Trump has been unfazed by such warnings, glibly stating that children will “maybe” have fewer “dolls” than they used to. And for those who believe Trump is playing four-dimensional chess, fundamentally shifting the makeup of the American economy, decoupling from China, and reducing the overall trade deficit — all this is worth the pain. This, even as few of these cheerleaders have indications of what it is that Trump wants America to produce more of, and fewer still have realistic estimates of how long it will take to achieve all these ends.

The problem is that stagflation isn’t a blip or temporary “market correction” from which it will be easy for the US economy to emerge with greater dynamism. Rather, it is a series of mutually reinforcing negative trends that sap the willingness of firms to expand while progressively exhausting purchasing power for household essentials. That leaves less money in the economy for hiring and training, innovation, and the productive risk-taking Trump purportedly wants. Unless he imposes price controls and leans on the 1950 Defense Production Act and other emergency measures — “statist” decisions which even a MAGA-fied GOP is likely to denounce — Trump has no Plan B to simultaneously restrain costs and compel industries to reshore.

Many, then, have remarked that Trump’s main economic policies will have the opposite of their intended effect of reinvigorating the US industrial base. But there is another irony here. Despite his unflagging drive to browbeat firms and the Federal Reserve into supporting reindustrialization, this radical “conservative” President may soon encounter what all progressive and Left-wing governments have feared since the “great inflation” of the Seventies: a capital strike. In other words, the CEOs and financiers who rallied to Trump in 2024 may decide his whims are too disruptive to stay onboard — and that his apparent indifference to their profit margins, logistics, and ability to reasonably plan investments aren’t worth the candle.

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The darkening forecast for growth precipitated so single-handedly by Trump’s management and priorities certainly has no modern precedent in US politics. But the deep uncertainty at all levels of the economy also underscores how difficult it is to alter, much less dramatically reverse, globalization. It is much easier to transfer supply chains from high-wage countries to low-wage ones than the other way around.

During Trump’s first-term trade war, Vietnam, not the US Rust Belt, was the primary beneficiary of high tariffs on China’s exports. Unless Trump resumes some of the punitive rates he paused after his “Liberation Day” tariff formula was roundly maligned, capital expenditure will be rerouted to other emerging markets — some of which the Biden administration tried to cultivate as part of its own “friend-shoring” strategy of Chinese containment. Yet swinging back to a uniformly aggressive tariff regime could rock the global economy, needlessly punishing foreign workers in textiles, small appliances, toys, and other entry-level sectors while precipitating shortages for American consumers.

Trump’s isolationist tendencies — which aren’t congruent with a positive of vision of economic nationalism — are also impeding efforts to improve America’s global share of manufacturing. Trump needs the cooperation of allies he’s gravely alienated if he intends to effectively curb Chinese trans-shipment of inputs that he wants American firms to make. However, neither he nor his closest advisers appears temperamentally prepared to make that case. Likewise, it seems impossible for them to accept that “near-shoring” of key components with strict limits on Chinese content is preferable to China’s increasing command of critical supply chains.

In turn, Trump’s constant jaw-boning could result in fewer concessions of a strategic nature. Trade barriers without multilateral coordination that fosters “reciprocal” industrial policies and content standards among close allies will do more to isolate America than insulate it from practices which undercut its manufacturers. While some unfair trade practices can be addressed by eliminating loopholes like de minimis, which allowed Chinese producers to sell and ship goods valued $800 or less directly to American consumers, Trump still lacks a plan to persuade multinationals and mid-size firms to transition away from third-party suppliers that perpetuate dumping and other harmful practices.

The ostensible carrot in all of this is Trump’s insistence that lower corporate taxes and deregulation will lure foreign investors to build in America. On the face of it, the logic is quite simple: if major foreign competitors want to avoid tariffs, they should treat the US labor market as worthy of investment. But Trump has not pursued the types of industrial policies that Biden launched, which could convince more foreign firms of the benefits of doing just that. There are clear downsides to Trump’s approach, too. The risks posed to workplace safety and pollution standards are worrisome enough, but there is also the matter of business’s confidence in America’s domestic political stability and the skill-level of its workers.

Contrary to the libertarian notion that enterprise wants only a nightwatchman state, fanatical deregulation and slashing state capacity are not particularly encouraging for firms concerned with high-value-added manufacturing and standards compliance across the supply chain. In fact, the Left-wing school of thought which critiqued “corporate liberalism” delineated why a strong administrative state was integral to making and stabilizing modern American capitalism. While some government policies have made it onerous to build efficiently in America, new research indicates that DOGE’s actions and similar cuts to federal research and development are likely to retard growth and make Americans significantly poorer, compounding the near-term losses imposed by passed-on tariff costs.

