By: Ricardo Abud
The United States seems to have lost touch with global reality. The world no longer responds to its old mechanisms of control, and what Washington perceives as passing turbulence is, in reality, the collapse of its systemic order.
Instead of a tactical retreat or a lucid adaptation, the power has become entrenched in an erratic process that only accelerates its decline and the distance from its former allies.
The dollar, that currency which for generations was synonymous with stability and power, now faces an unprecedented challenge. Dedollarization is not a conspiracy theory or the wish of resentful adversaries; it is a concrete, measurable process advancing on several fronts. Countries that once meekly submitted to the US financial system are now seeking alternatives: trade agreements in local currencies, the strengthening of the Chinese yuan as a reserve currency, and the creation of payment mechanisms that circumvent the Western-controlled SWIFT system. Every time the United States uses the dollar as a weapon—sanctioning, blocking, punishing—it paradoxically accelerates the desire of other countries to break free from that dependence. It is a historical irony: the instrument of domination becomes the motive for rebellion.
But the erosion isn't just economic. It's also diplomatic, and that's where things get especially delicate. Donald Trump's attempt to "buy" Greenland—yes, buy it, as if it were just another piece of real estate—wasn't just a headline-grabbing eccentricity. It was a public humiliation of Denmark, a historic ally, a NATO member, part of that Europe with which the United States built the postwar order. The European reaction was one of bewilderment and then, of distancing. Because when the supposed leader of the free world treats its allies like interchangeable pieces on a chessboard, those allies begin to wonder if it's worth continuing to invest in that relationship. The isolation from Europe isn't absolute, but the cracks are there, visible, and growing. And in a multipolar world, cracks quickly become chasms.
Canada's case is equally revealing. For decades, its northern neighbor was the predictable partner, the unconditional ally, the mirror in which the United States saw its own image of shared prosperity reflected. But now, faced with tariff threats, political unpredictability, and the deterioration of the free trade agreement once touted as a model of integration, Canada is looking elsewhere. And that elsewhere is China. The trade agreements between Ottawa and Beijing are not just economic transactions; they are geopolitical signals. They tell the world that it is no longer necessary to choose between being with Washington or being left out of the system. There are other options, other partners, other paths. It is the reshaping of the world order in real time, and the United States is watching with a mixture of disbelief and impotent rage.
Meanwhile, in Latin America, the US intervention in Venezuela remains a shameful chapter in a foreign policy that fails to learn from its mistakes. Aggressive rhetoric, unilateral sanctions, and support for leaders without a real power base have all repeatedly backfired. And yet, the Washington machine persists, as if repeating the same formula could produce different results. But the international community no longer tolerates this kind of arrogance with the same passivity as before. Increasingly, voices, even within the Western Hemisphere, are questioning the legitimacy of an intervention presented as humanitarian but which appears motivated by geopolitical and energy interests. Credibility is easily lost and difficult to regain, and the United States has been squandering its own for decades.
Amid this global panorama, American domestic politics is experiencing its own storm. Donald Trump, the man who promised to make America great again, now faces his own demons. The midterm elections are more than just an electoral test for him: they are a judgment on his leadership, on his style of governing without consensus, on his tendency to ignore Congress and act as if the separation of powers were a bureaucratic nuisance. The fear of defeat to the Democrats is not unfounded. And with a House of Representatives in opposition hands, the threat of impeachment ceases to be speculation and becomes a concrete possibility. Such a process would not only expose him politically, but could also open the door to trials for acting unilaterally, making decisions that belonged to the legislative branch, and violating the delicate institutional balance that is supposed to define American democracy.
But perhaps the most worrying aspect is not Trump's weakness as a political figure, but how that institutional weakness translates into social control strategies based on fear. The deployment of ICE in the streets, the spectacular raids, the rhetoric that criminalizes migrants—all of this serves as a distraction. When the country faces structural problems, rampant inequality, deteriorating infrastructure, a healthcare system that leaves millions without coverage, and a national debt that has reached stratospheric levels, fear of the "other" becomes a convenient political tool. It solves nothing, but it keeps the population occupied. It is an old tactic, tested in different historical contexts: when those in power feel vulnerable, they seek internal enemies to divert attention from their own failures.
The United States is at a historic crossroads, one that defines the destiny of nations for generations. It can acknowledge that the world has changed, that the era of unipolar hegemony is over, and seek a new role based on cooperation, genuine leadership, and respect for the rules it once championed. Or it can continue clinging to ghosts of past grandeur, believing that intimidation and military power will suffice to sustain an order that is already crumbling on all sides. History is not kind to empires that choose the latter. And perhaps that is the hardest lesson the United States must learn: that it can no longer impose its future simply because it wants to.
THERE IS NOTHING MORE EXCLUSIONARY THAN BEING POOR
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