As Donald Trump prepares to retake the presidency, his rhetoric is increasingly centered on reviving American expansionism. He wants the United States to acquire Greenland and the Panama Canal, has called Canada “the 51st state,” threatened Mexico with military incursions, and aims to rename the Gulf of Mexico the “Gulf of America.”
On January 7th, Donald Trump Jr. landed in Greenland to shoot video content for digital media, signaling the incoming administration’s interest in the mineral-rich Danish territory. The president-elect wrote on social media, “Don Jr. and my Reps landing in Greenland. The reception has been great. They, and the Free World, need safety, security, strength, and PEACE! This is a deal that must happen. MAGA. MAKE GREENLAND GREAT AGAIN!”
When asked at a Mar-a-Lago press conference whether he would rule out the use of military forces to take Greenland and the Panama Canal, Trump answered, “ I’m not going to commit to that.” Trump went on, “it might be that you’ll have to do something. The Panama Canal is vital to our country,” and “we need Greenland for national security purposes.” To the territory’s people, who are mostly Indigenous Greenlandic Inuit, Trump had a message: “we’re going to treat you well.”
As a historian of U.S. expansionism and the U.S.-Mexico border, I have studied how such ambitions have come at a great cost—to Americans, their neighbors, and Indigenous populations.
In 1845, President James K. Polk embraced a similar vision for territorial expansion. He supported Texas annexation—then controlled by pro-slavery Anglo American settlers that had declared independence from Mexico, which prohibited slavery. Intending to expand the United States, Polk sent U.S. troops across the Nueces River, the historical boundary of Texas, southward towards the Rio Grande. Polk insisted the Rio Grande was the actual boundary between the United States and Mexico. After Mexican troops attacked American troops within territory Mexico considered its own, Polk asserted “Mexico has passed the boundary of the United States, has invaded our territory, and shed American blood upon the American soil.” He successfully pressured Congress to declare war. The U.S.-Mexico War (1846-1848) became the United States’ first full-scale invasion of another nation state.
Politicians, journalists, and popular writers justified the war with interventionist propaganda, depicting the United States as a force for enlightenment and economic development. They even framed the United States as protecting Mexican people against Native American hostilities, arguing Mexico had not been able to subdue Indigenous people in its northern territories. In the language of the time, Sen. Robert Walker (D-Miss.) helped set the discourse in 1836, declaring that Anglo Americans were invited to settle in Texas to “defend the Mexicans against the then frequent incursions of a savage foe.”
By land and sea, the United States conquered Mexico and occupied its capital for the better part of a year. But we should not overlook that, for the United States the war resulted in one of the highest casualty rates of any conflict. Of the 79,000 soldiers who served, over 16 percent lost their lives in battle or due to disease. With more than eight percent of soldiers abandoning their posts, the U.S.-Mexico War also had the highest desertion rate of any American conflict.
For Mexico, the war was catastrophic. At least 25,000 Mexican people—mainly civilians—died. In the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, which ended the war, Mexico ceded 55 percent of its claimed national territory, what is now the U.S. Southwest and more.
The treaty’s Article XI did stipulate that the United States would prevent Native American raiders from entering Mexico. But guarantees to subdue Indigenous populations and bring peace to Mexican people proved hollow.
After the war, Native American resistance intensified, challenging the United State’s ability to govern its newly claimed lands and borders. On newly American-claimed soil, populations that were now Mexican Americans engaged with Navajos in a cycle of raids and counterraids in New Mexico. In Texas, Comanches and Mexican Americans continued to attack one another. Native Americans also continued southward raids deep into Mexico, freely crossing the new border. The United States could not live up to its promises of peace or its treaty obligations. It could not better the lives of Mexican people or mount sufficient force to subdue Native American populations that fought to maintain their independence.
The United State’s inability to fulfill its treaty obligation revealed the limits of American power. Expansion did not bring stability or prosperity to occupied lands; instead, it often left further chaos.
As Trump seeks to restart American expansion, Americans should grapple with the past. Expansionism often overextends the military and comes at the cost of life for both the occupiers and occupied. As history shows, threatening, or worse, invading Greenland, Panama, Canada, or Mexico risks straining U.S. military capabilities and provoking resistance. The United State’s first invasion of another nation-state plainly demonstrates that American expansionism is a cautionary story from our past. It is up to us to ensure it remains so.
Joel Zapata is an Assistant Professor of History at Oregon State University and a Public Voices Fellow with The Op-Ed Project.




















