Liberals like me have long argued that investment in the poor and historically disadvantaged can level the playing field. We reject the bootstrap myth. Conservatives, by contrast, have often argued that citizens, like businesses, should be allowed to succeed or fail on their own merits, and that too generous a safety net can encourage less-than-optimal behavior. Liberals often suspect conservatives aren’t entirely sincere about this, but the philosophical divide itself is real.
What’s fascinating is how this debate plays out far beyond domestic politics. At its heart lies a broader question: when does outside help build resilience, and when does it create dependence?
Take Ukraine. Since the start of Trump II, American support has been noticeably less enthusiastic. Yet Ukraine has continued to fight: innovating, adapting, and imposing significant costs on Russia. One could argue that reduced American support has forced Ukraine to become more independent, more resourceful, perhaps even stronger. But that logic carries its own irony: independence is only useful if you survive long enough to enjoy it. Adversity can build resilience. It can also destroy the very people we hoped would become resilient. The United States may save money by pulling back, but it may also lose influence if Ukraine and Europe learn they can operate without us. And if American companies produce fewer weapons and technologies for the conflict, the long-term economic consequences are far from obvious.
Horse racing offers a domestic parallel. Thirty years ago, simulcasting and slot-funded purses revitalized the sport. For a time, the subsidies worked. But as casinos and other forms of gambling faced new competition, the money began to disappear. Racing now finds itself with the rug pulled out from under it—tracks closing, horse populations shrinking, bettors disappearing. Only now, under genuine competitive pressure, does innovation seem unavoidable. Help sustained the industry for decades, but it also made the eventual withdrawal of that help more painful.
Then there is China and the chip war. The United States has tried to limit China’s access to advanced semiconductors, hoping to slow its progress in artificial intelligence. Like nations throughout history confronted with embargoes, China responded by accelerating domestic production. Its chips remain less advanced, but they continue to improve. In the long run, our policy may have pushed China toward technological independence. That may not help us, especially if American companies lose revenue, markets, and influence in the process.
The common thread is that incentives matter more than intentions. Assistance changes behavior, but so does its absence. Neither automatically produces dependence nor resilience. Context matters.
These questions rarely produce tidy answers. When does assistance strengthen the recipient? When does it weaken them? And when does withholding help produce the very independence we were trying to prevent? Are we saving money by helping less or surrendering influence and encouraging competitors to find their own path?
Sometimes help helps. Sometimes help hurts. And sometimes withholding help helps, which may ultimately hurt us.