America the Gangster?

Trump's disgraceful Ukraine shakedown makes the US look like a mercenary

President Donald Trump's gangster-like shakedown of Ukraine for its rare earth minerals is a breathtaking deviation from decades of American global leadership, effectively recasting the United States as a global gun for hire.

At the most vulgar level imaginable, this approach seems to have worked. According to reports, a deal is imminent in which Ukraine will indeed cede some of its mineral profits to a fund jointly owned with the U.S. for the right to continue fighting Russia. This arrangement appears to be less onerous than the original demand for $500 billion in revenues, but it remains a protection payment extorted from a country whose $5,000 per capita annual GDP is just 5 percent of America’s.

One can hardly overstate the shock among allies and adversaries alike when it emerged last week that Trump seeks control over Ukraine's mineral wealth, including rare earth elements like lithium, which are vital for high-tech, renewable energy, and military applications. Ukraine holds 5 percent of the world's rare earth reserves and the largest titanium deposits in Europe, which accounted for about a third of its exports before the war (now some of this treasure is in the hands of the Russians, complicating matters).

It’s not every day that you can accurately say we have never seen something like this. At a conference of global business leaders I recently attended in Barcelona, even those who have historically sympathized with Trump’s “America First” approach found themselves struggling to justify the idea that a powerful nation would exploit another in its darkest hour, leveraging aid meant for survival in exchange for economic plunder.

Trump’s demand seems aimed at reducing U.S. dependence on Chinese supply chains. This is not illogical, in the same way that any blackmail makes sense on paper. Geopolitics has always been, to some degree, about interests.

But in the final analysis, America has rightly been viewed as a beacon of democracy and a protector of freedom on the global stage. When it has provided military or economic aid, this was grounded in strategic interests, security imperatives, or moral obligations—not as a quid pro quo for profit, which Trump describes as “paying back” what was never presented as a loan.

If the U.S. only assists nations at war in exchange for financial compensation, then it ceases to be an ally—it becomes a mercenary. This sets a dangerous precedent: Today, Ukraine is asked to trade away its economic sovereignty to fend off Russian aggression; tomorrow, another vulnerable nation might be coerced into surrendering its political autonomy.

By pressuring Ukraine to hand over much of its mineral wealth in exchange for protection, Trump is undermining not just U.S. foreign policy traditions but the entire architecture of international relations that has maintained peace since 1945. His willingness to treat Ukraine’s security as a commodity represents a direct assault on the principle that alliances and international obligations are grounded in shared values and mutual security interests, not quid pro quos.

The post-World War II international order, which Trump is now undermining, was designed by the United States to prevent the kinds of global conflicts that twice engulfed the world in the 20th century. This order emphasized collective security, respect for national sovereignty, and also the notion that powerful nations should not bully weaker ones for economic gain. It was adhered to by nearly every U.S. president, Republican and Democratic alike, for almost eight decades.

This is not to argue that transactionalism has no place in foreign affairs; it certainly does. For example, when the U.S. agreed to provide Israel with billions in foreign aid, it gained a strategic ally in the Middle East and bolstered its military industry by requiring Israel to purchase American weapons. Similarly, funding for Egypt was part of a calculated geopolitical move to ensure peace with Israel and maintain regional stability. However, these arrangements were not mere shakedowns; they were anchored in strategic diplomacy and geopolitical calculus, rather than vulgar profiteering.

What Trump attempted was altogether different. The spectacle of U.S. Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent in Kyiv two weeks ago pressuring Ukraine to sign away nearly half of its rare earth minerals on the spot marked a low point in American diplomacy. Vice President J.D. Vance’s statements at the Munich Security Conference around the same time, essentially aligning with Russia and not his own European allies, were so profoundly devoid of strategy or moral vision that it may create a new connotation for “Munich”—one that rivals Neville Chamberlain’s appeasement of Adolf Hitler in 1938.

This situation is not merely a matter of bad optics; it’s a strategic blunder. Foreign and military aid is not just about money or resources; it involves influence, leadership, and trust. By making aid contingent upon economic tribute, Trump is not only degrading America’s moral authority but also pushing allies to seek security partnerships elsewhere. When U.S. foreign aid becomes a commodity, the world is less likely to follow its lead.

If the U.S. can extort minerals from Ukraine in exchange for aid, what stops Trump from cutting a deal with Putin for Russian oil or gas in return for abandoning Ukraine altogether? This line of thinking is not hypothetical—it’s the logical extension of a foreign policy grounded in transactionalism devoid of ethics or strategy. It implies that American loyalty can be bought and sold, eroding trust among allies and emboldening adversaries.

The implications of this approach run even deeper. If aid is only given when a monetary return is guaranteed, then humanitarian assistance, development aid, and disaster relief become endangered species. The Trump administration has already slashed funding for USAID and other humanitarian programs. If transactionalism becomes the norm, nations facing crises—whether due to natural disasters, pandemics, or conflicts—will be left to fend for themselves unless they can pay the toll.

Trump’s attempt to extort Ukraine represents a dangerous mutation of “America First” into “America for Sale.” This mercenary approach diminishes U.S. influence, undermines international norms, and sacrifices strategic interests for short-term gains. It reduces American diplomacy to a crude marketplace where alliances are auctioned off to the highest bidder.

Foreign aid has never been perfect, and the U.S. has not always acted altruistically. Yet the foundational principle behind foreign aid has been that it serves a higher purpose—security, stability, and morality—not merely profit. This principle differentiated America from colonial powers that conquered for economic gain. It is what made American leadership credible and its alliances enduring.

This shift represents a moral and strategic failure of epic proportions. American foreign policy must return to its roots of promoting democracy, fostering international cooperation, and supporting nations in need without the expectation of direct financial returns. The future of U.S. global leadership depends on its ability to uphold these values, ensuring that America remains a true ally rather than a mercenary force.

The way forward requires a recommitment to the principles that have guided American foreign policy for decades.