It’s a question that has preoccupied countless analysts since erstwhile real estate developer and TV star Donald Trump coined his signature campaign slogan a decade ago. Many have long assumed the answer is the 1950s – a decade of industrial boom, suburban prosperity, and unrivaled global influence. If that were Trump’s reference point, then his promise to “Make America Great Again” might evoke a familiar image: big cars, backyard barbecues, white men in charge, and a confident superpower shaping a liberal world order.
But that assumption gets it wrong. Trump’s first-term policies may have lent credence to that supposition, but Trump II’s vision of greatness isn’t grounded in postwar prosperity – it’s rooted in something far older. Listen to his rhetoric, examine his trade agenda, observe his posture toward allies and institutions – and a different era comes into focus. The reference point has shifted.
MAGA 2025 isn’t about reviving the 1950s. It’s taking inspiration from the 1890s. To understand where Trump may take America next, we need to revisit a largely forgotten but deeply consequential figure in US history: William McKinley, the 25th President of the United States.
Much of modern American conservatism is a response to the civil rights movement and social revolutions of the 1960s.
At first glance, the 1950s seems to make sense as an ideal time for Trump. It was a time when American manufacturing dominated the global economy, middle-class families moved into newly built suburbs, and a cultural conservatism prevailed – especially for white, male Americans. The US sat atop the postwar order it had helped create: NATO, the IMF, the UN, and the GATT. It was a period defined by American leadership. America was respected, admired, and emulated – and we know how much the country’s international prestige matters to the current commander-in-chief.
Anchoring on the 1950s is compelling. Much of modern American conservatism is a response to the civil rights movement and social revolutions of the 1960s. Conservatives draw a straight line from that period to today’s “wokeism.” To some, including Trump, this is about more than social values though. As New York Times columnist Ezra Klein recently observed after the President announced the biggest US tariffs in a century: “I think Donald Trump is a nostalgic, and I think that he wants an economy of America in the 1950s and 1960s, perhaps. And he’s trying, in his own way, to get us back there.” “Donald Trump, a 1950s man,” is how Axios described the President during his first term. “In this era of drones and driverless cars,” Axios argued, “President Trump often sounds and feels like a man from the bygone days of station wagons and smokestacks.” Indeed, the President’s intense focus on steel, aluminum, and coal as sources of industrial strength, his passion for cheeseburgers, and his love of military parades are all touted as evidence of his 1950s nostalgia, the decade of his youth.
But listen carefully to Trump now. His language is not about building global alliances but extracting concessions. His vision is not about global cooperation but national dominance. And his policies – from tariffs to territorial ambitions – don’t echo the 1950s. They channel a much earlier playbook.
“Compare this to President Trump, who broke with Republican orthodoxy when, during his first campaign, he zeroed in on trade as the source of America’s ills.”
William McKinley served as president from 1897 until his assassination in 1901. He governed during a transformative time when America first began flexing its muscles on the world stage. Two themes defined his presidency: protectionism and imperialism.
Electorally, much like President Trump, McKinley “championed blue-collar voters while drawing support from captains of industry.” And much like President Trump, he was a lifelong protectionist. As a young member of the House of Representatives, McKinley was “called the ‘Napoleon of Protection’ for his staunch defense of high tariffs.” Heralding from Ohio, McKinley, a Republican, was convinced that nascent American industry had to be protected from foreign competition and that “high tariffs were necessary to produce a prosperous modern industrial economy.” Throughout his career, this pitted him against the generally free-trade Southern Democrats. Karl Rove, who wrote a book about McKinley, called the Ohioan “the party’s most consequential protectionist advocate.” When he ran for governor of his home state, his slogan was simple enough: “McKinley and Protection.”
Compare this to President Trump, who broke with Republican orthodoxy when, during his first campaign, he zeroed in on trade as the source of America’s ills. Egged on by anti-globalist confidantes such as Steve Bannon, Trump withdrew the US from the Transpacific Partnership, which had been painstakingly negotiated by his predecessor to reduce China’s influence and was determined to leave NAFTA as well.
“I was all set to terminate [NAFTA],” he told journalists in April 2017, until a second group of advisers comprising establishment Republicans such as Reince Priebus, and Rex Tillerson. Wilbur Ross, and Gary Cohn, talked him out of it.
In his second term, now without a group of globalists around him, Trump’s passion for protectionism has been on full display. His decision to massively raise US tariffs has caused mayhem in financial markets and appears to be turning the global economic order upside down.
