I. Wolfowitz Doctrine
In early March 1992, less than three months after the dissolution of the Soviet Union, the Washington Post and New York Times published extracts from a secret document from the U.S. Department of Defense. The document, authored by the then Under Secretary of Defense Paul Wolfowitz, was officially called Defense Planning Guidance for the 1994–1999 fiscal years, but today it’s widely known as the Wolfowitz Doctrine.
The Wolfowitz Doctrine, later declassified and published in full, described the world the U.S. wanted to see after the demise of its rival superpower. The main objective of the U.S. in this new world, according to the doctrine, was to “prevent the reemergence of a new rival.”
The core message of the document could be found on page 3:
“First, the US must show the leadership necessary to establish and protect a new order that can convince potential competitors not to pursue a more aggressive posture to secure their legitimate interests. Second, in non-defense areas, we must sufficiently respect the interests of the advanced industrial nations to discourage them from challenging our leadership or seeking to overturn the established political and economic order. Finally, we must maintain mechanisms, in concert with our allies, to deter potential aggressors from aspiring to a larger regional or global role.”
By “advanced industrial nations” Wolfowitz meant not so much Russia, whose economy was in tatters, and definitely not China, which had only recently started economic reforms, but the American allies in Europe and East Asia.
In Wolfowitz’s own words:
“While the United States supports the goal of European integration, we must seek to prevent the emergence of European-only security arrangements which would undermine NATO.”
and
“[W]e must also remain sensitive to the potentially destabilizing effects that enhanced roles on the part of our allies, particularly Japan but also possibly Korea, might produce.”
After the resulting scandal and discussion in Congress, the document was toned down, and its final version didn’t contain provocative warnings against strategic independence of Europe and Japan. But the message remained the same: the U.S. should do everything possible to discourage its allies from trying to defend themselves. It was just said in a more palatable form:
“[T]he United States must show the leadership necessary to encourage sustained cooperation among major democratic powers. The alternative would be to leave our critical interests and the security of our friends dependent upon individual efforts that could be duplicative, competitive, or ineffective.”
The document further stated:
“[W]e cannot ignore our enduring interests or neglect our responsibilities in the key regions of the world. To do so would only invite danger, foster instability and, ultimately, require a greater commitment of resources in the future.”
That last sentence is an obvious reference to something that back then didn’t have a name, but now is called the Kindleberger Trap.
II. Kindleberger Trap
The Kindleberger Trap occurs when a declining superpower stops fulfilling its global responsibilities, and no other power is willing or able to take its place.
The term was coined in 2017 by political scientist Joseph Nye, referencing economist Charles P. Kindleberger, a key architect of the Marshall Plan. Kindleberger argued that after WWI and the decline of Pax Britannica, the U.S. failed to assume global leadership—leading to the collapse of international order, economic depression, and eventually World War II.
Today, we’re seeing history repeat itself, but this time, the most powerful nation on Earth isn’t simply reluctant to take on new responsibilities; it’s actively renouncing existing ones. That’s clear from both the words and actions of the Trump administration. As Marco Rubio recently put it:
"It’s not normal for the world to have a unipolar power. That was an anomaly, a product of the end of the Cold War. Eventually, we would return to a multipolar world."
A “multipolar world” is just another term for international chaos—where stronger countries devour their weaker neighbors.
Why is Trump doing this?
Noah Smith offers two possible explanations.
The first, which he calls the Metternich–Lindbergh Theory, draws on two historical figures: Klemens von Metternich, who orchestrated the post-Napoleonic Concert of Europe, and Charles Lindbergh, a leading voice of American isolationism. This theory suggests Trump wants to divide the world into three spheres of influence—controlled by the U.S., China, and Russia—with the U.S. keeping to itself the Western Hemisphere and withdrawing from the rest of the world.
The second theory, Reverse Kissinger, refers to Henry Kissinger’s Cold War strategy of splitting China from the Soviet Union. Under this approach, Trump would seek to distance Russia from China and potentially align it with the United States—or at least move it toward neutrality.
Which one is correct?
There are several signs we may want to watch out, but the fate of the Chagos Islands offers a possible clue.
These islands in the Indian Ocean are currently British territory, but the UK wants to transfer them to Mauritius, which has claimed sovereignty for decades.
The islands host Diego Garcia, one of the largest U.S. military bases, with a heavy Navy and Air Force presence. It’s the only American base in the Indian Ocean, used in the Gulf War, the Afghan War, and recent operations against the Houthis.
The U.S. can veto the transfer. Mauritius promises to let the U.S. keep the base indefinitely—but it has close ties with China. It's the only African country with a free trade agreement with Beijing, and China plans to build a financial clearing center there for the entire continent. Even if Mauritius honors its promise, there’s nothing stopping it from leasing a nearby island to China for military or surveillance purposes.
The UK, by contrast, is a reliable ally. Washington can count on it not to evict the base or invite China in.
