The Trump administration’s National Security Strategy of the United States of America, published last week, presents itself as a decisive break from the bipartisan foreign policy consensus that has shaped Washington’s posture since the end of the Cold War. In some respects, it is exactly that. The document repeatedly denounces the “laundry lists of wishes” and vague universalism of earlier strategies and takes aim at what it calls the “fundamentally undesirable and impossible goal” of permanent American global dominance. It argues instead for a narrower, interest-driven agenda grounded in national sovereignty and what it dubs a “focused definition of the national interest.”

For critics of U.S. hegemony—particularly those skeptical of the Beltway’s universalist rhetoric—these breaks will appear welcome. Yet the 2025 NSS simultaneously embraces a hardened, unilateral, and militarized conception of American power that belies its outward claims to restraint. The underlying logic remains familiar: the United States must possess unmatched military capability everywhere, maintain favorable balances of power in every region, and intervene decisively when the administration deems it necessary. The more moderate rhetoric toward China and the document’s claim to have ushered in “unprecedented peace in eight conflicts” cannot obscure its persistent commitment to robust global military interventionism. The result is a strategy that critiques the failures of post–Cold War hegemony while preserving many of its operational habits—assuring that, in practice, Washington’s military budgets and overseas engagements will continue to expand.

The NSS’s framing device is that American strategy “went astray” because elites overestimated the nation’s willingness to shoulder global burdens and became entangled in causes “peripheral or irrelevant to our own.” Trump’s proposed correction is to return U.S. policy to “core national interests,” a term that is invoked repeatedly though defined in ways that remain elastic enough to justify extensive global management.

For example, the document asserts that the United States “cannot allow any nation to become so dominant that it could threaten our interests” and therefore must “work with allies and partners to maintain global and regional balances of power.” In theory, this rejects hegemony; in practice, it mandates American policing of every major theater.

Similarly, its invocation of a “predisposition to non-interventionism” is immediately paired with the admission that U.S. interests are so “numerous and diverse” that non-intervention is “not possible” across many issues. The claim to restraint is therefore largely rhetorical, not programmatic.

A centerpiece of the strategy is its repeated assertion that President Donald Trump has “secured unprecedented peace” by resolving eight global conflicts within eight months. This list includes long-running disputes such as Kosovo–Serbia, the Democratic Republic of the Congo–Rwanda conflict, and the India–Pakistan rivalry. Yet readers will notice the absence of any explanation of how these conflicts were resolved, what concessions were made, or whether any durable settlement has actually been achieved.

The rhetoric is triumphalist: America’s strength, diplomacy, and “dealmaking ability” are depicted as having singularly ended wars that have persisted for decades. This is not analysis; it is political messaging. Many of these conflicts remain volatile, and in some cases—such as the DRC and Pakistan–India—the notion that they were “ended” within months strains credulity. The NSS’s victory lap obscures the complexities on the ground and the absence of independent verification.

On China, the document marks a distinct tonal shift from the more confrontational posture of previous administrations. It acknowledges the foolishness of past policies that assumed China would become a liberal partner and emphasizes economic reciprocity and supply-chain security over ideological confrontation.

More notably, the NSS states that the United States will “maintain our longstanding declaratory policy on Taiwan” and rejects “any unilateral change to the status quo.” This is a notable departure from the increasingly militarized debates in Washington, where strategic ambiguity has eroded.

Yet beneath this moderation lies a familiar military buildup. The administration commits to building a military capable of “denying aggression anywhere in the First Island Chain” while pressing allies to spend more, grant the United States expanded basing access, and strengthen deterrence around Taiwan. This is standard U.S. primacy doctrine: Washington must retain overwhelming dominance in Asia to prevent any rival from controlling sea lanes or coercing neighbors.

Thus, the rhetorical shift masks a continuity of expansive commitments that all but guarantee larger budgets and deeper entanglement.

The NSS outlines one of its most muscular regional visions for the Western Hemisphere. It proposes a “Trump Corollary to the Monroe Doctrine” explicitly aimed at denying “non-Hemispheric competitors” the ability to acquire strategic assets or position forces anywhere in the region.

This is hemispheric exclusion in its purest form, paired with calls for U.S. “lethal force” against cartels and the redirection of global U.S. military deployments back toward Latin America.

In tone and substance, this is not restraint but a revival of early twentieth century interventionism. The emphasis on immigration, border militarization, and cartel warfare ensures that U.S. involvement in the region will deepen rather than diminish.

The section on Europe oscillates between civilizational anxiety—warning of Europe’s potential “erasure” due to migration and declining birthrates—and confident claims that the U.S. must help Europe “correct its trajectory” and “remain European.”

At the same time, the document insists that the United States must negotiate an “expeditious cessation of hostilities in Ukraine” to stabilize the continent. While such diplomacy is welcome, the U.S. role here remains central—not reduced. The NSS envisions strong American involvement in stabilizing Europe, reshaping its politics, and mediating its relations with Russia.

The promised end of Washington’s Euro-Atlantic micromanagement remains elusive.

The administration asserts that decades of Middle East quagmires are over because the region is now more stable “than headlines might lead one to believe.” Iran is described as “greatly weakened” due to Israeli actions and the administration’s own “Operation Midnight Hammer,” and the Israeli–Palestinian conflict is said to be on a path toward “permanent peace.”

As in other regions, the triumphal narrative obscures the messy reality. There is no evidence that tensions between Israel and Iran have been neutralized or that Gaza is on the cusp of durable peace. Nor is it clear that the U.S. has meaningfully “shifted burdens” to partners rather than deepened its role as broker and guarantor.

The strategy’s description of the Middle East as an “emerging…place of partnership” similarly glosses over the long-term liabilities of U.S. security guarantees to “partners.”

In many ways, Trump’s 2025 NSS is more honest than its predecessors. It openly rejects universal liberalism, forcefully attacks the hubris of post–Cold War elites, and declines to dress U.S. national interest in the language of moral crusade. It gestures toward sovereignty, restraint, and a more modest global footprint.

But in its sweeping regional ambitions, its insistence on American military preeminence, and its readiness to intervene—whether against cartels in Latin America, competitors in the Western Pacific, or Iran in the Middle East—the strategy preserves the operational logic of U.S. primacy.

The document attempts to square a circle: to oppose global hegemony while demanding the military, economic, and diplomatic posture required to sustain it. The likely consequence is predictable. As with my earlier criticism of Elbridge Colby and the realists around him, we should expect continually expanding military budgets and military interventions, albeit ones sold with different pretexts—this time under the banner of sovereignty, balance of power, and “America First.”