**Disclaimer:** The information provided in this article should not be considered financial advice. The cryptocurrency market remains dynamic and carries risks. It's essential to conduct your own thorough research and consult with qualified professionals before making any investment decisions. Five years ago, I made a decision that would fundamentally transform how I consume knowledge and entertainment. I canceled my Spotify subscription, along with Netflix and virtually every other entertainment platform I had been using. In their place, I kept only one: Audible. This wasn't just a preference change—it was a necessity born from my unpredictable dyslexia. I'm writing these things not because I want to meddle in politics, but because I see today's politics as yesterday's history. To me, everything is history, everything is part of what's happening. I don't have an opinion first of all because I don't vote, and secondly because I'm observing everything as a third-party observer that is not attached to one side or the other. Through Audible, I discovered that I could absorb complex ideas, follow intricate narratives, and dive deep into subjects that would have been difficult to access through text alone. Just as audiobooks opened new pathways for consuming knowledge, artificial intelligence has now revolutionized how I can express my thoughts. Speaking to my computer and having it help me organize and refine my ideas has made me far more prolific as a writer than I could have been relying solely on traditional typing. I'll be honest—this technological bridge between thought and written word sacrifices a bit of my natural writing style, but it's been another crucial tool in overcoming the barriers that dyslexia once placed in my path. More importantly, it allows me to express complex concepts and trace the fascinating connections between what I've been reading about [[United States of America (USA)]]'s past and what's unfolding in the world today. Note: Throughout this essay, when I refer to "reading," I mean listening to audiobooks. I use this terminology for the sake of clarity and flow, though the experience of absorbing content through audio is just as rich and meaningful as traditional reading. ## Historical Echoes: The "No Kings" Protests and America's Anti-Monarchical DNA As I write this in June 2025, millions of Americans have taken to the streets in what organizers call the largest single-day protest of [[Donald Trump]]'s second administration. The "No Kings" protests, spanning over 2,100 cities and towns, represent something far deeper than opposition to current policies—they echo a fundamental American anxiety about power that dates back to the republic's founding. This resistance to perceived authoritarianism isn't new in American politics. In fact, you can trace it directly to a letter [[Thomas Jefferson]] wrote on April 24, 1796, to his Italian friend [[Filippo Mazzei]]. In that letter, Jefferson expressed alarm about what he saw happening in the young republic: "The aspect of our politics has wonderfully changed since you left us. In place of that noble love of liberty and republican government which carried us triumphantly thro' the war, an Anglican, monarchical and aristocratical party has sprung up, whose avowed object is to draw over us the substance as they have already done the forms of the British government... It would give you a fever were I to name to you the apostates who have gone over to these heresies, men who were Samsons in the field and Solomons in the council, but who have had their heads shorn by the harlot England." Jefferson was writing about [[John Adams]] and the Federalist Party, whom he believed were betraying the revolutionary ideals that had founded the nation. The parallels to today's protests are striking—then, as now, Americans worried about leaders who seemed to aspire to monarchical power rather than serving as public servants in a democratic republic. The 2025 "No Kings" protests specifically targeted what demonstrators saw as Trump's authoritarian tendencies, including his military parade coinciding with his 79th birthday, his claims to be "above the law," and his expansionist rhetoric toward Greenland, [[Canada]], and the Panama Canal. Protesters carried signs reading "We fought a king in 1775. We fought a dictator in 1945. We will fight whatever the hell this is in 2025." The movement's name directly invoked America's foundational rejection of monarchy, with organizers explicitly stating their goal was to reject "authoritarianism, billionaire-first politics, and the militarization of democracy." This anti-monarchical sentiment runs so deep in American political culture that it has surfaced repeatedly throughout the nation's history. From the Anti-Federalist opposition to a strong executive, to Andrew Jackson's war against the "Monster Bank," to Progressive Era trust-busting, to modern resistance movements, Americans have consistently mobilized against what they perceive as concentrated power that threatens democratic governance. The continuity of this concern across more than two centuries reveals something essential about American political DNA: the debates happening today aren't new, but rather the latest iterations of arguments that have been raging since the republic's founding. ## The Persistent Logic of American Expansionism: From Mexico to Gaza