All else being equal, that will have a chilling effect on long-term fixed investment. Many companies will doubt that the broader political economy, which already favors financial rents over productive investment, and which Trump seems unwilling to reform in this respect, will justify opening new plants and keeping them operational for decades.

Given the limited policy options the Trump administration is working with, there are few other levers to pull. Trump may create enough instability in the interim to significantly lower the dollar’s value, theoretically enhancing the competitiveness of American manufacturing. A possible analogue here is the 1985 Plaza Accord orchestrated by the Reagan administration, which temporarily boosted American exports, albeit at considerable cost to developing nations that had piled up debt to diversify their economies. However, America’s industrial capacity is far more diminished than it was after the 1981-1982 Volcker Shock and ensuing recession, again illustrating the “input” dilemma created by decades of offshoring. Trump wants to replace foreign inputs with American-made ones, but a weaker dollar would make plant investment more costly, since to some extent the country needs to temporarily increase imports of capital goods to efficiently rebuild domestic supply chains.

Some may counter that the dollar has long been overvalued, and that this has worsened inequality by rewarding short-term financial gains, favoring consumption of cheap imports, and eliminating the pathways to middle-class prosperity historically provided by American manufacturing. In fact, Sen. Elizabeth Warren (D-Mass.) and other prominent voices on the progressive Left made these arguments in the last decade. Yet Trump has not signalled how a weaker dollar in the current context would reduce, rather than exacerbate, international supply chokepoints. Nor has he indicated in the slightest how it would translate into a less financialized economy. Tanking global confidence in the dollar — and US Treasuries as a safe haven — is not a recipe on its own for curbing speculative finance, which Trump has otherwise encouraged through his alliance with the libertarian Tech Right and support for cryptocurrencies.

In the meantime, it is possible the early phase of stagflation is already unfolding. In anticipation of broad price hikes from tariffs, consumers binged on spending the last two months, likely masking the extent to which a slowdown has been set in motion by Trump’s capricious strategy to boost domestic industry. Unease over supply costs, meanwhile, has further reduced manufacturing orders and output, according to the Institute of Supply Management, a leading industry association. On the positive side, the hiring freeze detected last year appears to be gradual, unemployment remains low, and the last two job reports were better than expected. But the long-term jobless still number 1.7 million people, or nearly 1 of 4 unemployed workers; that level, reached last November, is a half million more than a year ago.

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As falling consumer confidence underscores, spending is based on fears of rising inflation, rather than optimism about wages and spending power, and that tariffs are cooling, not spurring, plant investment. Historic levels of household debt also suggest necessities are eating into disposable incomes. That is not an auspicious sign for manufacturers worried about whether new investments will be met with stronger demand. Another consecutive quarterly contraction would officially mark a recession, which is increasingly accepted as a fait accompli by many analysts.

Trump, of course, mounted his unexpected comeback in 2024 due to widespread disgruntlement with Biden’s economic performance. Despite a suite of policies that fueled an uptick in plant investment and construction, Biden and his anointed successor, Kamala Harris, couldn’t escape the ire over the drop in real incomes from 2021 through mid-2023. Thus far, Trump’s policies promise another decline in real wages without either the Biden-era regional investments or the tight labor markets that helped the economy rebound faster from the pandemic. Considering Team Trump still partly frames tariffs as a tool for negotiation, it is conceivable they will eventually retreat on the basis of some symbolic concessions by major firms and trade partners to support more balanced trade.

However, it is not beyond the realm of possibility that Trump will keep a stubbornly tough tariff regime in place and eventually force American firms and consumers to adjust. US Presidents, particularly Republicans, are caricatured as fearing experiments that spark market volatility and derail consumer sentiment. But the unfading populism of recent years has prompted leaders from both political parties to take protectionist risks considered irrational during an earlier, more painful stage of industrial decline in the late 20th century. That pattern is unlikely to change anytime soon, despite immense pressure from Wall Street to scrap radical changes to how America does business with the world.

That doesn’t mean Trump or his heirs will emerge victorious after the initial economic shock. Americans are paradoxically wary of major changes to the modern consumer economy and voting for politicians promising major disruptions to the status quo, and they may continue to punish incumbents for results that do little to improve their own sense of economic security. While Trump has taken an axe to globalization’s main pillars, it may be a Democrat who ultimately capitalizes on the outcome. The question, then, will be whether they try to turn back the clock or refine the unfocused autarky Trump has embraced.

