Maq Masi Blog

Donald Trump’s second term isn’t a patchwork of policies—it’s a blueprint for a post-modern empire, one that doesn’t rely on armies or colonies, but on economic chokeholds, immigration filters, and symbolic domination. This isn’t the imperialism of red maps and military governors. It’s the 21st-century kind: power justified by itself, compliance demanded as tribute, and global order reduced to a contest of leverage.

On 2 April 2025, Trump declared “Liberation Day,” announcing a 10% tariff on all U.S. imports, effective 5 April. Days later, on 9 April, came the sharper blows: a 54% tariff on China, stacked atop an existing 20% base (netting a 34% hike), 20% on the EU, and 49% on Cambodia. Even the UK, which doesn’t run a trade deficit with the U.S., received the 10% baseline. Israel was hit with a 17% tariff despite its open markets. Meanwhile, Russia, Cuba, Iran, and Belarus were spared, likely because sanctions already curtail trade. When China retaliated with its own 34% tariffs, Trump doubled down—threatening another 50% escalation, and daring the EU and others to resist. These aren’t trade policies. They are economic ultimatums—instruments of hierarchy, not harmony.

Trump claims this is about restoring fairness. But tariffs are being deployed with imperial logic: not to balance trade, but to bend supply chains toward American control. This is not protectionism—it is tributary economics, demanding that others either conform or pay the price. A smartphone projected to rise from $1,560 to $2,405 is just one signal. The broader cost is a global economy warped to orbit U.S. power.

The imperial undertone becomes deafening in Trump’s territorial provocations. He’s floated the idea of seizing back the Panama Canal, citing Chinese influence and leaving military intervention on the table. He’s suggested renaming the Gulf of Mexico the “Gulf of America,” claiming it has a “stronger vibe.” Canada, he calls an “artificial line,” taunting Prime Minister Trudeau as “Governor Trudeau,” and dangling statehood as a provocation. Greenland is back in his sights too—presented as a strategic gem ripe for American acquisition, sovereignty be damned. These aren’t just outbursts. They reflect a mental remapping of the world, where America doesn’t participate—it presides.

This worldview extends to immigration. While undocumented migrants face aggressive deportation, the wealthy are offered a velvet rope: a “Gold Card” that grants U.S. citizenship for a $5 million fee. The programme, pitched as a replacement for EB-5, is projected to generate trillions in revenue. Commerce Secretary Howard Lutnick claims 1,000 are sold daily, with ambitions for millions. It’s citizenship reimagined as imperial privilege: not earned, but purchased—a modern echo of Rome’s late-phase citizenship-for-gold policies. It fuels the economy while filtering who gets to belong.

Trump’s imperialism is not only economic—it’s also diplomatic theatre. By bypassing the EU and traditional multilateral frameworks to support Ukraine-Russia peace talks hosted in Saudi Arabia, he’s cast himself as a global referee operating on his own terms. At the United Nations, his administration raised eyebrows by aligning with North Korea and others in votes seen as favourable to Russia—signalling a readiness to reorder alliances and values alike. This isn’t diplomacy in the classical sense; it’s strategic disruption, designed to unsettle established norms and reassert American centrality. Trump doesn’t restore order—he rewrites it in his image.

At the heart of this system is a new kind of empire—one that doesn’t plant garrisons, but manipulates flows: of goods, of people, of narratives. Tariffs become battering rams. Immigration becomes a filter for wealth. Territorial claims become psychological jolts to reorder perception. “Liberation Day” wasn’t about freedom—it was about asserting that American dominance needs no permission.

Yes, the risks are real. JP Morgan warns of a 60% chance of recession. Trade wars could stoke inflation at home and deflation abroad, especially in labour-reliant economies like Vietnam and Cambodia. America’s image as a steward of a rules-based world order continues to dim. But for Trump, these aren’t failures—they’re acceptable losses in pursuit of a re-centred world where strength, not consensus, defines legitimacy.

Past empires ruled with flags and force. This one rules with tariffs, visas, and dominance over direction. The choice for the world is no longer whether to approve—it’s whether to resist or adapt. Because like all empires, this one doesn’t ask.