logo
'Enormous mistake': What Trump's former NSA John Bolton said on India tariff

'Enormous mistake': What Trump's former NSA John Bolton said on India tariff

Time of India2 days ago
Trump's former NSA John Bolton said it's a huge mistake for Trump to treat friends and foes alike on tariff.
President Donald Trump's former NSA John Bolton said Trump favoring China over India on trade is an enormous mistake and entirely counterproductive for America. In an opinion piece for The Hill, Bolton said the tariffs do not fit into America's grand geopolitical strategy as the US is levying tariffs on friend and foe alike.
"Unfortunately, based on international reactions so far, the U.S. by levying tariffs on friend and foe alike has likely suffered a considerable loss of trust and confidence, built up over decades of effort, in exchange for minimal economic gains — if any — and the risk of formidable losses," Bolton wrote.
"The White House seems headed toward more-lenient treatment for Beijing on tariff rates and other metrics than it imposed on New Delhi.
If so, it will be a potentially enormous mistake. Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent has suggested that China's Aug. 12 deadline could be extended if negotiations looked promising," he wrote.
"Trump announced on July 30 that India's tariff rate would be 26 percent, 1 point lower than originally proposed on Apr. 2, but a major increase from the previous average rate of 2.4 percent. Moreover, Trump harshly criticized India's acquisition of Russian military equipment, underlining a longstanding U.S.-India
by Taboola
by Taboola
Sponsored Links
Sponsored Links
Promoted Links
Promoted Links
You May Like
They Lied to You About Success – Here's the Cold Hard Truth
Penguinrandomhouse.ca
Undo
disagreement, and Indian purchases of Russian oil and gas in violation of America's Ukraine-related sanctions.
(India is also one of the BRICS countries, which Trump separately singled out for a 10 percent tariff.)" he wrote.
If China snags a better agreement, the anger could grow exponentially, the former ambassador said. "China runs a significantly larger trade surplus with the U.S. than does India. Washington has also long complained about Chinese trade practices, which include stealing intellectual property, unfairly subsidizing its international companies and denying access to China's domestic market, contrary to repeated commitments," he added.
Bolton also pointed out that both Pakistan and Bangladesh scored lower tariff rates from Trump. "Instead of advancing cooperation within the Asian Security Quad (India, Japan, Australia and America), Trump could well push India into closer economic and political ties with Russia and China. Beijing would see Trump's trade concessions as expressions of fundamental American weakness and dependence on trade with China.
At least Secretary Bessent did make clear after the last round of U.S.-China talks that China also risked heavy tariffs due to its purchases of Russian (and Iranian) oil and gas," he wrote.
Orange background

Try Our AI Features

Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:

Comments

No comments yet...

Related Articles

‘Why do you keep lying?' Kiren Rijiju rips into Rahul Gandhi after IAF chief's ‘full freedom' remark
‘Why do you keep lying?' Kiren Rijiju rips into Rahul Gandhi after IAF chief's ‘full freedom' remark

Hindustan Times

time18 minutes ago

  • Hindustan Times

‘Why do you keep lying?' Kiren Rijiju rips into Rahul Gandhi after IAF chief's ‘full freedom' remark

Bharatiya Janata Party leader and Union Minister Kiren Rijiju has accused Rahul Gandhi, the Leader of Opposition in the Lok Sabha, of 'lowering his stature' and 'damaging 'India's high reputation' over his remarks regarding the Indian Air Force. Kiren Rijiju, in a post on X, requested Rahul Gandhi to maintain the decorum of the Indian Parliament. (File/Sansad TV) Rahul Gandhi had said in the Parliament that the hands of the Indian Air Force were 'tied' by the government. Refuting this claim, the Indian Air Force (IAF) chief Amar Preet Singh said on Saturday that the government had given the air force 'full freedom' during Operation Sindoor. More details will be added.

