A few weeks ago, President Trump ordered a swift military operation that removed Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro from power. The move came shortly after he declared that “American dominance in the Western Hemisphere will never be questioned again” — a sharp break from traditional U.S. foreign policy. The United States is undergoing a seismic shift in foreign policy that will hold vast repercussions both regionally and internationally: an aggressive reinvention of U.S. foreign policy that is coming to be known as the “Trump Corollary” to the Monroe Doctrine. Changes like this have happened before in our nation’s history and are often fraught with peril, but this shift may be easier to predict.
Control and intervention have always been contentious ideas in American foreign policy. George Washington, in his Farewell Address, warned against foreign influence and permanent alliances. It wasn’t isolationism, but a call for restraint abroad. He believed the young republic had too much to lose by getting entangled overseas.
As the nation began to mature, the Monroe Doctrine developed as a means to bring it closer to Washington’s vision. Announced by President James Monroe in 1823, the doctrine stated that the “New World” would be free from Europe’s ferocious imperialistic dreams — that colonization was no longer a democratic ideal, nor would it be tolerated. Monroe’s language, delivered as a presidential message to Congress, was not just a boundary marker but an assertion of independence — as opposed to an actionable plan for foreign intervention and assertion of U.S. hegemony. That changed in the early 1900s, when President Theodore Roosevelt introduced the Roosevelt Corollary. Now, the U.S. would actively intervene in Latin America to ensure “stability,” prevent European involvement, and promote its interests. Where Monroe set the boundary, Roosevelt set out to extend and enforce it. The corollary transformed the Monroe Doctrine from a warning into a plan: If instability in a Latin American state threatened U.S. interests, the full might of the fully modernized U.S. Navy and armed forces would step in to stabilize things by any force necessary. This shift marked the beginning of a century of foreign policy changes, where the United States would assert power across the seven continents and create an American sphere of influence.
The “Trump Corollary” is a new chapter in this age-old narrative, further extended and polarized from the Monroe Doctrine. Unlike the Roosevelt Corollary’s refined language of “police power” to prevent European influence, the new corollary openly connects control with resource security, transactional alliances, and an unapologetic prioritization of U.S. energy and economic interests. Putting the U.S. economy first isn’t a new concept for this administration, but now the Trump administration has made it clear that it will insert direct control, regardless of a nation’s sovereignty. The Trump Corollary’s aim is to establish unquestioned dominance in order to secure American interests. What makes this especially dangerous is President Trump’s apparent disregard for both federal and international law.
It doesn’t matter if one approves of the removal of Nicolás Maduro; the fact and precedent remain that the United States used military force to detain a sitting president and then publicly contemplated running the country to manage a transition and secure assets. That is an intervention of the most literal kind, but it begs the question of whether any country is safe from “American interests.” Many countries will also soon have to “choose their hero” to protect their own interests. In practice, this leaves other nations with only three realistic choices. The easiest is aligning with the world’s largest democracy and going along with Trump’s new order. This would cause isolation and unfavorable trade with the U.S. and partners from uncooperative nations, but it would allow countries to trade with much of the world freely and maintain control over their economies. If these countries decide to turn to the U.S., they would have what are effectively puppet governments.
All three world powers — Russia, China, and the U.S. — will come down hard on South America. Rival powers will look for openings, as Russia and China have been deepening ties across Latin America for years through trade, investment, and military sales. Those relationships will give foreign actors and local leaders alike the opportunity to put pressure on the United States; the corollary’s enactment may encourage the very foreign influence it’s meant to repel. And despite Trump’s aspirations, he sacrifices attention to domestic issues. Trump’s potential activation of troops to be sent to Minnesota has intensified anxiety at home. The high costs of occupation and reconstruction aren’t popular even among his own base. The left already sees the Venezuela operation as grounds for impeachment.
Like Lyndon Johnson’s escalation of the Vietnam War, a lack of popularity and support will probably ensue for the president. The political durability of his actions is doubtful, with the razor-thin Republican majority already under threat from the inside. His actions also contradict his campaign promises of being “America First” and his attitude of extreme nationalism, creating disillusionment inside even his most devoted voter base. If his support and ability to follow through collapse, the result will also inadvertently cease control over South America to foreign adversaries, a worse situation than if no control had been asserted. Internationally, his efforts have been unabashedly criticized by democratic allies, but there isn’t a clear international precedent to thwart Trump’s actions. The current argument that Maduro was captured due to his ties to narcotics and drug smuggling, or that America is freeing Venezuela from an ineffective dictatorship are shaky at best. The U.S. can argue criminality, but the rest of the world will see enforcement without a multilateral authorization. On the world stage, legitimacy is just as important as power.
History offers two instructive precedents. The first is the Panama invasion of 1989, when the U.S. removed Manuel Noriega under a mix of law enforcement and strategic rationales. The operation achieved its immediate objective, but left lingering questions about legitimacy and long-term outcomes. The second is the string of early-20th-century occupations justified by the Roosevelt Corollary. The U.S. produced short-term stability, but sowed deep resentment and authoritarian sentiment against interventions. While the United States excels at toppling or detaining leaders, it has been far less successful at creating the durable and legitimate institutions that prevent the next crisis.
That leads to the policy dilemma at the heart of the Trump Corollary: If the United States is prepared to act unilaterally to secure assets, territory, or resources, how will it manage the aftermath? Military seizures without credible political road maps turn regions into contests for influence — and years of foreign policy expenditure. If, conversely, Washington limits itself to military strikes and rapid withdrawal, it creates governance vacuums and regional civil conflict. The corollary, therefore, requires a choice between sustained investment in reconstruction and regional cooperation — an approach that runs against the contractionary instincts of elements within its own base — and a cycle of punitive missions, rapid withdrawal, and renewed instability.
Another dimension is easily overlooked: the symbolic politics in Latin America and the Caribbean. The memory of interventions — from the U.S. occupation of Haiti to the exercises of economic coercion under the Cold War — runs deep. For many people in the hemisphere, the sight of U.S. forces operating at home is a reminder of an era in which U.S. policy often prioritized investor and great-power interests over local sovereignty and social justice. If the Trump Corollary is presented as a restoration of order, it may be heard as a reassertion of an imperial prerogative — one likely to meet resistance through diplomatic distancing, legal challenge, or renewed political mobilization at home.
What would a prudent recalibration look like? If the United States insists on deeper regional involvement, it should anchor that policy in three commitments. First, multilateral legitimacy: explain operations openly, seek regional support where possible, and work through institutions that can share both responsibility and accountability. Second, reconstruction: pair any use of force with credible, adequately funded plans for governance, humanitarian relief, and economic recovery. Third, restraint: uphold commitments to sovereignty and self-determination long enough to avoid the “we will run it” posture that predictably fuels backlash. The Trump Corollary threatens to repeat the worst mistakes of previous doctrines, without their ideological or institutional scaffolding. As history shows, America is good at toppling regimes. It has yet to prove it can build better ones in their place.