My journey through American history via audiobooks has revealed another troubling pattern: the consistency of American expansionist logic across more than two centuries. This became starkly apparent when I encountered the rhetoric surrounding the Mexican-American War and compared it to contemporary statements about Gaza. ### The Mexican-American War and the "Sleeping Land" Narrative During the 1840s, American politicians and journalists consistently portrayed Mexican territories as underutilized resources waiting for American enterprise. Walt Whitman, writing in 1846, perfectly captured this mindset: "What has miserable, inefficient Mexico—with her superstition, her burlesque upon freedom, her actual tyranny by the few over the many—what has she to do with the great mission of peopling the new world with a noble race? Be it ours, to achieve that mission!" This rhetoric wasn't limited to poets and journalists. The concept of Manifest Destiny, formally articulated by [[John L. O'Sullivan]] in 1845, provided the ideological framework for this expansionism. O'Sullivan wrote that it was America's "manifest destiny to overspread the continent allotted by Providence for the free development of our yearly multiplying millions." The underlying assumption was that land occupied by Mexicans, Native Americans, or other peoples was essentially vacant, waiting for American development to unlock its true potential. Congressional debates from the era reveal this thinking in official documents. Representative [[David Wilmot]] of Pennsylvania, proposing his famous Wilmot Proviso in 1846, argued that any territory gained from Mexico should be reserved "exclusively for whites" who could properly develop it. The Monroe Doctrine, established in 1823, had already laid the groundwork for this thinking by declaring the Western Hemisphere off-limits to European colonization while positioning the United States as the natural heir to continental leadership. President [[James K. Polk]], in his war message to Congress on May 11, 1846, framed the conflict in terms that emphasized American superiority: "Mexico has passed the boundary of the United States, has invaded our territory and shed American blood upon the American soil." But the deeper justification lay in the belief that American occupation would bring civilization, democracy, and economic development to "backward" regions. ### Gaza 2025: The Same Logic, Different Century This same mindset surfaced again in February 2025, when President Trump announced his plan to have the United States "take over" and "own" the Gaza Strip. Speaking at a White House press conference with Israeli Prime Minister Netanyahu, Trump declared: "The US will take over the Gaza Strip, and we will do a job with it too. We'll own it and be responsible for dismantling all of the dangerous unexploded bombs and other weapons on the site. Level the site, and get rid of the destroyed buildings, level it out, create an economic development that will supply unlimited numbers of jobs and housing for the people of the area." Trump envisioned Gaza as prime real estate for development: "I don't want to be cute. I don't want to be a wise guy, but—the Riviera of the Middle East. This could be so magnificent." He suggested that Gaza could rival Dubai or Monaco, describing it as "an incredible piece of important real estate" with "waterfront property" that "could be very valuable if people would focus on building up livelihoods." The parallel is unmistakable. Whether it was 1840s politicians claiming Mexicans were "sleeping on good land" or a 2025 president seeing Gaza as prime real estate for development, the American eye consistently sees opportunity where others might see complexity, history, or human suffering. In both cases, existing populations are viewed as obstacles to development rather than as communities with legitimate claims to their homeland. ### The Monroe Doctrine's Living Legacy The Monroe Doctrine of 1823 established the intellectual framework for this expansionist mindset. President [[James Monroe]] declared that "the American continents, by the free and independent condition which they have assumed and maintain, are henceforth not to be considered as subjects for future colonization by any European powers." While ostensibly about preventing European intervention, the doctrine effectively positioned the United States as the dominant power in the Western Hemisphere. This logic has been invoked repeatedly throughout American history: from the annexation of [[Texas]] and [[California]], to the Spanish-American War, to interventions in Central America and the Caribbean, to more recent Middle Eastern engagements. Each time, the justification involves bringing American-style development, democracy, and economic opportunity to regions deemed underdeveloped or poorly governed. Trump's Gaza proposal represents the latest iteration of Monroe Doctrine thinking, extending American claims of benevolent development beyond the traditional Western Hemisphere sphere. The language remains remarkably consistent: take control of underutilized territory, remove or relocate existing populations who might resist development, and create economic opportunities that benefit both American interests and, theoretically, local populations. I present this pattern not as condemnation or endorsement, but as recognition of a