Trump Wants to Acquire New Territory. History Tells Us It’s a Bad Idea.

In December 1899, John Barrett, a former minister to Siam (today Thailand) who had spent months accompanying the U.S. Navy squadron that defeated the Spanish fleet in the Philippines, wrote in the New York Times: “[W]e are now in a position to have our legitimate say in the commerce and politics of the entire Pacific.” Barrett argued that the territorial acquisition of the Philippines in part “should make us not only the paramount power of the Pacific, but of all the world.”

Over a century since Barrett’s invocation of global greatness, Donald Trump has put territorial acquisition back on the foreign-policy menu. In his first term, he expressed interest in buying Greenland and almost held off on signing a peace deal with the Taliban in order to preserve U.S. access to Afghan minerals. In his second term, Trump has indicated a desire to take control of the Panama Canal; repeatedly caused alarm in Europe over renewed requests to buy Greenland; called for Canada to become the 51st state; and attempted to pin a Russia-Ukraine peace deal on securing U.S. access to Ukrainian minerals.

In December 1899, John Barrett, a former minister to Siam (today Thailand) who had spent months accompanying the U.S. Navy squadron that defeated the Spanish fleet in the Philippines, wrote in the New York Times: “[W]e are now in a position to have our legitimate say in the commerce and politics of the entire Pacific.” Barrett argued that the territorial acquisition of the Philippines in part “should make us not only the paramount power of the Pacific, but of all the world.”

Over a century since Barrett’s invocation of global greatness, Donald Trump has put territorial acquisition back on the foreign-policy menu. In his first term, he expressed interest in buying Greenland and almost held off on signing a peace deal with the Taliban in order to preserve U.S. access to Afghan minerals. In his second term, Trump has indicated a desire to take control of the Panama Canal; repeatedly caused alarm in Europe over renewed requests to buy Greenland; called for Canada to become the 51st state; and attempted to pin a Russia-Ukraine peace deal on securing U.S. access to Ukrainian minerals.

Trump’s quest for territory and resources aligns with two first-term priorities: increasing economic access for U.S. companies and shoring up national security. But the second Trump administration has also repeatedly linked its expansionist policies to restoring American prestige—from “Make Greenland Great Again” hats to Trump’s claim that “America will reclaim its rightful place as the greatest, most powerful, most respected nation on earth, inspiring the awe and admiration of the entire world.”

The marriage between economic interest, national security, and prestige through territorial acquisition is not without historical precedent. U.S. expansion in the 18th and 19th centuries was often framed in similar terms. President Thomas Jefferson, for example, argued that the Louisiana Purchase was “auspicious to the peace and security of the nation,” added “extensive [and] fertile” territories, and could extend the American “blessings of freedom [and] self-government” to the continent.

But the United States eventually turned away from territorial expansion, and the reasons why speak to the headaches Trump could face if he follows through with his stated desire to acquire and maintain control over new land. Unlike the 18th and 19th centuries, American global power in the 20th and 21st centuries has grown because it has forsaken territory instead of acquiring it.

The seizure of many of U.S. territories in the 18th and 19th centuries, from Ohio to Texas, was spearheaded by individual settlers and then supported by the federal government.

Some Founding Fathers counseled against involvement overseas, which risked entanglement, but also saw expansion across the continent as natural. For example, President John Quincy Adams, who famously cautioned against involvement in foreign wars, also wrote in 1811 that “the whole Continent of North-America appears to me destined by Divine Providence to be peopled by one Nation.” Continental expansion was portrayed as democratic and frictionless, or as defending the livelihoods of settlers who had moved westward, and frequently cited as a reason to celebrate the nation’s greatness.

Over the course of the 19th century, the United States expanded across the continent and into the Pacific. In 1898, the Philippines became a U.S. colony after the United States emerged victorious from the Spanish-American War.

Critics cautioned that making the Philippines into a U.S. colony would be no easy feat. For one, there were few American settlers on the archipelago, and conquest would require a massive military intervention. It had a population of over 5 million people—plus, an active independence movement.

Still, not unlike the arguments levied today in favor of acquiring Greenland, Americans who advocated for turning the Philippines into a U.S. colony often emphasized the economic opportunities, strategic value, and prestige it offered.