Just as Russia's Most-famous dissident seemed set to go free, tragedy struck
Just as Russia's Most-famous dissident seemed set to go free, tragedy struck

Mint

time18 minutes ago

  • Mint

Just as Russia's Most-famous dissident seemed set to go free, tragedy struck

Roger Carstens was rushing across Tel Aviv to meet Roman Abramovich, knowing he would have to ask the White House for forgiveness rather than permission. Twice before, the Biden administration had turned down requests by the special presidential envoy for hostage affairs to meet this enigmatic Russian oligarch, one of the handful of people Carstens considered a 'back channel wizard" with the influence to untangle the thorniest diplomatic knots. But in November 2023, when Carstens traveled to Israel to help American families whose loved ones Hamas had taken hostage, a message reached his phone saying Abramovich was also in town. It seemed like an unmissable chance to advance a prisoner swap that could free U.S. citizens jailed in Russia—and at the same time, rescue Vladimir Putin's archnemesis, the Russian dissident leader Alexei Navalny. The hostage envoy had been on the ground in six wars but joked the most combat he'd ever seen was wearing a suit and tie in Washington, 'trying to get anything done." He had a plan to free Navalny and the Americans but the White House didn't think the time was right to move on it. He often joked that he felt like Gulliver, tied down by Lilliputians. His perceived adversaries: senior White House and State Department officials who had been working, albeit more cautiously, toward the same end, and were weighing the geopolitical and moral risks of trading prisoners with Putin. Carstens complained to colleagues he was stuck reporting to decision makers who, in his view, had never been to combat, never smelled cordite and who sat at their desks, offering reasons why his proposals wouldn't work. This time, the former Green Beret wasn't going to give anyone enough time to tell him no. On Nov. 30, he shot off an email to Washington, where the day was still young, saying he was poised to sit with Abramovich. Minutes later, he walked into a hotel chosen for the meeting. Sitting opposite, the billionaire said he could see prisoner talks—between the Central Intelligence Agency and Russia's FSB spy service—were stalled. 'I'm not sure the FSB is passing on our messages," Carstens said. He reiterated the latest offer from the White House: a mix of prisoners that included neither Navalny—whom Germany wanted—nor Russia's own must-have, an FSB officer named Vadim Krasikov, who was serving a life sentence for murdering a Putin opponent in downtown Berlin. Carstens felt that proposal was never going to fly. 'But let me run another idea by you," he ventured, 'Not officially, but just to get your view." Carstens pitched an idea he called 'enlarging the problem." Germany would free Krasikov, if Russia freed Navalny. As an add-on, the U.S. and European allies could return various deep-cover sleeper spies in their possession, and Russia would release two Americans held on espionage charges the U.S. government strongly denied: former Marine Paul Whelan, and Wall Street Journal reporter Evan Gershkovich. It sounded intriguing, Abramovich said, but added that he couldn't imagine Putin would free Navalny. After 30 minutes, Carstens left, reopening his phone to see cascading messages ordering him not to hold the meeting. A few days later, Carstens heard back from Abramovich, who seemed as surprised as anybody. Putin, he said, was willing to free Navalny. That same week, guards bundled the 47-year-old dissident onto a prison train and locked the door with no word of where he was heading. Hours turned to days as Navalny read the books he'd been allowed to take from the IK-6 prison camp. He couldn't see the towns passing outside, but the train was snaking across the Ural Mountains, then north toward the Arctic Circle to the 'dead railway," built by political prisoners under Stalin. It took two weeks to reach his ice-covered destination, known as 'Polar Wolf." 'I am your new Santa Claus," he wrote in his first letter home to his wife, Yulia. 'Unfortunately, there are no reindeer, but there are huge, fluffy and very beautiful German shepherds." A few weeks after he arrived, German Chancellor Olaf Scholz logged on to a private videoconference with Joe Biden, officially to discuss the war in Ukraine. Unofficially, the prisoner trade was on the agenda. Hours earlier, the Journal's editor in chief, Emma Tucker, had met with Scholz's top aides in Switzerland. Biden had just met Paul Whelan's sister, Elizabeth, a portrait painter who struck up an easy rapport with the president. Sullivan had been in constant contact with his opposite number in Berlin ahead of the meeting. The idea was so delicate Scholz was too nervous to mention specifics over the call. 'I will fly to see you," Scholz said. 