But pride before a fall has an ancient lineage, and only the arrogance of the historical present could treat American imperial decline as a novel phenomenon, let alone mere metaphor. Some 16 centuries before Clinton, in an uncannily similar setting of domes and colonnades, a Roman orator stood before the imperial Senate to deliver an equally triumphal speech. It was 1 January 399, inauguration day for the latest in a millennium-old line of consuls, the most prestigious Roman office. This year’s candidate was Flavius Mallius Theodorus. After rising to praise his audience — “here I see gathered all the brilliance of the world” — he went on to proclaim the dawn of a new Golden Age, celebrating the unparalleled prosperity of the Empire.

Rome’s rapid comeuppance is now a historical parable that America can learn from in real-time. Because the rhetoric of Clinton and his ancient predecessor was spoken from atop the crest of the same wave: an identical process of rise and decline which Peter Heather and I, in our new book, call “the imperial lifecycle”. Empires grow rich and powerful and attain supremacy through the economic exploitation of their colonial periphery. But in the process, they inadvertently spur the economic development of that same periphery until it can roll back and ultimately displace its overlord.

America has never thought of itself as an empire, mainly because with the exception of the few islands in the Pacific and Caribbean, it has never accumulated a large network of overseas territories. But this modern European model, in which colonies were (and in a few cases, still are) administered by governors who answered directly to the imperial capital, was but one of many. The late Roman Empire, for instance, functioned as an “inside-out” empire — effectively run from the provinces, with Rome serving more as a spiritual than administrative capital. What held it all together was the shared culture of the provincial nobility that ran it, most of whom has provincial origins but had been socialised into what Peter Heather has called the imperial culture of “Latin, towns and togas”.

The American Empire — or more accurately the American-led Western empire — mirrors this confederal model, with an updated cultural-political glue that we might call “neoliberalism, Nato and denim”. Under this regime, the nation-state was primary, borders were inviolable, relatively open trade and capital movement prevailed, governing elites  were committed to liberal principles, and bureaucracy was based on increasingly standardised education systems (with economics training assuming an increasingly central role as the century progressed). But since its establishment in 1944 at the Bretton Woods conference, its fundamental economic model has been in the timeless imperial mould: exploitation of the periphery to the benefit of the imperial core.

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The great wave of decolonisation that followed the war was meant to end that. But the Bretton Woods system, which created a trading regime that favoured industrial over primary producers and enshrined the dollar as the global reserve currency, ensured that the net flow of financial resources continued to move from developing countries to developed ones. Even when the economies of the newly-independent states grew, those of the G7 economies and their partners grew more. And while the treaty arrangements that cemented this system were periodically updated at international summits, even then the US and its main trading partners would typically draft a deal for sign-off by everyone else. As a result, the gap between rich and poor countries grew bigger than ever.

Clinton was speaking at the all-time peak of this American imperial order. Two years earlier, a financial crisis that had begun in Asia had ricocheted across the developing world. And when protesters filled streets and governments across the Global South collapsed, the rich in developing countries panicked and sent their money into the safe haven of US Treasury paper. That influx of cash sent the late Nineties US economy into overdrive, creating the abundance that Clinton took to be endless.

In fact, as he was speaking, the overall flow of global capital had already begun moving the other way. By this time, quietly but steadily, developing countries like China and India had shaken off the torpor of earlier decades and were starting to grow in leaps and bounds. The brief recessions induced in developing countries by the Asian Crisis and the consequent boom in the West obscured the fact that the really dynamic economies of the world were now in what was called the Third World. Once the protests died down and normal business resumed there, investors in the developing world — followed by fund-managers in Western countries — sent their money back to the growing economies of the global periphery.

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In the Roman Empire, peripheral states developed the political and military capacity to end Roman domination by force. In the modern case, the conflict was fought through diplomatic, economic and political channels. The year of Clinton’s panegyric now looks pivotal — not only for the changing capital winds, but because of what happened at that year’s World Trade Organization summit in Seattle. After decades in which they’d more or less signed off on done-and-dusted deals, delegations from some of the big developing countries got together, refused to go along and brought the negotiations to a halt. As their diplomatic and political capacity rose to match their economic heft, developing countries were now demanding, and getting, better deals.

The Third World was rising, and it quickly showed in the economic data. On the eve of the millennium, the cusp of its supremacy — a supremacy no other empire in history had come remotely close to matching — the West accounted for four-fifths of the global economy. Today, that’s down to three-fifths, and falling. The fastest-growing economies in the world are now all in the old periphery; the worst-performing economies are disproportionately in the West. These are the economic trends that have created our present landscape of superpower conflict — most saliently between America and China. A once-mighty empire is now challenged and feels embattled. Taken aback by the refusal of so many developing countries to join in isolating Russia, the West is now waking up to the reality of the emerging, polycentric and fluid global order.