Newspaper op-eds discussed the jobs that would be created, and trade journals debated the commercial profits of long-term investment. The first military governor of the archipelago, Arthur MacArthur Jr. testified before Congress of the “incalculable and indescribable value of the archipelago, strategically and commercially,” and argued that U.S. withdrawal would create a destabilizing vacuum. Future U.S. President William Taft, who served as governor of the Philippines, also highlighted “the promise for the future of the industry and trade of the islands” as a reason to maintain the colony.

Prestige factored considerably in the U.S. desire to colonize the Philippines. The 1890s was a period of relative anxiety in the United States, marked by economic crises, rising income inequality, political corruption, changing social norms, and pessimism among Americans about their country’s future.

President William McKinley, whose party faced a tough midterm election in 1898, was eager to highlight the Philippines as an example of his administration’s achievements. The same night that the U.S. Navy defeated Spain’s forces in Manila Bay, McKinley said he told a cartographer to “put the Philippines on the map of the United States … and there they will stay while I am President!” Territorial seizure provided the administration a source of legitimacy in a time when other options were lacking.

Ultimately, the critics were right: Seizing the Philippines was no easy feat. The United States sent 125,000 soldiers to subdue the archipelago through a brutal counterinsurgency that caused an estimated 200,000 civilian deaths. U.S. soldiers, far from home and expecting a quick victory, struggled with guerrilla warfare. Opposition groups in the United States publicized gruesome tales of civilian massacres and church burnings.

After the war ended in 1902, solidifying U.S. rule, there were disagreements within the United States about the costs of keeping the Philippines. Some Americans especially objected to the prospect of incorporating its nonwhite population into the national fabric if they were granted citizenship.

By 1914, Theodore Roosevelt—by then a former president and once an ardent imperialist who vigorously defended the permanent acquisition of the Philippines—argued that the Philippines was a strategic liability that stretched the Navy’s ability to defend thousands of miles of coastline far from the homeland.

In deciding what to do with the territory, the United States ultimately settled on a middle ground, outsourcing the bulk of security duties to Filipino personnel, “Filipinizing” most civil governance, and—in response to the nationalist agitations of Filipino elites—finally committing to Filipino independence, which was granted after World War II.

But giving up the territorial dream was not just a reflection of the broader decolonization trend—it was also a geopolitical calculation. By 1946, U.S. policymakers had secured the most important assets that the Philippines could offer: a string of military bases and advantageous commerce agreements. Assured of Philippine allegiance but without the trouble of governance, the United States had found more flexible forms of getting what it wanted.

There have been exceptions, but we can broadly characterize U.S. foreign policy since then as a search for power without territory. Colonies require governance; military base agreements with allies do not.

To be clear, acquiring power through non-territorial means was by no means benign. The United States has caused and enabled extraordinary violence since 1945 via covert action, small footprint military interventions, regime change, support for coups, military aid, arms sales, and more.

But by eschewing territorial seizure, the United States has occasionally secured its interests in a relatively nimble fashion while sidestepping the terrible costs of owning more of the world’s real estate. Instead of conquests, presidents have been able to cite other sources of American “greatness” in inaugurations and State of the Union addresses, such as domestic growth, prosperity, or diplomatic wins. Setting aside questions of norms, ethics, or human welfare, U.S. leaders have repeatedly figured that the potential prestige of territory was unrelated to the pursuit of global superpowerdom.

It’s no coincidence that in this current time of deep public pessimism about the future of the country that the Trump administration has explored the acquisition of Greenland and Panama.

Filling more parts of the world map with American colors seems like a straightforward way to restore national pride and prestige for an administration that prioritizes media-friendly solutions—whether that be ASMR videos of deportations or missile strikes that play well on cable news—over careful policymaking. But the actual process of acquiring territory is anything but straightforward. Taking Greenland is an alternative source of prestige for an administration that is uninterested in solving the difficult domestic problems that most Americans are concerned with.

All the prestige in the world cannot wave away the challenges and vulnerabilities of acquiring new territory, as the United States learned with the Philippines more than a century ago. Should Trump get the territorial gift he is hoping for, he might just start wishing for a return policy.