Trump, Tariffs and the Timeless Tango of Greed

“Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it. And those who do remember it are usually too busy profiting from tariffs to care.”
– A very tired historian, possibly unemployed due to budget cuts

In the complex theatre of global economics, the United States often plays the role of both a magnanimous benefactor and a belligerent bully. With Donald Trump’s return to political centre stage, complete with a nostalgic soundtrack of “America First,” “Make Tariffs Great Again,” and “The World Owes Us Money,” we once again find the richest kid in the global playground demanding that everyone else share their lunch or face a trade war. But when the wealthiest of nations decides it must also be the greediest, what does that portend for itself and for the rest of the class?

Let us unspool the past and squint into the future as we examine what happens when a superpower, drunk on its own exceptionalism, tries to muscle its way into even greater prosperity. Spoiler: it doesn’t end with cake for everyone.

Tariffs are nothing new in the American playbook. They were, in fact, one of the founding instruments of national revenue before income taxes came knocking. In the early days of the Republic, the federal government had limited means to raise money. There was no IRS, no income tax, no app reminding you that your tax filing deadline was yesterday. So, the government turned to tariffs, taxes on imported goods, to fund itself.

The Tariff of 1789, signed by none other than George Washington, was the very first significant piece of legislation passed by the first US Congress. It taxed foreign-made products to both generate revenue and protect fledgling American industries. In today’s terms, it was like slapping a surcharge on every imported smartphone so that your neighbour’s homemade flip-phone start-up could compete.

Later came the Tariff of Abominations in 1828, which did what it said on the tin – it abominated everyone. It raised duties on imports so high that Southern states, particularly South Carolina, threatened to nullify the federal law, sparking a constitutional crisis. Yes, a trade war nearly turned into a civil war long before Lincoln grew a beard.

Throughout much of the 19th century, tariffs served as the government’s piggy bank. The US government was basically living off customs duties, the way modern influencers live off sponsorships. By the 1890s, tariffs supplied over half of all federal revenue. That is, until the Sixteenth Amendment in 1913 ushered in federal income taxes – because nothing ruins a good trade party like taxing your paycheque.

But this long dependence on tariffs left an indelible cultural legacy. Every few decades, when economic anxiety surges and populism brews, tariffs rise again like an old cowboy hero in a bad sequel: clumsy, outdated, and oddly confident.

Tariffs aren’t just tools; they are symbols of a broader ideology: protect our own, blame the foreigner, rally the base.

Trump’s love affair with tariffs is part economic nationalism and part reality TV drama. Slapping tariffs on Chinese steel, European wine, or Mexican avocados isn’t just trade policy; it’s performance art. It signals to the blue-collar voter that, “I’m fighting for you,” while quietly raising the price of imported goods and, paradoxically, hurting the very voters he claims to champion.

Here’s the trick: in the short run, tariffs can create local jobs, boost certain industries, and give a sugar high to flag-waving economics. In the long run, though, they often trigger retaliation, distort markets, invite inefficiencies, and isolate the country. Which leads us to the timeless economic question: when protectionism feels good, is it still good?

History points towards the ancient graveyard of hubris.

Other great powers, too, once dreamed of permanent economic dominance. Britain, with its colonies and tea obsessions, built the world’s largest empire and promptly lost it trying to squeeze more out of less. Spain used its American gold to purchase many goods that it couldn’t produce. France had ambitions grander than its treasury. All were once economic juggernauts; now they hold G7 seats primarily for old times’ sake.

America’s desire to tax its way to further greatness, by elbowing foreign competitors and subsidising domestic inefficiencies, smells suspiciously like the beginning of imperial overreach. History teaches us that superpowers collapse not when they’re weak, but when they overextend themselves while believing they are infallible.

Rome didn’t fall in a day; it fell in denial. Bread and circuses, and a wall or two.