Trump is not concerned with questions of historical justice or decolonization. If he allows the transfer to go through, it won’t be because he supports Mauritian claims—it will be because he’s no longer interested in whether the U.S. maintains its strategic presence in the Indian Ocean at all. And that would be a strong signal that the U.S. is no longer interested in being a global superpower.
For smaller, strategically vulnerable countries such as Taiwan and Israel, the U.S. approach to global leadership is a critical question. If the U.S. tries to peel Russia away from China, they can breathe easier. But if Washington pulls back to its own hemisphere, they will face a harsh new reality.
Even if the U.S. still wants to support its allies, it might no longer be able to. Projecting power across oceans requires a network of military infrastructure—not just in the region itself, but in several places along the way. If the U.S. is serious about withdrawal, keeping expensive overseas bases makes little sense—especially when they provoke local powers. You either stay engaged or you don’t. And if you leave, your former allies are left to fend for themselves.
As for the bigger players, Trump’s choice between Reverse Kissinger and Metternich–Lindbergh may not matter much—because both those plans are doomed to fail.
Rapprochement with Russia has been attempted many times—the most infamous being the Obama administration's "Reset" in 2009, just a year after Russia invaded Georgia. Every attempt has ended in failure. As long as the U.S. remains a superpower, the only role it can offer Russia is that of a junior partner. Russia doesn’t want that. It never has. What it wants is to replace the U.S. entirely as the world’s sole superpower.
Russia never accepted its Cold War defeat and seeks to reverse it. Moscow might pretend to want equal partnership if it suited its goals tactically, but only as a step toward strategic domination. The Cold War wasn’t a stable detente between superpowers—it was a struggle for survival. The U.S. won. The USSR collapsed. Today’s Russia rose from its ashes and claims its legacy. What it truly wants is revenge.
Worse than revenge—it’s a vendetta. For the Russian elite, the ultimate enemy is the Anglo-Saxon world, blamed for all modern ills. This hostility dates back centuries. From the early 1800s through the early 20th century, Britain was seen as Russia’s chief geopolitical rival, obstructing its ambitions in Asia and the Mediterranean. Even during World War I, alliance with Britain was viewed as temporary and transactional. After Britain’s decline, the U.S. inherited its role as Russia’s principal rival. Deep-rooted animosity toward the Anglo-American world won’t be undone by concessions in Ukraine or elsewhere, just as British concessions in Central Asia didn’t change Russian ambitions a century ago.
A tactical U.S.-Russia alliance against China is equally implausible. From Russia’s perspective, it would only entrench American global dominance. An alliance with China, by contrast, aligns naturally with Russia’s goal of dismantling that dominance.
The Metternich-Lindbergh concept—a tripartite division of global influence among the U.S., Russia, and China—is no more realistic. This scheme mimics the Concert of Europe after Napoleon’s defeat, which briefly stabilized the continent. But the Concert started to crumble within a decade, failing to prevent revolutions, nationalist unifications of Italy and Germany, and ultimately, world war. Why? Because most powers were secretly dissatisfied with the arrangement and wanted more for themselves.
The same dynamic would unfold today. Russia might accept a temporary arrangement—busy as it is in Europe—but China has no reason to sit idle for long. Especially if, in the American vision, spheres of influence are not only political but economic as well.
The map below shows whether each country trades more with the U.S. or China.
In the past two decades, Chinese business conquered the entire world except North America. They sell globally, and to keep doing so, they need resources like Brazilian oil and Chilean copper. China is capable to secure its supply lines: it’s built the world’s largest navy by warship count—1.5 times larger than the U.S. fleet. Though American ships are heavier and more advanced overall, China is closing the gap with cutting-edge anti-ship missiles, including hypersonic models the U.S. lacks, and superior drone swarm capabilities. By the 2030s, China is expected to surpass the U.S. in total naval tonnage.
Why would China limit itself to Asia—especially when its main rival signals weakness?
History offers a cautionary tale. In the mid-18th century, China itself chose self-isolation, limiting foreign trade and influence to preserve internal control. It resulted in stagnation, technological decay, and the "century of humiliation," as European powers forced China open on unfavorable terms. Modern China has learned that lesson. Trump, it seems, has not.
III. Europe, Together
For Europe, Trump’s intentions are almost irrelevant. Whether he seeks an anti-China pact with Russia or a full retreat from Eurasia, the result is the same: Europe stands alone. In January, there was hope Trump simply wanted Europe to spend more on defense. But his recent remarks ― claiming that the EU was created to “screw America,” and demanding for reparations for trade imbalances—make it clear: he sees Europe not as a free-riding ally, but as a hostile competitor.
Europe may hope this is just a temporary twist of fate and that the next American administration will return to the decades-long transatlantic partnership. But that may be a pipe dream—and Europe doesn’t have four years to wait, anyway. For now, the working assumption should be that, for the foreseeable future, Europe will have to walk alone—or at least without the U.S.
It’s obvious that Europe isn’t prepared. So, what should it do now?
Europe's two biggest weaknesses are political disunity and technological stagnation.
To address both at once, Europe must flip its institutional logic.