'I would be happy to." The chancellor traveled without telling his own cabinet, giving such short notice that the only plane the German government could book was a medium-haul Airbus A321, which had to refuel in Iceland. There were no aides and no note-takers in the Feb. 9 meeting, just Biden and Scholz. Hours earlier, Tucker Carlson aired an interview with Putin at the Kremlin, where the former Fox host pushed the Russian president to release Gershkovich. Putin, chastened by Carlson, looked embarrassed. The pieces all seemed to be clicking into place. In the Oval Office, Scholz agreed to free the assassin Krasikov as the centerpiece of a broader deal. The chancellor would rescue Navalny from his Arctic prison—and, he hoped, boost the aging U.S. president's chances in what was certain to be a bruising re-election campaign. 'For you, I will do this," Scholz told Biden. On Feb. 15, 2024, the narrow streets of Munich were lined with black motorcades delivering the West's most important leaders to the Bavarian city's annual security conference. Carstens wasn't registered as a speaker or panelist, but he quietly slipped out of Washington on a red-eye flight bound for Germany. By now, the administration was accelerating the Navalny trade toward completion, but preferred to keep Carstens on the periphery of any Russia prisoner talks. Christo Grozev was already there, waiting anxiously in a cafe close to the venue's security perimeter. The Bulgarian investigative journalist and spy-hunter felt the deal was almost done, yet he and Carstens wanted to be as close as possible to the West's top security officials to spot-check that nothing would derail it. Odessa Rae, the 'Navalny" film producer, was texting from Dubai in route to Ukraine after meeting their Russian contact, Stanislav Petlinsky. Vice President Kamala Harris was flying in on Air Force Two, officially to deliver a keynote address, while more quietly representing Biden at a meeting with Slovenian leaders to confirm the trade could include two Russian sleeper spies in their custody: a married couple posing as Argentine nationals. Germany's foreign minister, Annalena Baerbock, was at the conference, and still uneasy about the moral line her country was inching toward, but Secretary of State Antony Blinken was set to meet her and soothe any concerns. Navalny's wife, Yulia, was also in Munich, on hand to address lingering doubts. Next to Grozev, messaging contacts to try to piece together the state of play, was Maria Pevchikh, Navalny's friend and head of investigations. Their location felt ominous. Seventeen years earlier, at the same Munich gathering, Russia's president delivered a speech castigating the world order in which America was 'one master, one sovereign," a diatribe considered the starting gun of his war against the West. Now, within touching distance of the biggest East-West prisoner swap since the Soviet collapse, the memory of that speech was like a specter. As the evening wrapped toward a close, Pevchikh raised a question, like a terrible premonition: 'What if they kill him?" After years studying Russian intelligence services, Grozev was confident her concern wouldn't come to pass. There was a protocol, he reassured her, a methodology for prison swaps upheld since the Cold War. The Journal even had prewritten articles, ready to go, the moment Navalny walked free. The next day, Federal Bureau of Investigation Director Christopher Wray was sitting down for lunch with the chiefs of Britain's MI6 and Germany's BND intelligence agency. Their discreet and thankless work was about to pay off in the very real gift of freedom not only for Navalny but also for Gershkovich, whose reporting Wray admired. But as the meal unfolded, dignitaries began reaching for their phones, buzzing with news from Russia. The most powerful security czars in the Western alliance turned to each other in horror and bewilderment. 'Alexei Navalny has died in prison," the Kremlin's state newswire announced. 'The cause of death is being established." The guests rose one by one to start fielding calls. Wray rushed upstairs to confer with Blinken. America's top diplomat immediately shot back: 'Get me Yulia." An aide struggled to reach Navalny's wife and came back with the number for Grozev. Weaving through the tightly controlled security cordons, European and American officials were scrambling to find each other and confer on what would happen next. The news spread through the hallways and coffee line where a German diplomat blurted out in full earshot of reporters, 'Oh no! We were working on getting him out!" Yulia Navalnaya, widow of Russian opposition leader Alexei Navalny, reacts as she speaks during the Munich Security Conference on Feb. 16, 2024. Grozev guided Navalny's ashen-faced widow through the hotel gates to the secretary of state's suite. The two embraced, then sat down, and Yulia delivered a powerful message: Putin must be punished for the misery he has wrought. Minutes later she walked down toward the lectern in the shellshocked conference hall with delegates standing to applaud, or crying in their seats, her eyes filled with tears and righteous anger. 'I want Putin, his entourage, Putin's friends, and his government to know they will pay for what they have done to our country, to our family, and my husband," she said. Chancellor Scholz wanted to see Yulia but wasn't sure if the woman who had minutes earlier discovered she was a widow would want time with her family. 