How a country treats its allies and its adversaries says everything about what it believes strength means — a question that was already on my mind the night I sat in a movie theater watching "The Brink of War" when news broke.
The film reconstructs the 1986 Reykjavik summit, where President Ronald Reagan and General Secretary of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union Mikhail Gorbachev spent a tense weekend negotiating over the fate of the world's nuclear arsenals.
The movie is a portrait of an American president who believed peace was earned through strength and credibility because he understood that American reliability was the asset that guaranteed every other negotiation possible.
I checked my phone on the way out and read that President Trump had just ordered the Pentagon to "substantially reduce" the joint military exercises the United States runs each year with South Korea — hours before those drills were set to begin.
Trump’s stated reasons: the cost and Seoul's refusal to help with actions against Iran. He also took the opportunity to note his "very good relationship" with Kim Jong Un, the leader of a nuclear-armed regime still technically at war with the ally whose defense drills he'd just gutted.
The contrast was hard to shake.
Reagan's version of "peace through strength" is often reduced to a slogan. It wasn't. At Reykjavik, he was willing to walk away from a historic deal rather than trade away missile defense, because he believed a president's word — to allies and adversaries alike — had to mean the same thing on a good day as on a bad one.
In the two weeks before Trump gutted the drills meant to deter it, North Korea tested ballistic missiles at least twice — its ninth and tenth launches of the year, part of a pace that includes Kim Jong Un ordering a two-and-a-half-fold increase in missile production back in June.
Pyongyang has said openly that the tests are a protest against the joint exercises, which it calls an invasion rehearsal. The sequence isn't ambiguous: North Korea escalates, and the American response is to scale back the training designed to counter it.
That wasn't a response to reduced danger. It was a response to something else entirely — cost, grievance, a president's stated fondness for a dictator personally.
Kim Jong Un isn't managing a regional standoff on the Korean Peninsula anymore. He's a partner in two wars that are actively threatening American interests. That's who the administration just called "unthreatening and respectful."
Mark Montgomery, a retired Navy rear admiral now at the Foundation for Defense of Democracies, has named the pattern directly: "President Trump does not seem to understand that North Korea is part of the 'bad guys' team – a member of the ‘Axis of Aggressors’ alongside Russia, Iran, and China.”
Montgomery went on to say, "Kim Jong Un has backed Putin's illegal war against Ukraine with ammunition, troops, and missiles." And the danger isn't confined to a European battlefield: "North Korea threatens key American allies and trade partners — South Korea and Japan — daily. Kim Jong Un is not America's friend; he cannot be reasoned with, and he won't give up his nuclear weapons."
Pyongyang has sent an estimated 11,000-plus troops to fight for Russia against Ukraine, supplies roughly half of Russia's artillery ammunition, and has shipped ballistic missiles Moscow now fires into Ukrainian cities.
It has spent decades as Iran's missile supplier — the technical lineage of Iran's Shahab and Khorramshahr missiles traces straight back to North Korean designs — and analysts expect that cooperation to deepen now that Iran needs to rebuild what the 2026 war destroyed.
Deterrence is thinning at the same time. The USS George Washington, the Navy's only forward-deployed carrier and until recently on station near the South China Sea, has pulled out of the Indo-Pacific to cover a Middle East gap, leaving the region without a home-based American carrier for the foreseeable future.
Montgomery has also flagged what that gap means in practice: a carrier permanently based in the Indo-Pacific cuts response time to a regional threat by more than two weeks compared to one that must sail in from elsewhere. That's exactly the kind of gap a rival power plans around.
When a president alienates a treaty ally over a war that the ally never signed onto, while publicly courting the goodwill of a regime that is simultaneously arming Russia and rebuilding Iran's missile program — the message isn't fiscal discipline. It's that American commitments are conditional, revocable, and personal to whoever happens to be in the Oval Office.
Reagan walked away from Gorbachev to protect American credibility. This administration is giving away its trustworthiness— to Kim Jong Un, for free.
Lynn Schmidt is a columnist and Editorial Board member with the St. Louis Post-Dispatch. She holds a master's of science in political science as well as a bachelor's of science in nursing.
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.