fundamental aspect of American political culture that has persisted across generations. This expansionist mindset reflects a genuine belief in American exceptionalism and the benefits of American-led development, even as critics see it as a form of colonialism dressed in the language of progress. ## Two Americas: The Persistent Political Divide What's equally fascinating is how this divide reflects the two camps that have existed since the very beginning of the American republic. The political factions that emerged in the 1790s—before formal political parties even existed—established patterns that continue to define American politics today. ### The Origins: Hamilton vs. Jefferson and the Birth of American Factionalism George Washington's presidency represented perhaps the last truly bipartisan moment in American political history. Even then, the seeds of division were evident in the fierce rivalry between [[Alexander Hamilton]] and Thomas Jefferson. These weren't mere policy disagreements—they represented fundamentally different visions of what America should become. Hamilton, as Secretary of the Treasury, championed a strong federal government, close ties with Britain, a robust financial system including a national bank, and the promotion of manufacturing and commerce. He believed in the necessity of a governing elite and wasn't troubled by wealth concentration if it served national development. Jefferson, as Secretary of State, favored states' rights, sympathized with revolutionary France, distrusted banks and speculation, and believed in an agrarian republic of independent farmers. Their conflict became so intense that it culminated in the infamous duel between Hamilton and [[Aaron Burr]] in 1804—a duel that grew out of the bitter partisan warfare of the era. Burr killed Hamilton, but the factional divide Hamilton and Jefferson had created lived on. This wasn't just political disagreement; it was a fundamental schism about the nature of American democracy that turned personal and deadly. From John Adams onward, no president has truly been bipartisan. Even before formal political parties existed, these factions were so antagonistic that they shaped every aspect of governance. Adams aligned with Hamilton's Federalists and faced fierce opposition from Jefferson's Democratic-Republicans. The pattern was set: American politics would be defined by two competing visions, each viewing the other as a threat to the republic's survival. ### Jefferson's Democratic Legacy and Modern Anti-Authoritarianism Jefferson's Democratic-Republicans stood for the common people, despite Jefferson himself being an elite slaveholder. He deliberately rejected the formal protocols of European courts, implementing his famous "pell-mell" policy at White House dinners where guests were seated first-come, first-served regardless of rank. When British minister Anthony Merry arrived in full diplomatic regalia—blue dress coat with gold braid, white breeches, silk stockings, plumed hat, and dress sword—Jefferson famously received him wearing "slippers down at the heels" and casual clothes. This was a deliberate rejection of monarchical pomp. Jefferson explained his philosophy: "When brought together in society all are perfectly equal, whether foreign or domestic, titled or untitled, in or out of office." This informal, anti-aristocratic tradition flows directly into today's Democratic Party, which organized the "No Kings" protests against Trump's perceived authoritarianism. ### The Federalist Legacy in Modern Republicanism On the other side, Hamilton's Federalist tradition—more formal, more hierarchical, more comfortable with concentrated power and business interests—finds its echo in the Republican establishment. The Federalists believed in the necessity of elite leadership and weren't troubled by wealth concentration if it served national development. They favored strong executive power and close relationships with business interests. This tradition connects to the modern Republican comfort with Trump's expansionist vision and business-oriented approach to foreign policy. Trump's repeated emphasis on making "deals" with [[China]], [[Iran]], [[Vladimir Putin]], and others reflects the Hamiltonian belief that commerce and national interest should drive policy rather than idealistic principles. But here's the thing—just as in Hamilton's era, there was remarkable faction fluidity even before formal parties solidified. Consider [[James Madison]]: he co-authored the Federalist Papers with Hamilton and [[John Jay]] in 1787-1788, defending a strong federal government, yet by 1809 he had become a Democratic-Republican president, aligning with Jefferson's vision of limited federal power. This kind of ideological migration was common in the early republic, when political alliances were more fluid and personal relationships often trumped party loyalty. We're seeing similar faction fluidity today, and nothing illustrates this better than the [[Elon Musk]]-Donald Trump relationship. These two campaigned together in 2024, with Musk serving as a key advisor and later leading Trump's Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE) efforts. But after those efforts concluded, Musk began attacking Trump—first over what he called the "big beautiful bill" (criticizing Trump's spending policies), then on personal grounds, hinting that Trump was