Much like President Trump, McKinley believed that “economic issues were part of a broader fight over what kind of country the United States would be.” Tariffs, he argued, would not only make the US an industrial powerhouse. They would also raise the kinds of revenues that a modern state requires. America did not have a federal income tax at the time – one wouldn’t be created until 1913 – and the tariff level was closely linked to the federal budget. Fast-forward 130 years and President Trump is making the case that an ‘External Revenue Service’ will soon be collecting “billions and billions in tariffs,” enabling drastic reductions in income taxes.
Economists have been scratching their heads as President Trump, against all evidence, has steadfastly insisted that foreign producers, not domestic consumers, bear the costs of tariffs. Perhaps McKinley was the inspiration – his 1896 campaign intoned: “Who pays the tariff? The foreign producer pays it.”
Similarly, economists took strong issue with the idea of “Reciprocal Tariffs” that Trump announced on April 2, a day he christened “Liberation Day.” Enter again McKinley, who declared in a 1901 Address to Congress: “Reciprocity must be treated as the handmaiden of protection.”
McKinley’s faith in tariffs was almost religious. “Protection is not a theory,” he said during his 1896 campaign. “It is a condition – the condition of national success.” Not to be outdone, Trump, his successor, called tariff “the most beautiful word in the dictionary.”
The parallels are unmistakable: both men saw protectionism not as a bargaining chip, but as the bedrock of American strength. Tariffs are framed not merely as economic policy, but as a national strategy. While Trump hit the 90-day pause button for reciprocal tariffs on all but China, this shift is tactical, not ideological. Tariffs remain his default stance – any flexibility is transactional, reinforcing rather than weakening his McKinley-style worldview.
But McKinley’s America wasn’t just turning inward. It was expanding out.
Under his leadership, the US entered the Spanish-American War and emerged with control of Guam, Puerto Rico, and the Philippines. Hawaii was annexed during his presidency, and Cuba became a US protectorate in everything but name. This was the moment the US moved from a continental power to a global one.
McKinley cloaked expansion in the language of benevolence. “The mission of the United States is one of benevolent assimilation,” he declared in 1898, speaking about the Philippines. In a private conversation, he reportedly said the US had to “educate the Filipinos, and uplift and civilize and Christianize them.” McKinley’s rhetoric masked ambition with moralism – but the expansion was real, and the ambition unmistakable.
Compare this to Trump’s repeated comments about acquiring Greenland, or his casual suggestions that Canada and Panama are strategically up for grabs. These aren’t just off-the-cuff remarks. They reflect a worldview where American dominance – geographic, economic, and military – is not only acceptable but necessary.
Trump’s fixation on Greenland, in particular, may sound absurd – the island is part of NATO, the US already has a military presence, and the Danish government has made clear that it would welcome more US bases and mineral exploitation – but it’s no joke. In a recent speech to Congress he declared, “One way or another, we’re gonna get it,” before vowing to lead America to become “the most dominant civilization ever to exist.” These aren’t just rhetorical flourishes. After first dispatching his son to the island on “Trump Force One,” he sent his Vice President to visit the 200 or so US troops at Pituffik Space Base. Following the visit, base commander Col. Susan Meyers emailed her staff: “I do not presume to understand current politics, but what I do know is the concerns of the US administration discussed by Vice President JD Vance on Friday are not reflective of Pituffik Space Base.” She was promptly relieved of her command with a Pentagon spokesperson stating that “actions to undermine the chain of command or to subvert President Trump’s agenda will not be tolerated.”
Or consider Canada. When it comes to America’s Northern neighbor, President Trump has effectively linked protectionism and imperialism. In mid-March, he posted on social media that “the only thing that makes sense is for Canada to become our cherished Fifty First State. This would make all Tariffs, and everything else, totally disappear.” The link is clearly felt in Ottawa: “What he wants is to see a total collapse of the Canadian economy because that’ll make it easier to annex us,” former Canadian Prime Minster Justin Trudeau has warned. Indeed, President Trump, in a February phone call with Trudeau, questioned the validity of the 1908 treaty establishing the US-Canadian border. “If you look at a map, they drew an artificial line right through it between Canada and the US, just a straight artificial line. Somebody did it a long time ago, many, many decades ago, and makes no sense,” said Trump. “This would be the most incredible country visually.”
