for control over domestic centres of power through the continuous mobilization against internal political adversaries and, increasingly, against the supranational governance system of the EU. In this scenario, which reflects the ideological convictions of the civilization warriors, the transatlantic relationship would become ‘de-strategized’. It would in effect assume a partisan function, operating as a shared ideological framework through which right-wing parties mutually legitimize their respective domestic political struggles, with strategic coordination being relegated to either contingent arrangements or, again, European followership.
As mentioned at the start of this introduction, the evolution of the transatlantic relationship will be shaped as much by the capacity of political elites to reconcile strategic imperatives with domestic political pressures as by shifts in material power or institutional design. Whether this reconciliation yields a renewed yet asymmetrical alliance, a more equal but functional partnership or devolves into a fragmented, ideologically charged alignment will determine the degree to which the Euro–Atlantic area continues to constitute a coherent pole of order in a contested international system.
(*) Riccardo Alcaro is Research Coordinator and Head of the Global Actors Programme at the Istituto Affari Internazionali (IAI). His main area of expertise is transatlantic relations, with a particular focus on US and European policies towards Europe’s surrounding regions. He has been a visiting fellow at the Brookings Institution in Washington and a fellow of the EU-wide programme European Foreign and Security Policy Studies (EFSPS). He has coordinated the EU-funded TRANSWORLD project on transatlantic relations and global governance (7th Framework Programme) and the JOINT project on EU foreign and security policy (Horizon 2020). Riccardo is the author of Europe and Iran’s Nuclear Crisis (Palgrave Macmillan, 2018) and co-author of Conflict Management and the Future of EU Foreign and Security Policy: Relational Power Europe (Routledge, 2025). He also edited The Liberal Order and its Contestations (Routledge, 2018). He holds a summa cum laude PhD from the University of Tübingen. Email: r.alcaro@iai.it
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US President Donald Trump held a campaign rally at PPG Paints Arena in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, on November 4, 2024. Photo: Chip Somodevilla.[/caption]