'I want to meet," she responded and arrived, somehow still composed, in the hotel suite where the chancellor was waiting. 'I have one request," Yulia said, before turning to the question of Krasikov. 'Do not release that man." Across the world, the secret club of people who had labored at organizing an exchange were reeling as its one necessary component was lying dead in an Arctic morgue. Officials across the West had worked for months to free not just Navalny but a growing list of Americans seized by the Kremlin as bargaining chips. CIA officers and their European partners had hunted down Russian spies undercover in an Arctic research institute, the front lines of Ukraine and the suburbs of an Alpine capital. The Justice Department had extradited Russian cybercriminals arrested in the Maldives and on a Swiss mountainside helipad—high-wire legal and diplomatic maneuvers that had given the U.S. trading stock for an exchange that was now on ice. In Los Angeles, Journal publisher Almar Latour was visiting a museum exhibit of art made by prisoners from Soviet gulags, and wondering if a dark gray pencil sketch was drawn in the same camp as Navalny, when his phone rang. It was Carstens, who had landed in Munich just in time to learn it was all for nought. The U.S. could have brought Navalny back alive if it had acted with more urgency, Carstens said. 'If only I had moved faster." The special envoy was blaming himself for not putting more pressure on the White House. 'We could have wrapped this up in August!" Rae, on her way to Ukraine, was boarding a flight, talking to a fellow passenger about her film, neither of them aware until she glanced at her phone that its subject, her friend, had just died. In Russia's IK-17 labor camp, Paul Whelan was trading cigarettes to place a call to his family: 'If they are willing to kill Navalny they could do something to me. Poison me. Break my leg?" His sister Elizabeth was quizzing a case officer on Carstens's staff over text messages about the consequences of a death she was sure wasn't an accident. The IK-17 Penal Colony, where American Paul Whelan was transferred to serve a 16-year sentence on espionage charges he and the U.S. government denied. Jake Sullivan was on his office sofa when a delegation from The Wall Street Journal stepped in. Their meeting, pre-scheduled, was meant to deliver good news, but word of Navalny's death, hours earlier, lent it the air of a wake. Sullivan had a habit of looking toward the floor, or to one side, as he carefully deliberated the angles of a problem. After a long pause, he spoke: 'I never thought a deal with Navalny would work." But he also hadn't expected Putin to kill him, and still wasn't sure if he would ever know the truth behind the dissident's death. Navalny's supporters had lost everything—the man they were trying to save and Russia's dreams for a democratic future. And the Journal, whose reporter, Gershkovich, had now spent 323 days in the Moscow jail where Stalin's henchman once executed purged officials, was no closer to freeing him than in the first hours of his arrest. But in the cloud of grief and disorientation, the national security adviser could also glimpse a new possibility. Germany had crossed the psychological threshold of agreeing to free a murderer—and perhaps they would accept other political prisoners in Navalny's place. The question hanging over that analysis was whether Putin had come to the same fatal conclusion. In the weeks to come, CIA officials would fly to meet their Russian counterparts in Saudi hotels, booked under false names, carrying eyes-only hard-copy lists of prisoners the West could trade with the Kremlin. The world would finally see the fruits of their labor when, on Aug. 1, 2024 six planes delivered 24 prisoners and two children to an exchange point outside a Turkish air terminal, a mix of Russian spies, hackers, cybercriminals—and Krasikov—traded for Russian dissidents, German convicts, and Americans including Whelan, Gershkovich, and other journalists. That trade, the largest East-West swap in modern history, would cement a cold, inescapable fact about the emerging world order: taking and trading prisoners, and bending the justice system to do it, is now what powerful countries do, a transactional order of statecraft encapsulated by Navalny's arrest, the campaign to free him, and his tragic death. For now, however, looking up from his office couch, Sullivan engaged the Journal without offering false hope. The newspaper's lawyers had brought Gershkovich's mother, Ella Milman, and she was looking right at him, asking: 'Doesn't this create more urgency to free Evan?" 'It might," he said. 'It's not a breaking point," he added. 'We will get this done. I see a pathway." Drew Hinshaw and Joe Parkinson are leaders on The Wall Street Journal's World Enterprise Team. This piece is adapted from their new book, 'Swap: A Secret History of the New Cold War," which will be published on Aug. 19 by HarperCollins (which, like the Journal, is owned by News Corp).