The President’s statements and actions signal a worldview where might makes right – and America’s will outweighs international norms. And while McKinley invoked Christian duty, Trump champions civilizational dominance. The frame has changed, but the impulse remains.
Where the 1950s valued stability through cooperation, Trump’s instincts – and McKinley’s before him – prioritize dominance through leverage.
If we contrast President Trump’s McKinley-inspired affinities and actions to the actual 1950s, the disconnect becomes stark. That decade saw the consolidation of America’s postwar leadership through the construction of international institutions – many of which constrained US power by design. When Britain and France tried to retake the Suez Canal in 1956, the Eisenhower administration intervened – not in support of imperialism, but to uphold international law and self-determination. That’s the opposite of the Trump doctrine. Where Eisenhower prioritized restraint, Trump prizes raw power and leverage. In terms of foreign policy, the 1950s were about building alliances and establishing norms. The 1890s were about asserting US power and shattering prior beliefs about America’s global role.
Where the 1950s valued stability through cooperation, Trump’s instincts – and McKinley’s before him – prioritize dominance through leverage.
The economic logic is also similar. The 1950s were about rebuilding global markets, encouraging trade, and fueling American exports through stable currencies and open flows. The 1890s? Tariff walls, limited foreign entanglements, and protection of domestic industry at all costs.
While China might be America’s geostrategic rival and Canada its historic friend, the US has far more trade leverage vis-à-vis its Northern neighbor than its global adversary.
One of the most befuddling but revealing elements of Trump’s foreign policy is how he treats America’s allies. He has frequently seemed harsher toward countries like Canada and Mexico than toward China. Why? Because allies are particularly dependent on the US – and that asymmetry creates leverage.
Canada, for example, sends 80% of its exports to the United States. Only about 14% of US imports come from Canada. That imbalance is exactly what makes countries like Canada and Mexico more vulnerable targets – and more useful foils – in Trump’s playbook. In contrast, the share of China’s exports to the US has fallen from 20% in 2018 to 13% now and its imports from the US have shrunk to below 6% of total imports. In other words, while China might be America’s geostrategic rival and Canada its historic friend, the US has far more trade leverage vis-à-vis its Northern neighbor than its global adversary.
This focus on leverage also helps explain why Trump treats multilateralism with disdain. Remember his decision to withdraw from the Paris Accord, stop cooperation with the World Health Organization, and suspend membership payments to the World Trade Organization, let alone his repeated public remarks about NATO being obsolete. Alliances equal constraints. Bilateralism means control.
So, what does this tell us about Trump II?
Seen through this lens, MAGA is less about nostalgia and more about muscle. It’s not a nostalgia trip to the Eisenhower era. It’s a calculated move to reassert American dominance using the tools of the 1890s: tariffs, territorial ambition, and raw power.
It also explains some of the cultural symbols Trump embraces. Consider the move to restore Alaska’s Mount Denali to its former name, Mount McKinley – a symbolic rebuke to Obama-era recognition of indigenous identity, and a subtle but telling signal of where Trump sees America’s greatness anchored. The name-switch even made it into the President’s March 4 address to Congress – earning him a standing ovation from fellow Republicans.
He’s not channeling postwar unity. He’s reaching further back – to a time when America flexed its newfound strength with fewer constraints and bigger ambitions.
If we want to understand where America might be heading, and what it means for the rest of the world, it’s time we understood where Trump is really coming from.
Framing Trump’s vision through the 1890s isn’t just an academic exercise – it’s a strategic one. It allows us to make sense of what otherwise appears contradictory: slapping tariffs on allies, dismissing global institutions, and fantasizing about land grabs.
It also warns us about what may lie ahead. So far, Trump’s return to the White House has startled many observers, including investment analysts who couldn’t imagine this supposedly business-friendly president would unleash a global trade war of epic proportions. Are we running the risk of similarly discounting his clearly stated territorial ambitions? The 90-day pause on reciprocal tariffs notwithstanding, the evidence so far suggests that President Trump is pursuing a far more coherent – if deeply destabilizing – agenda rooted in a vision of America not as a global leader, but as a global enforcer.
If we want to understand where America might be heading, and what it means for the rest of the world, it’s time we understood where Trump is really coming from.
Of course, the comparison to America’s 25th President has its limits. When political allies lobbied for McKinley to receive the Medal of Honor for his well-documented heroism during the US Civil War, he blocked their efforts. It’s hard to imagine the current officeholder showing similar humility.
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