Ivan Timofeev: This late Soviet leader's legacy is a warning to Trump

Russia Today

30-04-2025

In Donald Trump's second term, US foreign policy has taken a series of sharp, often surprising turns. His administration has veered from seeking rapprochement with Russia to publicly dressing down Ukraine's Volodymyr Zelensky; from berating European allies for their democratic lapses to launching trade wars against traditional partners; from floating ambitions about acquiring Greenland and hinting at absorbing Canada as the '51st state,' to tearing down iconic soft power institutions like USAID, Radio Free Europe, and Voice of America.
It's tempting to think of this as uniquely Trumpian – but history offers a compelling parallel. Four decades ago, across the Atlantic, a newly appointed Soviet leader, Mikhail Gorbachev, came to power. What began as a cautious shift in Moscow's external posture soon morphed into a sweeping 'new thinking' in foreign affairs. Gorbachev ended the Cold War – but also presided over the disintegration of the Soviet Union. Could Trump play a similar role for the United States? How far could his initiatives go – and what might they mean for America's future?
At face value, Trump and Gorbachev appear worlds apart. One grew up wealthy, the other in modest circumstances. One is brash and combative, the other was warm and conciliatory. Trump lives large, a self-styled playboy; Gorbachev remained devoted to his wife and never sought personal wealth, even amid Soviet upheaval. Trump thrived in cutthroat markets and democratic elections; Gorbachev rose through backroom deals and party hierarchies. Trump is a product of the postmodern digital age; Gorbachev was a modernist reformer who placed faith in rational governance and global norms. Trump champions nationalism and self-interest; Gorbachev preached universal values.
Yet despite their differences, both men shared a deep desire to overhaul systems they viewed as bloated and unsustainable. Each tried to 'clean up liabilities' – to eliminate outdated, overextended, and costly commitments.
By the 1980s, the Soviet Union was stagnating. The Brezhnev era, later romanticized for its 'stability,' had bred corruption, economic inertia, a detached ruling class, and widespread alcoholism. The military budget was immense: Moscow poured resources into propping up Warsaw Pact allies, subsidizing socialist regimes worldwide, and maintaining nuclear and conventional parity with the US and NATO. Meanwhile, relations with China were hostile. Since the late '60s, the two nations had been in a quiet cold war, even as Beijing sought warmer ties with Washington. And then there was the costly quagmire in Afghanistan.
While some of these efforts might have been defensible in the name of strategic deterrence or ideological solidarity, they increasingly backfired. The arms race yielded diminishing returns. Allies became freeloaders. Global influence waned.
Gorbachev's answer was de-escalation. Arms reduction treaties slashed bloated arsenals. Relations with China thawed. Troop levels in Afghanistan dropped. For a time, Soviet diplomacy gained moral traction on the world stage – Gorbachev positioned the USSR as a force for peace and progress, and his personal reputation soared.
But the momentum didn't last. Many of Moscow's concessions proved one-sided. Missiles were dismantled with little reciprocal gain. Gorbachev supported German reunification without securing hard guarantees against NATO's eastward expansion. By the late '80s, Eastern Europe had erupted in peaceful revolutions, toppling one socialist regime after another. Unlike in 1968 Czechoslovakia, the USSR chose not to intervene militarily.
As Moscow's grip loosened, it became evident the Soviet Union was losing its leverage with NATO and its own sphere of influence. Worse still, liberalization at home – economic reforms, government restructuring, and glasnost (political openness) – triggered an uncontrollable chain reaction. State legitimacy crumbled. Nationalist sentiment surged in the republics. Attempts to slow the unraveling with half-measures only hastened the collapse. Gorbachev's cleanup campaign ended not in renewal, but in ruin.
Trump, too, began his presidency with a push to shed what he saw as unnecessary burdens. The US–Russia standoff, he argued, had locked Washington into a costly 'double deterrence' trap. Ukraine, from this viewpoint, had become a black hole for American resources – costing tens, even hundreds of billions in military and financial support – despite Russia posing no existential threat to the US.
After all, Russia is a capitalist state, once deeply embedded in the global economy. Its push to dominate its 'near abroad' is not unlike the US response to Soviet missiles in Cuba. And its emphasis on traditional values is more defensive than expansionist – unlike communism, which once posed an ideological challenge to the West.
So why the outsized US investment in a standoff with Moscow? Especially when, three years into Russia's war in Ukraine, the West has failed to land a knockout blow? Ukraine has withstood invasion but not turned the tide. Russia, battered but intact, has avoided political or economic collapse – and continues to support America's adversaries.
In that context, seeking a strategic compromise with Moscow doesn't seem naïve – it looks rational.
This raises a larger question: Should the US continue preserving the Cold War's institutional legacy? The Cold War ended with a sweeping American victory – military, economic, and ideological. But can the same playbook guide the country through today's multipolar world? Clinging to Cold War logic has backfired. Rather than remain inga reliable partner, Russia has become a dangerous wild card. Meanwhile, new powers – from China to regional upstarts like North Korea – are challenging US influence. The global burden on Washington grows heavier, even as its returns diminish.
Trump's re-evaluation of traditional alliances has gone further than any recent administration. The notion of annexing Greenland would be a shocking blow to one of America's closest allies. Canada has also found itself on edge. And Trump's trade wars with friendly nations have added to the strain – though, to be fair, US–Japan tensions in the past took similar turns.
What's become clear is that the traditional Atlantic alliance, as it stood over the past 30 years, can no longer be taken for granted. Washington is demanding tangible returns – now. And this is not just Trump's doing. Around him is a cadre of younger, energetic allies. Should Trump be removed from the scene, Vice President J.D. Vance would likely carry the torch – with even greater zeal.
Could America go the way of the USSR? For now, that seems unlikely. The US possesses far deeper institutional resilience. It's not just about economic size – the Soviet Union was massive, too – but about adaptability. The American system can absorb shocks, even from figures as disruptive as Trump, and then pivot back without undermining its core principles.
Gorbachev, in contrast, was boxed in by his own idealism. His vision of peace left him paralyzed at moments that demanded forceful action. Trump, by contrast, is already cast as a villain by many US allies. That gives him more room to act decisively.
With America's systemic flexibility behind him, Trump may feel emboldened to experiment. And in these experiments, longtime allies might find themselves not just in supporting roles – but as test subjects.