“This is about reintroducing America in the Western Hemisphere,” declared Mike Waltz, the U.S. National Security Advisor-designate earlier this year, offering a glimpse into the administration’s geopolitical vision. “You can call it Monroe Doctrine 2.0, but this is all part of the America First agenda.”
The invocation of the 1823 Monroe Doctrine—that cornerstone of American foreign policy warning European powers to steer clear of the Western Hemisphere—is hardly subtle. However, it illuminates something fascinating about Donald Trump’s approach to the Americas. While he professed disdain for the region (“We don’t need them; they need us”), he unwittingly adopted political methods and rhetorical devices that have historically flourished south of the Rio Grande.
Moreover, the relationship between the United States and Latin America has long been marked by cognitive dissonance. Although the U.S. maintains the pretense of hemispheric leadership, successive administrations have demonstrated only selective interest. Richard Nixon’s infamous dismissal that “Latin America doesn’t matter” has reflected the unofficial stance of many presidents. Trump’s administration, therefore, simply dispensed with the diplomatic niceties.
The caudillo tradition
To understand Trump’s political persona, one must first grasp the caudillo tradition in Latin America. Dating back to the wars of independence, the caudillo emerged as a charismatic strongman who bypassed institutional constraints, appealed directly to the masses, and personalized political power. As Mexican poet Octavio Paz observed, these men “took over the state as if it were medieval booty.”
The caudillo relies on several recognizable tactics. These include anti-elite rhetoric—despite often coming from privilege—circumvention of institutional checks, personalization of policy, and a communication style that prizes bombast over nuance. Over centuries, the tradition has evolved. It has shifted from the military strongmen of the 19th century to the media-savvy populists of the modern era.
What makes the contemporary caudillo particularly effective is the marriage of traditional authoritarian tendencies with modern media tactics. The performance of authenticity—often expressed through deliberate breaches of decorum—creates the illusion of plain-speaking honesty. Rudeness becomes rebranded as refreshing candor.
Trump as American caudillo
The parallels between Trump’s political methods and the caudillo playbook are striking. His circumvention of traditional diplomatic channels, personalization of international relations, and tendency to view policy through the lens of personal loyalty all evoke classic caudillo behavior.
Trump’s political communication—the stream-of-consciousness rallies, the deliberate provocations, the nickname-bestowing—echoes tactics long employed by Latin American populists. Even his famous “reality television” approach to governance finds precedent in the region. Hugo Chávez’s “Aló Presidente” program—where the Venezuelan leader would spend hours addressing the nation directly, making impromptu policy decisions—prefigured Trump’s governance-by-social-media.
Trump’s recent declaration that his meeting with Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy “is going to be great television” reveals this performative dimension. Politics becomes indistinguishable from entertainment, and governance becomes secondary to spectacle. This transformation of politics into entertainment has been a hallmark of Latin American populism for decades.
Trump’s obsession during his first presidency with loyalty tests and personal fealty—rather than institutional stability—likewise mirrors caudillo tendencies. When policy becomes inseparable from personality, governance suffers but the leader’s cult of personality flourishes.
Kindred spirits: Trump’s Latin American favorites
Perhaps the most revealing aspect of Trump’s relationship with Latin America is his affinity for the region’s newest generation of strongmen. The administration has cultivated relationships with leaders who reflect Trump’s own political style: Argentina’s Javier Milei, El Salvador’s Nayib Bukele, and Ecuador’s Daniel Noboa.
Milei, whom Trump openly calls his “favorite president,” embodies many Trumpian traits. The self-described anarcho-capitalist rails against the political establishment while serving as its head. His unfiltered communication style—dismissing critics as “econochantas” or “econo-frauds”—mirrors Trump’s penchant for demeaning nicknames.
Meanwhile, Bukele’s self-branding as the “world’s coolest dictator” reveals a calculated post-modern authoritarianism that Trump doubtlessly appreciates. His harsh security measures, including the construction of what critics call a “concentration camp,” have made El Salvador safer at the cost of human rights—a tradeoff Trump has repeatedly endorsed.
These relationships aren’t merely diplomatic expedience. They reflect a shared Pan-American political culture that values strong, unfiltered personalities over institutions, direct appeals to the public over technocratic governance, and personalized power over constitutional constraints.
China in the mix: Hemispheric realpolitik
The resurgence of the Monroe Doctrine under Trump has been spurred partly by China’s growing presence in what Washington considers its backyard. The $3.5 billion Chinese mega-port at Chancay, Peru, stands as just one example of Beijing’s strategic investments across the region.
Trump’s administration has responded with characteristic bluntness, threatening punitive tariffs against Latin American countries that deepen ties with China. This approach risks alienating regional partners caught between competing superpowers.
The irony is that Latin American nations have historically been subjected to precisely the kind of protectionist policies that Trump now champions. From the 1930s through the 1980s, import substitution industrialization (ISI) policies attempted to shield domestic industries from foreign competition. The results were disastrous: unsustainable debt and economic stagnation.
Now, as the United States embraces protectionism, Latin American countries face painful choices. With China offering investment without political conditions, many governments find Beijing’s offers increasingly attractive despite Washington’s disapproval.
Reflections across the Rio Grande
The late Peruvian novelist Mario Vargas Llosa, who understood the region’s complex relationship with authoritarianism, called Trump’s election “the triumph of populism” and a rejection of “the best traditions of the United States.” His assessment cuts to the heart of the matter: Trump’s presidency reflects a Pan-American political culture that has long manifested on both sides of the Rio Grande.
Trump’s border wall, viewed through this lens, appears less as a practical security measure than as what Freudians might term a “protective shield” (Reizschutz)—a psychological barrier against the recognition of shared political and cultural patterns. The wall becomes symbolic, an attempt to maintain the fiction of American exceptionalism in the face of uncomfortable hemispheric similarities.
A shared political DNA
The Western Hemisphere shares a colonial past, revolutionary beginnings, and complex relationships with democracy and authoritarianism. Trump’s political style, with its caudillo-like qualities, suggests that the United States may not be as exceptional as its mythology suggests.
What emerges is not just a critique, but a quiet revelation: the caudillo spirit, thought to belong to another latitude, lives north of the Rio Grande as well. Trump did not import a foreign style of politics—he simply awakened something long dormant in the American tradition.
The Western Hemisphere is stitched together by the same restless threads: conquest, revolution, the dream of freedom, and the seduction of power. Trump’s rise did not break the American myth; it exposed its foundations.
The wall he built was never meant to keep others out. It was meant to keep the reflection from getting in.