These trends are only set to continue. But this is where America and Rome diverge. The Roman Empire existed at a time where there was one fixed factor of production: land. The economy was therefore necessarily steady-state and overwhelmingly agricultural. For the periphery to rise, the core had to fall, as the barbarian invaders seized physical Roman real estate. But in the modern world, where continued technological progress means economies can keep moving forward, if more slowly, decline may only need to be relative. The West can continue to grow, and to play a pre-eminent role in global governance.

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But meek acceptance isn’t what builds empires in the first place. The danger is that, obsessed with past glories and tempted by a desire to turn back the clock, Western countries attempt to restore their greatness. Since its own imperial marginalisation, Britain has been possessed by a manic and counter-productive declinism, most recently responding to the 2008 crash with a programme of austerity that has sunk its economy into what may become a permanent decay. America’s interminable annual wranglings over debt ceilings could, if they continue, diminish the attractiveness of the dollar, at a time when developing countries are looking for alternatives.

The fate of the West hangs in the balance, and it must stop drawing the wrong lessons from Roman history, not the least of which is a stubborn refusal to accept a diminished role in its world. After all, the Roman Empire might have survived had it not weakened itself with wars of choice on its ascendant Persian rival. By finding a way to coexist peacefully with its own rival China, however uncomfortable that may be, the US could do itself and the world a favour.

But the freezing of Russia’s foreign-exchange reserves, worth around $300 billion — about half of its overall reserves — was significant. While the US had behaved similarly with Afghanistan, Iran, Syria and Venezuela, none of these targets was remotely as powerful as Russia: a member of the G20, and the world’s largest nuclear power. Likewise, none of the 63 central banks that are members of the Bank for International Settlements (BIS) in Basel — known as the central bank of central banks — had ever been the target of financial sanctions, not even during the Second World War.

At the time, the decision received relatively little attention. Future historians, however, will look back on it as the trigger that set in motion one of the biggest snowball effects in history, one which now threatens the very foundations of the American Empire.

In our age of fiat money, reserves aren’t held in the form of physical dollars (or other currencies) stashed in the vaults of foreign central banks. They are simple IOUs — a credit recorded in the accounting sheets of the Federal Reserve and other central banks. In the dealings between countries, just as in the dealings between individuals or companies and commercial banks, trust is therefore fundamental: just as you would never deposit your salary in a bank if you had even the remotest fear that it might freeze or confiscate your money, no country wants to hold reserves which may be snatched away at any moment.

This move, therefore, violated an almost sacred principle: the neutrality of international reserves. The message was clear: from now on, the US would stop at nothing to punish countries that stepped out of line or defied Western diktats. And if this could happen to Russia, a major power whose central bank reserves were mostly earnings from sales to the West, it could happen to anyone. As Wolfgang Münchau wrote, by weaponising international reserves, the US had “taken the biggest gamble in the history of economic warfare”. In one fell swoop, he noted, the US had “undermined trust in the US dollar as the world’s main reserve currency”, and encouraged China and Russia to “bypass the Western financial infrastructure”. For non-Western nations — especially China, which is heavily exposed to US assets — disengaging from the dollar, and more in general from the US-led international monetary and financial system, acquired a sudden urgency.

De-dollarisation was not something that would happen overnight, that much was clear. But the wheels of history were set in motion. It is no coincidence that most of the world’s nations didn’t join the West in slapping sanctions on Russia, but quietly started strengthening their ties with Russia and China in an effort to reduce their dependence on the dollar-centric system. In just over 12 months, the world has undergone a greater tectonic shift, in geopolitical terms, than it has in decades: the long-heralded post-Western international order — comprising the BRICS and dozens of other countries making up most of the world’s population — has finally become a reality. The US, as former Treasury Secretary Larry Summers recently said, is lonelier than it has ever been.

A key driver of this process has been the world’s gradual disengagement from the dollar. Its demise has been endlessly — and wrongly — predicted since the Sixties, so scepticism here is justified. This time, however, there is good reason to believe that it’s happening. De-dollarisation comes in many forms, but three are particularly easy to spot: the settling of international transactions in currencies other than the dollar, primarily the Chinese yuan; the reduction of the dollar in global foreign-exchange reserves; and the decline in foreign holdings of US Treasury bonds.

