Many of us do not admire Vladimir Putin the man. But it would be unserious to understate the scope of his achievement. He rules a vast, fractious country, has effectively privatized much of its natural wealth, and has made himself—by any reasonable estimate—one of the richest men in the world. Most of us are ill-equipped to second-guess his decisions, lacking both a KGB pedigree and a desire to dominate a nuclear-armed continental power.
The system he replaced—Soviet communism—was stagnant and unproductive. The crony capitalism that followed has proven no more inspiring. Yet Putin has managed to hold the country together through nationalism, a disciplined media apparatus, ruthless suppression of dissent, and a deft use of blackmail—applied to oligarchs, institutions, and foreign governments alike. The invasion of Ukraine has been a strategic disaster for Russia. But it is not difficult to see how, in Putin’s own calculus, a swift victory might have reinforced his model: a neighboring country drifting toward democracy and Europe would have been dragged back into the orbit of authoritarian order. Putanism inspires few abroad, but its internal effectiveness—on its own terms—cannot be denied.
It is equally difficult to deny that Donald Trump has long admired this style of rule.
In his second term, Trump’s consolidation of power—over media, corporations, Congress, trade policy, and foreign affairs—has proceeded with a speed that has surprised even many of its beneficiaries. The tariffs are punishing for American consumers, but they are excellent tools for personal leverage abroad. The violent and costly roundups of undocumented workers damage the labor market and strain public finances, but they thrill his base. Control of the media allows him to sell the dream uninterrupted. His imperial instincts flatter supporters and promise access to foreign resources for a compliant corporate class. For those unsettled by it all, the pace of the Heritage Project and Project 2025 is chilling—but its effectiveness, so far, is undeniable.
Which is why yesterday was such a strange day for the Trump project.
Two announcements, in particular, were baffling. First, the threat to halt offshore wind development—one of the few viable responses to the exploding energy demands of data centers in a warming world. Removing one of the most promising solutions to an urgent problem is reckless, economically and environmentally. Second, the declaration of renewed investment in battleships. Not harmful, perhaps, but profoundly anachronistic. We stopped boasting about battleships even before Midway and the Coral Sea, when it became clear that modern warfare would be decided by air power, speed of production, and technological adaptation. In a nuclear age, the role of battleships is unclear—unless one’s strategic vision involves intimidating fishing boats and oil tankers.
What seems increasingly evident is that those around Trump are no longer capable of advising him—not merely on what is good for the country, but on what is good for the project itself. Putin’s brutality is matched by a ruthless coherence: he bends an enormous country to his will through systems that, however immoral, are effective. Trump will not achieve similar control through coal mines and battleships.
It is always a mistake to assume Trump is playing four-dimensional chess. But it is newly alarming to watch him rack up own goals—at scale—in a sport he appears to have only recently discovered.