What actions did Donald Trump take in the past week that may leave a lasting imprint on history? Perhaps it’s his strategy to ensure his name is remembered, whether for scandal, absurdity, or outright chaos—especially on a global level. Trump seems to understand that these elements are among the quickest ways to secure a place in the history books.

His remarks about Ukraine and the ongoing war are strikingly controversial. He attributes the blame for the conflict over the last three years to Ukraine while praising Russia for having the “nobility” not to obliterate Ukraine. Furthermore, he echoes the Kremlin’s narrative about removing Volodymyr Zelenskyy, suggesting that Russia should complete what it has failed to achieve militarily. This rhetoric is scandalous, absurd, and disastrous all at once.

Trump is flipping reality on its head, disregarding common sense and fostering chaos—something that is all too familiar for him. More importantly, this approach undermines what he tries to present as a “peace initiative.” How can one advocate for peace while holding the victim responsible for aggression? How can negotiations occur while proposing that the victim make significant concessions and essentially abandon their position? This scenario echoes Trump’s previous suggestion that the Palestinian population of Gaza should be expelled in favor of U.S. control, though the contexts differ. Such tactics are not diplomatic; they are destined to fail, as Ukraine cannot accept negotiations based on these conditions.

Did any of this advance America’s quest to be seen as “great again”? Absolutely not. It paints a laughable picture, resembling the chaotic misfit of a Joker on the world stage—minus any charming charisma.

Let’s clarify what once made America genuinely great: it was not merely military power or economic wealth—the essence lay in the vast number of friends and allies the country had. Even more crucial was the global admiration for the American ideal; it inspired countless individuals to invest their hopes in the nation. At the height of its influence, America had an immense network of supportive allies, creating a massive extended family and enthusiastic advocates of its culture and global perspective.

It is essential to differentiate between two realms: the American sphere and the Russian sphere.

The Russian sphere is a construct, a convoluted mix of “dead souls.” It encompasses Russian speakers, Orthodox Christians, and individuals born in the Soviet Union or its successor states. The Kremlin arbitrarily claims these individuals as part of the “Russian world.” This connection lacks genuine affection, admiration, and choice—it’s an imposed identity, essentially a bureaucratic appropriation of lives.

Conversely, the American sphere is built on admiration, aspiration, and voluntary integration. Individuals gravitate towards it by choice, learning its language, adopting its culture, and sharing its dreams, motivated by the perception that America embodies ideals larger than itself. This was the foundation of America’s strength and greatness.

Regrettably, this sense of global goodwill is rapidly diminishing, and the decline is likely to accelerate. Why is this happening? Because of a personality with a minor role in “Home Alone” who equates greatness with harming others.

You might wonder why I’m sharing this perspective. That’s a valid inquiry.

Allow me to clarify: I was once among those who viewed America as an adversary. I was raised in a culture that nurtured hostility towards America. I trained in environments echoing anti-American sentiments, surrounded by propaganda portraying America as a global villain.

Born in Minsk—the capital of Belarus, then a part of the Soviet republic and now a Russian satellite—I recall tales of Lee Harvey Oswald’s boredom leading him back to the U.S., forever memorialized in history. Some theories suggest he received training for his fateful mission there; the truth remains uncertain.

Today, Minsk still retains an air reminiscent of the Soviet era despite its historical roots reaching back to the Middle Ages. Rebuilt under Joseph Stalin’s vision post-World War II, it stands as a repurposed symbol of Soviet triumph and a gateway to Moscow, positioned 700 kilometers away. One Belarusian artist aptly termed it the “Sun City of Dreams,” showcasing a frozen image of Communist utopia.

Remarkably, the man who once oversaw Oswald’s KGB dealings in Minsk later signed the Belavezha Accords, marking the dissolution of the Soviet Union in 1991, a moment heralded as “the end of history” and viewed as America’s triumph in the Cold War.

In Minsk, that emblematic victory proved fleeting. A leader arose who sought to recapture the past and restore Soviet glory. Alexander Lukashenko, Belarus’s only president since independence, reintroduced Soviet symbols as early as 1995. That same year, Lukashenko’s air force shot down a hot air balloon carrying two Americans, a “tragic accident” that resonated more as a bleak political statement.

Three decades later, Lukashenko maintains an unyielding grip on Belarus as his regime perpetuates relentless anti-Western propaganda.

Thus, I was trained to harbor animosity towards America—until the internet provided unfiltered access to information. Prior to that, influenced by Russian media, I subscribed to their ideological narrative, occasionally even wishing to confront Americans during conflicts like the former Yugoslavia. Following 9/11, I felt they had “it coming.”

Now, as I witness Donald Trump dismantling the very aspects I valued about America, I deeply regret my prior mindset. I constantly grapple with the question: How could I have been so oblivious?

Those periods of propaganda-induced fervor belong to a distant past. I have emerged as an adult, fully immersed in the American experience. I absorbed its values and culture deeply—beyond mere pop culture, I engaged with its essence. My knowledge of the United States—its geography, history, culture, and politics—surpasses that of any other nation, including my own.

Despite lacking citizenship—I have never set foot on American soil—I still regard myself as part of it. I’ve invested considerable time, emotion, and identity understanding this nation, hence feeling like an insider rather than an outsider.

