Antonio Navalón
Following the birth of industrial society, one of the main elements that characterized the development of societies was the concept of security. First, there is legal and territorial security, which are fundamental pillars of any nation’s stability. Second, there is security in its most basic sense: the certainty that one and one’s possessions are protected, not only by the law but also by the capacity for self-defense or institutional intervention.
This security meant that citizens and investors could trust that they were playing by clear rules, accepted by all, and guaranteed by a government with the capacity and the will to enforce them.
For decades, the term “banana republic” was synonymous with a lack of seriousness, political instability, and institutional mistrust when referring to a country. It was not just a label but a warning about the risks of doing business or establishing relationships with governments that could be unpredictable and lacked a reliable legal structure. In contrast, the institutional traditions of countries with Anglo-Saxon and European heritage established a framework of predictability and legal certainty. Through solid legal codes and the seriousness of their actions, they offered certainty in commercial agreements, investments, and individual guarantees.
The difference between a reliable and an unstable nation lay in the government’s ability to ensure that rules were respected and that the rule of law prevailed over individual or political interests.
Fear has always been a fundamental element in government action. Since Roman times—and possibly much earlier—leaders have used fear as a tool of control and subordination. With cynical realism, some experts argue that the ideal combination for maintaining control is a system governed by 70% fear and 30% hope. Without fear, authority loses its capacity for dissuasion. Without hope, people fall into despair and can become ungovernable.
Different regimes have used this dynamic throughout history to consolidate their power through external threats, internal enemies, or fabricated crises that justify extraordinary measures.
Today, many traditional definitions have become obsolete. Concepts such as “democracy,” “institutionality,” and “rule of law” have been forgotten, making it difficult to establish with certainty which countries really represent or apply them to maintain their internal order and structure.
Defining which countries are not or could not be considered a “banana republic” has become a complex task. Since January 20, when the desire to “make America great again” returned in full force, the global perception of what a serious government means has changed significantly. Uncertainty has replaced predictability, and institutionalism seems to have given way to the unpredictability of leadership embodied by the figure of a single man.
Since his victory on November 5, President Donald Trump, whose motto could be summed up as the best is yet to come — even if only for his country — has implemented multiple strategies to consolidate his power and reshape the perception of his country globally. However, his best political tool has been the deliberate creation of an atmosphere of uncertainty managed through countless actions and strategies that have no other objective than to instill fear and dread in those to whom they are directed.
Neither inside nor outside the United States is there any certainty about what will happen tomorrow. Unpredictability has become a method of government, keeping the public, the media, and the international community in a constant state of alert and confusion. This type of leadership is based on two fundamental pillars: first, that no one, except him and his closest allies, feels safe. Second, that despite his flaws and controversies, he is demonstrably better than those who preceded him.
Criticism of his administration has come not only from the political opposition or the media but also from traditionally allied sectors that have begun to question his style of governance. The controversy is not limited to the constant legal battles or the persecution of political adversaries but also to the judicial processes that have marked his candidacy and now his administration.
His insistence on challenging the established norms has led to him becoming the first president of the United States to be convicted of a crime, although he has yet to be sentenced. Despite this, his rhetoric has remained unwavering, appealing to the narrative of political persecution and victimization to strengthen his support base.
If this were not the case, why now lift the restriction on access and make public information on issues such as the Kennedy assassination or the list of people who accompanied Jeffery Epstein in his network of exploitation and pedophilia? These revelations are not accidental or the result of a sudden interest in transparency but a calculated strategy to divert attention and reposition himself as the only leader capable of confronting a corrupt system.
In this game of perceptions, a disturbing argument is raised: you can be corrupt, you can be a con artist, and you can even be someone who embezzled campaign funds to pay for sexual favors, but that is nothing compared to a child molester or a murderer. These are attitudes that not only destroy the present but mortgage the future through the cerebral and psychological equilibrium of the victims. For Trump, the conclusion that his citizens and the world have to draw is very simple: he will be bad and have made many mistakes, but the others are worse.
In terms of security, Trump defends himself by arguing that the United States’ military spending, which amounts to 800 billion dollars a year, is the country’s best calling card. His discourse is based on the fact that pure force in the form of missiles and military weaponry is the main instrument of negotiation and deterrence. His strategy is simple: either you negotiate with me, and you’re on my side, or you risk being destroyed or at least looked down on. This rhetoric has generated tensions both inside and outside the United States, feeding a climate of polarization and geopolitical uncertainty. And all this is done to restore greatness to an empire that has forgotten its essence and the values that once made it the world’s leading power and democratic example.
Fear is growing on all fronts. After two world wars, Europe learned to depend on multilateral alliances and agreements to guarantee stability. Now, it faces a scenario in which it must learn to survive without the security provided by the American umbrella. It will have to get used to living alone and relying on itself.
However, Russia is not afraid. Although its system of government and vision of power are not identical to those of the United States, they share similarities that allow them to play on a board that changes every day and with every statement or decision made by the White House occupant. Moreover, beyond their possible similarity and without qualifiers, it is clear that the Russian and American presidents at least respect each other.
In a world where rules have been replaced by improvisation, the greatest danger is instability and the possibility that fear will cease to be a tool of control and become the trigger for uncontrollable change.
Meanwhile, the rest of the world watches anxiously and cautiously for the next move. Uncertainty has become the norm, and global politics have been transformed into a game of survival where stability is an increasingly elusive luxury. We live in a state of constant expectation of the next shock. However, it is worth remembering that when people are pushed or pressured too far between peace and war, revolution can turn against those who provoke it.
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