Theodore Roosevelt had a knack for distilling power into poetry: “Speak softly and carry a big stick; you will go far.” It was calm menace wrapped in velvet—don’t start fights, but if one comes, let the other guy know you’ve got a sledgehammer tucked under your coat.
Fast-forward to 2025, and the remix echoing across Washington sounds more like: “Yell into the void and swing a pool noodle.” That’s Trump’s take on global strategy. His latest move? A sweeping 10% tariff on all imports, plus a special 34% “gift” to China. Beijing, unfazed, matched it with their own 34% hike, and Trump, never one to be out-escalated, threatened to slap another 50% on top—potentially stacking Chinese goods with a 104% total tariff. That’s not a trade strategy. That’s a fireworks show in a warehouse full of gasoline.
And yet—China isn’t playing.
Not in the way Trump expects. They’re not scrambling to negotiate. Not sweating. Not even blinking. Their response has the chilled calm of a dinner guest quietly folding their napkin while the host throws a tantrum. Because here’s the uncomfortable truth: China isn’t just retaliating—they’re signaling something deeper.
They’ve stopped listening.
Trump’s shouting doesn’t land the way he thinks it does. Not because it’s too strong, but because it’s become background noise. The kind people mute during real conversations. And while he’s busy puffing up tariffs and alienating allies, China’s out there building new trade routes, cementing alliances, and whispering to the rest of the world, “You don’t need them anymore.”
That silence? That’s not diplomacy. That’s indifference. And indifference is louder than any threat.
Now enter Russia, always happy to capitalize on chaos. Trump’s America-first sloganeering has pulled the U.S. back from global leadership, and Vladimir Putin is only too happy to step in. Energy markets? He’s there. Cyber influence? Thriving. Regional disruption? Business as usual. Every time Trump shakes the international snow globe, Russia’s already got its sled ready.
So yes—Trump has become the geopolitical gift neither China nor Russia had to ask for.
In ditching Roosevelt’s approach, he didn’t just lose leverage—he handed it away. To China, who gets to look calm, strategic, and vaguely heroic by comparison. To Russia, who thrives on instability like a cat with a knocked-over wine glass. This isn’t diplomacy. It’s a clearance sale on American influence, and our rivals are first in line.
And that’s the tragedy under all the noise. The “big stick” Roosevelt spoke of? It wasn’t just military might. It was credibility. Quiet strength. The knowledge that if America spoke, the world listened—because it meant something.
Now? The shouting’s louder. But the stick? It’s gone soft.
And the world has stopped listening.