I genuinely appreciate America, not from a naive perspective, but in a comprehensive manner that acknowledges its complexities and contradictions, its achievements and failures. My admiration stems from a clear recognition of its ups and downs, its reckless ambitions, and its multifaceted brilliance.

However, Trump—a chaotic blip in the Matrix—has become too significant a blemish to overlook.

It’s essential to recognize that those who voted for Trump had their reasons. Their concerns and frustrations are legitimate. I am not here to critique anyone for prioritizing immediate issues over distant international events; that is only human.

Yet, the chaos Trump incites serves no benefit to America. What value is there in winning if it alienates those who once supported you worldwide? The idea of sacrificing allies for fleeting geopolitical interests contradicts the essence of what made America great.

Don’t be misled into thinking that lost allies can be easily substituted for others. They cannot.

Trump’s new alliances may serve his interests temporarily, including relationships with political opportunists and authoritarian regimes. However, these entities do not value America’s ideals, history, or culture. They may chronicle the downfall of a once-powerful America as it becomes distracted, divided, and consumed by internal strife.

Their ambition is far greater—they want complete dominance.

When I speak of myself as a genuine friend to America, it might seem like an anomaly; however, it is not.

In Belarus, numerous individuals could have fostered a friendly relationship with America—if only they had a voice. If not for brutal suppression, jailing, exile, or fear of retribution, they could contribute positively to their nation’s political landscape.

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In other words, this lack of democracy is a dire consequence of Russia’s influence in my homeland. I was compelled into exile due to unrelenting persecution, which robbed me of my home and the life I had painstakingly built. Initially, I moved to Mariupol, situated on Ukraine’s Black Sea coast, well before the city gained international attention.

Mariupol, located near the Russian border, had been on the brink of conflict since 2014. Yet, I felt safer there than in the neatly organized Minsk, where the oppressive weight of pro-Russian dictatorship loomed large.

You likely know what transpired next—not my personal story, but that of Mariupol, which suffered devastating bombings following the Russian invasion, leaving little of the city standing. For the second time, I lost my home.

It’s crucial to understand that Ukraine was on the path to becoming a loyal American ally. As the largest European nation by land (excluding Russia, which shouldn’t be in the conversation), I would argue that it is also one of the most courageous.

Surprisingly, Ukraine stood against Russia when almost no one expected it to. Following the invasion, the global consensus, including that of Vladimir Putin, was that Kyiv would fall swiftly, and Ukraine would capitulate within days. Instead, Ukraine fought valiantly and continues to do so, even three years later.

In my view, this remarkable nation is a friend worth maintaining.

What sense does it make to turn your back on Ukraine? To substitute it for a “bigger ally” in the geopolitical arena?

This is not how relationships work.

Ukraine is not simply another piece on a chessboard, expendable for a supposedly better option. The “bigger friends” Trump seeks—likely Russia and possibly China—will never be allies like Ukraine has been. They harbor no admiration for America or its values; for them, America merely represents a rival to be undermined.

Ukraine, however, chose to be America’s ally—not out of self-serving calculation, but from a genuine desire to enter the Western world, embracing democracy, freedom, and the principles America professes to uphold.

Abandoning Ukraine isn’t merely about sacrificing a friend; it reflects a more profound reality of eroding trust globally. It conveys that America’s promises are negotiable commodities rather than steadfast commitments. The fall-out from violating that trust will be monumental: convincing others—be they large or small—to ever believe in American assurances again will be an uphill battle.

Before I concluded this article, Trump made another baffling statement. He labeled Zelenskyy a “dictator” and ridiculously urged him to “move fast”—whatever that entails—before risking his entire nation.

I would classify such comments as outrageous and unfathomable, yet, at this stage, they seem almost routine: a man who attempted to overturn U.S. election results criticizing Zelenskyy as a dictator for postponing elections during a full-blown war, much like Winston Churchill did during World War II. The level of audacity is astonishing.

What feasible elections could occur in a nation crushed by warfare, its cities constantly bombarded, with millions displaced and large areas under hostile control? No legitimate democracy would conduct national elections under such dire conditions.

And what does “move fast or there’s going to be no Ukraine anymore” genuinely suggest? The U.S. president is practically advising Ukraine to capitulate, eliminating the option to resist. Whose interests is Trump serving? His rhetoric resembles a spokesperson for Putin instead of an advocate for America.

But let’s momentarily sidestep the Ukrainians—the “slav-squatting, track-suited snow-apes,” as Curtis Yarvin, one of Trump’s notable advisors, insensitively referred to them—and examine what larger implications exist.

Are we risking alienation across Europe? Are we inadvertently coaxing several nations into Russia’s sphere of influence, thus jeopardizing the entire continent to the same nefarious forces already disrupting its weaker states? This may align with Yarvin and his associates’ desires, as they perceive a weakened, isolated Europe as advantageous.

But how exactly does this paradigm translate to making America great (again)?

What’s the overarching strategy here? Destroying alliances, discarding decades’ worth of trust, and leaving an open playing field for America’s most formidable rivals? If this is intended to represent some intricate chess maneuver, it resembles a dubious checkmate—on the wrong side.

My fellow Americans—for the moment, let me address you this way—can you see the trajectory we’re on? Are you aware that this path is leading directly to catastrophe? If so, please don’t remain silent.