In an era increasingly defined by transactional politics, the rhetoric of ultimatum has become one of President Donald Trump's favorite tools. When he declared to pharmaceutical giants on August 1st, "We will deploy every tool in our arsenal" should they fail to lower drug prices, it echoed a familiar pattern of the use of "demand" to shift from negotiation to confrontation. Trump's all-too-familiar pattern of prescribing with deadlines, threats of tariffs or sanctions, and appeals to fairness or national pride.
In his letter to 17 major drug manufacturers, Trump demanded that drug manufacturers slash prices to match "most favored nation" levels—the lowest rates offered in other developed countries. He emphasized that Americans are "demanding lower drug prices and they need them today." His language, though cloaked in populist concern, carried a veiled threat:
"If you refuse to step up, we will deploy every tool in our arsenal to protect American families from continued abusive drug pricing practices."
The appeal of ultimatums lies in their appeal to decisiveness. They communicate strength, clarity, and dominance, all qualities celebrated within MAGA circles. Yet beneath this surface, such rhetoric undermines the democratic principles of deliberation, transparency, and shared ownership of public outcomes.
It undermines the essence of Democracy.
While Trump's base sees this posture as long-overdue boldness, his approval ratings tell a different story. As of late July, his overall approval ranges from 40% to 46%, with disapproval between 51% and 57%, yielding a net deficit of -5 to -16 points. Among independents, support has declined sharply, falling to 29% in some polls.
This erosion reflects more than policy disagreement. It's a response to a style of leadership that conflates dissent with disloyalty.
The Enemy Frame
Ultimatums are rarely isolated policy moves but are part of a larger narrative architecture that casts disagreement not as democratic discourse but as betrayal. Trump's language routinely escalates from "I demand" to "They are bad people," forging a moral frame in which you're either with him or against America.
This rhetorical strategy centralizes power and bypasses accountability. Legislative bargaining becomes irrelevant when negotiation is replaced by coercion.
When Trump recasts the opposition not merely as being obstructionists or critics but as "radical left lunatics," "sick people," or worse, this justifies almost any actions needed to rid our nation of this threat.
In his first six months in office, Trump has used the presidency to target perceived enemies that include many government officials, student protesters, and, of course, journalists. This demonization, combined with threats to use domestic military force, is a dangerous precedent in a free society.
A look back at just one week in April gives us a glimpse into the extent of Trump's actions against perceived enemies. In early April, Trump ordered criminal probes into two former Trump administration officials, saying one was "guilty of treason." On the same day, he signed an order targeting a law firm for alleged "election misconduct." The very next day, Trump's former personal attorney announced criminal investigations into the state's Democratic governor and attorney general over immigration policies. And the following day, the administration sent a series of demands to Harvard University, which included an end to diversity programs and audits to ensure the implementation of this policy.
Democracy Undermined
The delegitimizing of opposition isn't just dangerous, it's corrosive. Pluralism is the lifeblood of democratic governance, and the steady labeling of dissenters as enemies that includes real punitive action undermines the rule of law. The abundance of ICE arrests, criminal investigations, and contract bans goes on and on.
These unprecedented and extraordinary measures are justified not by evidence, but by moral absolutism, a worldview in which Trump's perceived truths are universal, incontestable, and self-justifying. In its extreme form, this moral absolutism can rationalize deception if the lie serves "the cause."
These actions aren't the populism that many of his supporters desire. It's a hollowing out of democratic norms beneath the banner of moral clarity.
The Reckoning Ahead
The language of ultimatums and demands has real consequences.
While ultimatums offer the illusion of courage, this is not the leadership America needs. The real leadership in a vibrant democracy requires an invitation to complexity and the messy work of consensus. When leaders demand submission and frame disagreement as defiance, they fracture civic dialogue and undermine the fabric of what makes America great.
David Nevins is co-publisher of The Fulcrum and co-founder and board chairman of the Bridge Alliance Education Fund.
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.