Donald Trump accomplishes something remarkable every single day: he compels the world to focus on him. It does not matter what he says or does — what matters is that people talk about it. This is a modern form of power: saturating the public space, personalizing every issue, turning politics into a permanent stage.
I listened to his speech at the World Economic Forum in Davos. Had he not been the President of the United States, some might have considered the performance unbalanced. Not so much because of the substance — controversial yet legitimate — but because of the tone. Addressing the President of the Swiss Confederation simply as “the lady,” without acknowledging her office or name, is not a trivial slip. It reflects a particular view of authority: power that does not instinctively recognize other powers as equals.
For some time, I have had the impression that Trump looks more to the seventeenth century than to the twenty-first. His model is neither liberal nor multilateral; it is mercantilist. It echoes Jean-Baptiste Colbert, finance minister to Louis XIV — the Sun King.
The pattern is clear:
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High tariffs on imported goods with significant added value.
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Selective openness to raw materials useful to domestic industry.
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Protection and promotion of favored national champions.
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A declared war on bureaucracy that often results in greater centralization of control.
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Strengthening of executive power and marginalization of intermediary institutions.
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Persistent pressure on allies and rivals alike to redefine spheres of influence.
Louis XIV pursued such a strategy with short-term success. The royal treasury grew. France’s power expanded. State-sponsored monopolies flourished. Yet the system generated deep structural imbalances: wealth concentrated at the top, mounting social strain below.
History does not repeat itself — but certain dynamics do.
Trump may well succeed, at least temporarily, in restructuring American power. He may reshore industries, impose tariffs, and coerce trading partners. But if the gains remain concentrated among oligarchs and major corporate actors, the social cost will eventually surface.
In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, it took generations for accumulated tensions to erupt. Today, systemic reactions unfold far more rapidly. Economic cycles, financial markets, and digital communication compress time.
Aspiring to be the “Sun King” of the twenty-first century may be rhetorically appealing.
But the sun, when it burns too intensely, consumes what it is meant to illuminate.
An old warning still applies:
those who rise too high risk falling with equal force.
History is not a museum. It is a caution.
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