A golden tray sits on the Resolute Desk as President Donald Trump speaks during an announcement on American nuclear innovation in the Oval Office at the White House on July 24, 2026, in Washington, D.C. Trump is signing multiple executive orders targeting the nuclear energy sector and easing rules for new reactors and nuclear fuel supply chains.
Trump’s hubris rivals the fallen heroes of ancient Greek mythology
In January, the New York Times asked President Donald Trump if there were any limits on his global powers.
“Yeah,” the president responded, “there is one thing. My own morality. My own mind. It’s the only thing that can stop me.”
That was eight months ago, but fortunately Christopher Nolan’s blockbuster adaptation of “The Odyssey” has made ancient Greek literature newly relevant. Before that window closes, I’d like to talk about hubris.
Today, the term mostly means excessive pride or arrogance. That’s part of what the Greeks meant by it too, but the meaning was a bit richer and more specific. Hubris was an insolent or outrageous act that offended the gods, often because the transgressor was claiming abilities or authorities that solely belonged to supreme beings.
Nolan renamed and slightly modified the concept of xenia for the film, calling it “Zeus’ law.” In the director’s telling, mortals should follow the rules laid out by the gods, specifically the requirement to treat strangers with respect lest they be gods in disguise.
In a sense, hubris is the opposite, or at least the rejection, of xenia. The hubris of the suitors, and at times Odysseus himself, invites punishment by the gods and their mortal instruments.
Which brings me back to Donald Trump. His claim that there are no constraints on his personal power to dictate events on the global stage was one of the greatest expressions of hubris ever uttered by a political leader.
Trump’s claim was obviously false when he made it.
He vowed that he could end the Russia-Ukraine war in 24 hours. He’s proved powerless to make that happen. If he had divine powers to work his will, why would he have balked at implementing his tariffs so often that Wall Street adopted the “TACO trade” term for his deals? “TACO” stands for “Trump always chickens out.”
And why would Trump have made so many embarrassing concessions to China — from rescinding tariffs on Chinese goods to allowing them to buy crucial and incredibly valuable computer chips?
But Trump saw his success at capturing Venezuelan strongman Nicolas Maduro as proof of his ability to launch missiles to the same effect as Zeus’ lightning bolts. Trump believed he was the most powerful man who ever lived.
This is no exaggeration. In March, when the Iran invasion seemed successful, Trump gave a document penned by“Presidential Historian David King” to New York Times reporters Maggie Haberman and Jonathan Swan purporting to prove that Trump was “the most powerful person to have EVER walked this planet.” King was, in fact, a businessman and occasional caddy for legendary golfer Gary Player.
King compared Trump favorably to many of history’s most powerful, and often heinous, figures: Alexander the Great, Attila the Hun, William the Conqueror, Napoleon Bonaparte, Joseph Stalin, Genghis Khan, Mao Tse Tung, Adolf Hitler and Vladimir Lenin. Many of these men thought they were the most powerful person in the world, too. And many were defeated precisely because they believed it.
At least Napoleon and Hitler had a string of truly impressive victories before they learned the folly of hubris. The limits on Trump’s power have been exposed by far less august forces than the combined might of the allies in World War II or the fearsome Russian winter.
Iran is a comparatively middling power. But the regime’s ability to absorb punishment while imposing its will on the Strait of Hormuz has proved to be a greater constraint on Trump’s power than his morality or mind. We should note that, at least rhetorically, his morality has not proved much of a constraint. He has repeatedly promised to destroy Iranian “civilization” if the regime refuses to capitulate.
But they haven’t — and won’t anytime soon — because the regime’s tolerance for pain far outstrips Trump’s. The combined fear of skyrocketing oil prices, outrage of Gulf state potentates, diminishing weapon supplies and domestic unpopularity is doing the work that international law, congressional oversight and the collective opinion of foreign policy experts can’t or won’t do.
If I considered Trump more heroic than reason and facts could allow, I would say his Sisyphean predicament has the whiff of Greek tragedy to it. Trump is vexed by the fact that the Iranians won’t honor deals or ratify his countless premature claims of victory — giving new meaning to his vow that his presidency would make people tired of winning. It’s almost like they’re out-Trumping Trump.
Things might have gone better if he’d heeded that great Greek tragedian Sophocles: “For Zeus utterly abhors the boasts of a proud tongue.”
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Jonah Goldberg is editor-in-chief of The Dispatch and the host of The Remnant podcast. His Twitter handle is @JonahDispatch.