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On all counts, the trend seems clear. In terms of international payments, the role of the yuan (and other currencies) has received a massive boost over the past year. The most obvious example is Russia, which has effectively been forced by the Western sanctions to embrace the yuan for most of its international transactions. But several other major countries — including Brazil, Argentina, Pakistan and Bangladesh — have already agreed to (or are in the process of negotiating) the use of the yuan or their own currencies to settle their international transactions. Meanwhile, the BRICS are also working on developing an international currency along the lines of the synthetic alternative proposed by Keynes 70 years ago, the bancor, which was rejected by the Americans in favour of a system anchored around their dollar.

Beyond the BRICS, interest in de-dollarising — or at least in greater use of local currencies — is also growing, most notably in the Persian Gulf, where the US previously wielded unrivalled strategic power. At the first China-Gulf Arab States Cooperation Council summit in December reached a consensus to use yuan for oil and gas trade. And last month, China and the UAE conducted their first transaction in yuan.

Looking at the composition of global currency reserves, the shift towards de-dollarisation might be less apparent. But it is happening. The nothing-to-see-here crowd might point out that the US dollar still dominates the world’s currency reserves, with around 60% of the total, while the yuan accounts for less than 3%. But static snapshots of the present, though true, are of little use in understanding what the future holds. And, according to current trends, the dollar’s share of reserve currencies has begun to contract at 10 times the average speed of the past two decades. Central banks are mostly dumping dollars for gold, while overseas creditors — China, Japan and Saudi Arabia in particular — are increasingly selling off US Treasury bonds.

Such is the progress of de-dollarisation that many in the Western policy establishment are starting to acknowledge that this time is different. Last week, for instance, US Treasury Secretary Janet Yellen admitted that the weaponisation of the dollar through the use of financial sanctions risked undermining its hegemony by pushing countries to look for an alternative, even if its supremacy wasn’t at risk soon. Just two days later, Christine Lagarde, the President of the ECB, made a similar statement, acknowledging that there was now “an opportunity for certain countries seeking to reduce their dependence on Western payment systems and currency frameworks”. She stressed that these changes do not amount to an “imminent loss of dominance for the US dollar or the euro”, but they do “suggest that international currency status should no longer be taken for granted”. The question, then, is no longer if de-dollarisation is happening — but how fast.

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Sceptics, however, continue to argue that there are insurmountable technical and institutional obstacles to the dollar’s decline. They point out, for instance, that there are economies of scale that lead to a relative monopoly in reserve currency status, and that the Chinese yuan cannot become a real reserve currency unless capital controls are phased out and the exchange rate made more flexible. Moreover, they claim, a reserve currency country needs to accept — as the US has — permanent current account deficits in order to satisfy the world’s demand for its currency.

Therefore, there would need to be major changes in China’s financial markets and monetary-economic policies for the yuan to replace the dollar. These are valid claims, but they miss a fundamental point: the de-dollarisation process is primarily geopolitical in nature, not economic. It’s not just about finding an “efficient” system, but about challenging Western monetary hegemony. Moreover, de-dollarisation doesn’t necessarily mean the replacement of the dollar with the yuan, but the dispersion of reserve assets among several major currencies, and other assets, such as commodities such as gold.

And this would be no bad thing. The world’s reliance on the dollar makes economies excessively exposed to changes in US monetary policy, with periods of monetary loosening or, as now, tightening having dramatic knock-on effects on the rest of the world. Nor would this completely be to America’s disadvantage. As Michael Pettis and Matthew Klein argue, the current international and monetary financial system doesn’t pit the interests of nations against each other so much as it pits the interests of certain economic sectors against other economic sectors. In other words, it is not the US as a whole that benefits from the global dominance of the dollar, but rather certain constituencies within the US.

By attracting capital to the US and allowing it to help itself to foreign goods and resources such as oil, simply by printing its own currency — in what Valéry Giscard d’Estaing, de Gaulle’s Minister of Economy, called America’s “exorbitant privilege” — dollar dominance has undoubtedly benefited America’s imperial elites: Wall Street, large global corporations and, most importantly, the national security establishment. It’s what has allowed the US to sustain a regime of perpetual war, on top of exercising financial dominance over much of the world.

But this has come at a significant cost not only for the rest of the world but also for American workers, farmers, producers and small businesses. For America, supporting the world’s primary reserve currency has meant running permanent trade deficits, which has seriously eroded its industrial and manufacturing capacity and its ability to provide well-paying jobs to its workforce — what Pettis calls the “exorbitant burden” of the dollar. The end of this supremacy, then, would turn America into a somewhat “normal” country — a regional power among other regional powers. Both globally and within the US, this would benefit virtually everyone. Indeed, the only losers would be those who have had ample time to enrich themselves.