When the king is just the last one standing

Here’s the uncomfortable truth: America’s continued dominance isn’t solely a product of its strength. It’s a reflection of others’ weakness. Global competitors have repeatedly failed to rise to the occasion. Fragmented Europe still struggles with political unity and collective ambition. Emerging economies, some with vast demographic potential, are too often bogged down by bureaucratic infighting and inward-looking populism. China may seem poised, but authoritarian opacity and demographic decline cast long shadows. The Global South is still catching up, and no one seems to be offering a clear alternative to the American model, flawed as it may be.

In essence, the US leads not because it’s still climbing, but because everyone else is slipping, sitting, or searching for the staircase. It’s not that the emperor has no clothes; it’s that the rest of the court showed up in flip-flops.

So what happens to the rest of the world when the US decides it must be even richer, fairness be damned?

• Global supply chains snarl: When tariffs go up, the machinery of globalisation seizes. Supply chains, which took decades to optimise, are forced to detour, delay, and duplicate.

• Allies turn frenemies: Allies get caught in the economic crossfire. South Korea, Canada, Germany – all find themselves punished for being too good at exporting. Relationships fray. The world starts entertaining the idea of other dance partners, like China or regional blocs.
• Rise of autarky (and mediocrity): The more a country shuts itself in, the more it must rely on domestic production. That sounds patriotic until you realise you’re paying $79.99 for a T-shirt sewn by an underpaid intern in Ohio using thread imported from Vietnam (and taxed at 40%).
• China smiles quietly: For every tantrum the US throws, China has the patience of a cat watching a dog run into a glass door. Trade war? Fine. It will wait. And while America alienates partners, China signs new trade pacts, builds new ports, and expands its influence. The 21st century might still belong to America, but only if it stops acting like it’s already over.

The waning of American intellectual greatness

Once celebrated for its innovation, academia, and visionary entrepreneurship, American intellectual supremacy seems to be taking a sabbatical. Public trust in science is plummeting. Universities are embroiled in culture wars. Social media influencers outrank Nobel laureates. It is as if the country once known for Edison and Einstein has decided that what it really needs is more podcasts and populism.

The new policy toolkit, meanwhile, appears more interested in medieval walls than space exploration. America is still rich, yes, but what if it is getting dumber with style?

The real kicker? Trying to become richer when already rich often backfires.

Excessive protectionism makes a country lazy. If competition is removed in the name of “America First,” then innovation and investment stagnate. Why bother inventing the next big thing when you are already shielded from external rivals? That’s how empires grow obese, consuming their own past glories while declaring victory on the deck of a sinking ship.

Worse still, economic isolation leads to cultural and intellectual insularity. The world stops admiring, then stops visiting, and finally stops caring. The American Dream risks becoming an American Memory.

And perhaps most ironically, the billionaire class Trump panders to with these policies may profit less in a fragmented world. After all, yachts are harder to build when supply chains break and foreign customers vanish.

Perhaps the next logical step is for the US to impose tariffs on its own citizens for not buying enough flags or tweeting insufficiently patriotic memes. Or maybe Americans will be required to declare foreign-made socks at customs and pay a “defection fee.”

Better yet, rebrand tariffs as “Freedom Surcharges.” Want a Japanese car? That will be $10,000 extra for your betrayal, comrade.

When the rich decide they must be richer, it is rarely about economics. It is about ego. And ego, much like empire, is a precarious thing to balance on tariffs and tantrums.

If history is our guide and satire our mirror, the message is clear: superpowers don’t fall from weakness, they fall from insecurity. If America wants to remain a global leader, it must lead, not hoard. It must compete, not coerce. And above all, it must remember that greatness is not tariffed into existence; it is earned, every day, in cooperation with the world it seeks to lead.

Because when the rich kid in class starts stealing pencils and lunch boxes, the other students don’t just get annoyed – they eventually stop inviting him to class. And when no one else is strong enough to take the lead, even the class clown might become principal, for a while at least.