Pakistan says India overflight ban cost ₹1,240 crore in just over 2 months
Pakistan says India overflight ban cost ₹1,240 crore in just over 2 months

Business Standard

time18 minutes ago

  • Business Standard

Pakistan says India overflight ban cost ₹1,240 crore in just over 2 months

Pakistan's Ministry of Defence reportedly told the National Assembly that the Pakistan Airports Authority (PAA) lost PKR 4.1 billion (₹1,240 crore) in a little over two months after closing its airspace to Indian-registered aircraft. The shortfall, from April 24 to June 30, is in overflying revenue and below earlier reports of PKR 8.5 billion, according to a report by Dawn. Why the airspace was closed? The airspace closure followed India's suspension of the Indus Waters Treaty in April this year. India's action came after the April 22 Pahalgam terror attack, in which 26 civilians were killed by Pakistan-based terrorists in Jammu and Kashmir. From April 24, Pakistan withdrew overflight permission for all Indian-registered aircraft and those operated, owned, or leased by Indian carriers. Why it matters The measure reportedly affected at least 100–150 Indian aircraft daily, cutting transit traffic by almost 20 per cent. While acknowledging financial losses, the ministry said 'sovereignty and national defence take precedence over economic considerations". It also clarified the figures reflect revenue shortfalls, not overall financial losses, and that overflight and aeronautical charges remain unchanged. The losses are not limited to Pakistan's aviation sector. Indian carriers such as Air India, IndiGo, SpiceJet, and Akasa Air have faced significant operational challenges due to the flight restrictions imposed following tensions in April–May 2025. According to a Reuters report, Air India estimates that sustained restrictions could cost it around USD 600 million annually, and has sought government compensation. Pakistan's restriction targets Indian airlines and aircraft through the last week of August after the ban was extended twice on a monthly basis. Pakistani carriers remain banned from Indian airspace. Separately, Islamabad International Airport's airspace will be closed daily for two hours until August 14 under NOTAM A0510/25. Departures and arrivals will be halted from ground level to FL210 between 11 am and 1 pm, affecting flights to Lahore and northern areas.

DOWNLOAD THE APP

Get Started Now: Download the App

Ready to dive into a world of global content with local flavor? Download Daily8 app today from your preferred app store and start exploring.
app-storeplay-store