The core function of a state—or federation—is to provide public goods: services that are non-excludable and non-rivalrous. That means you can’t prevent anyone to benefit from it, and one person’s use doesn’t diminish another’s.
The concept is widely misunderstood. For example, public parks and highways are often called public goods, but they’re not: both are excludable (you can fence off parks or install toll gates) and rivalrous (their quality deteriorates when overcrowded). A classic example of a true public good is public lighting: if you install streetlights, you can’t stop people from using the light, and no matter how many people are in the street, each one gets the same amount of illumination.
Another classical example is national security. It’s what any state should provide to its citizens first and foremost. And it’s where the European Union fails. It wasn’t a problem when Europeans could rely on NATO—but now that NATO is effectively dead, it’s becoming a major issue.
The EU was never designed to provide national security. It can’t even guard its borders against illegal migration, let alone repel foreign aggression. The core issue isn’t just the absence of a European army. It’s that all security decisions require unanimous consent—leaving the EU paralyzed whenever a single member dissents.
A similar system—Liberum veto—existed in the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth in the 17th and 18th centuries. Any member of the Sejm could block a collective decision. At first, this wasn’t fatal: the majority usually managed to pressure or persuade dissenters, just as the EU now tries with Hungary. But over time, obstruction became bolder and more frequent. Eventually, neighboring powers learned to exploit the system, bribing nobles to veto decisions that hurt their interests. Since only one vote was needed, sabotage was easy. The result: paralysis, decline, and ultimately the partition of the Commonwealth by aggressive neighbors.
The EU risks the same fate unless it replaces unanimity in foreign policy with a supermajority. Whether that threshold should be 55%, 67%, 72% or 85% is up for debate. What’s not debatable is this: a system where one or two countries can block the Union from defending itself is untenable. It may be bad news for Israel—lacking many European allies—but under the current rules, Europe cannot survive.
Europe also needs a new military alliance—one that includes not only EU states, but also the UK and Norway—with its own command structure.
Europe today resembles ancient Greece: many small, often rival states. Most of the time, the major poleis competed. But when united, they were unmatched. When Athens, Sparta, and Corinth aligned, they crushed the Persian Empire, the most powerful state on the planet. When they stood divided—as when Sparta stayed neutral during the Macedonian invasion—they fell.
It’s the same now. Alone, France, the UK, or Germany are second-tier military powers. Together, they can project power globally. Combined European military power is comparable to that of the U.S. or China. If the European defense bloc cooperated with Japan, South Korea, and Australia—who already punch well above their weight in naval and air power—they could even deter a Chinese invasion of Taiwan. Their combined fleets would surpass China’s both in total ship count and key categories like aircraft carriers, submarines, and destroyers. The obstacle isn’t hardware. It’s coordination.
Ironically, the opposite is true in economics and technology: here, European coordination is excessive.
Europe rose to dominance through competition. Dozens of states experimented, copied, and improved upon each other’s institutions. The Dutch learned from the Venetians, the English from the Dutch, the Germans from the English. That diversity created innovation.
Today, EU leaders blame Europe’s tech lag on market fragmentation. But fragmented markets didn’t stop Europe from becoming the world’s innovation leader in earlier centuries. The real problem started with the Maastricht Treaty. Since then, instead of competing, member states have voted.
Most economic decisions in the EU are made by majority rule, leading to what economists call the median voter effect, where decisions made by the majority always align with the preferences of the median voter. The median voter in the EU is Belgium. This benefits the more socialist South, pushing it to adopt some reforms. But it harms the more liberal North, which is stuck with France-light regulations.
Europe can’t build a modern military on a stagnant economy. Future armies will depend on AI, drone swarms, hypersonic weapons, quantum encryption, and space infrastructure. Without a strong commercial tech sector, Europe will have none of that. It’s already a decade behind the U.S. and China in most critical technologies.
Europe has the talent, but that talent often goes to the U.S. To keep it at home, the EU must stay committed to the single market—but drop its “one size fits all” economic policies. Brussels should scale back its role in economic micromanagement and focus instead on real public goods: defense and foreign policy.
That won’t happen on its own. The Commission and Parliament won’t cede power voluntarily. Rebalancing the system will require rewriting the Lisbon Treaty. Even in the best case, that will take years.
In the meantime, Europe must avoid alienating American tech firms. Trump may be hostile to Europe, but U.S. business is not. Instead of driving it away with heavy regulations, massive fines, and threats of new taxes, Europe should welcome it. It should actively encourage U.S. tech companies—big and small—to invest and build in Europe.
The only real alternative is China. That’s a bad option—and should be avoided if possible. But Europe can’t simultaneously crush its own tech sector, scare off American firms, and shut out Chinese ones. It needs modern technology to defend itself. And that can’t come from public investment alone. The Soviet Union tried that path. We know how it ended.
Can the European Union pull this off? It's unclear. Today, the EU often resembles a fossilized bureaucracy, incapable of decisive action. But Europe has reinvented itself before—against long odds. There’s no reason it can’t do so again.
The question is not whether Europe can change, but how fast—and, therefore, how painless—this change will be.
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