heavily implicated in the Epstein papers. Now Musk has become increasingly vocal about supporting a third party. What's fascinating is that Musk's third-party suggestions could just as easily have come from Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez—it doesn't matter which side of the political spectrum voices this dissent. It's fundamentally about expressing strong disagreement within one party and thinking the solution is to break away and form a new party, rather than trying to build consensus toward a predominant point of view within the existing structure. While there have always been small discrepancies within parties, today's discrepancies aren't small at all—they're quite evident and increasingly irreconcilable. ### The Impossibility of a Third Party: Lessons from Italy's Five Star Movement I've witnessed a similar experiment in [[Italy]] with the Movimento Cinque Stelle (Five Star Movement), founded by TV celebrity [[Beppe Grillo]] in 2009. The movement gained significant traction after the 2008 financial crisis, and by 2013 they had won 25% of the vote in parliamentary elections. Initially, this movement appeared to transcend traditional left-right divisions, promising to represent "the people" against the established political class. However, the Five Star Movement ultimately demonstrated why third parties struggle in polarized systems. Rather than changing Italy's political course, it simply split voters from both left and right, forming a faction that could never gain a governing majority. When they finally got the chance to govern in 2018 (forming a coalition with the right-wing Lega), they were forced to align with either the left or the right, which immediately caused internal splits. In 2019, when they shifted to form a coalition with the center-left Democratic Party, the right-leaning members abandoned the movement. When they moved right again in later coalitions, the left-leaning members departed. By 2022, their electoral support had collapsed to just 15%, down from their peak of 32% in 2018. The fundamental problem is that in both Italy and the United States, the divisions within existing parties already represent the full spectrum of political opinion. Creating a third party doesn't eliminate these divisions—it simply relocates them within a new organization that lacks the institutional strength and clear ideological coherence of the established parties. ### Internal Divisions: The Republican Split Within the Republican Party, particularly on foreign policy, there exists a profound divide that reflects the party's internal contradictions. On one side stands the pro-Israel, pro-Ukraine, hawkish faction that favors strong American military engagement worldwide. This group sees American power projection as essential for global stability and views conflicts in terms of clear moral imperatives: supporting democratic allies against authoritarian aggressors. On the other side is the non-interventionist faction that questions unlimited American involvement in foreign conflicts. This group doesn't explicitly oppose Ukraine or Israel, but they see merit in Russian concerns about NATO expansion and question whether Israel's heavy-handed approach in Gaza reflects true American values of proportional justice. They prioritize "America First" policies that put domestic concerns above international commitments. President Trump embodies this latter faction's philosophy when he repeatedly emphasizes making "deals" with any nation—China, Iran, Russia, Ukraine—regardless of ideological differences. This represents a fundamentally commercial approach to foreign policy, where trade and economic relationships take precedence over human rights or democratic values. It's Hamilton's vision applied to global politics: national interest and economic development matter more than abstract principles. ### Internal Divisions: The Democratic Split A similar divide exists within the Democratic Party. On one side stands the "No Oligarchy and No King" movement, headed by figures like [[Bernie Sanders]] and [[Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez]]. This faction is openly pro-Palestine, viewing the Gaza conflict through the lens of colonial oppression and social justice. While they don't have a clear position on Ukraine-Russia, they generally oppose aggressors and favor supporting victims of military aggression. This progressive wing represents a return to Jefferson's original Democratic philosophy: skeptical of concentrated wealth and power, supportive of working-class interests, and willing to challenge established elites even within their own party. They see the Gaza conflict as fundamentally about justice for an oppressed population, much as Jefferson opposed aristocratic privilege in his era. On the other side stands the old guard Democratic establishment—figures like [[Nancy Pelosi]] and [[Chuck Schumer]]—who maintain unwavering support for Israel regardless of circumstances. This faction represents the institutionalist wing of the party, more concerned with maintaining stable international relationships and established alliances than with challenging power structures. Interestingly, this establishment wing appears to be declining as younger Democrats increasingly embrace the progressive agenda. What Republicans call "radical" is actually closer to Jefferson's original Democratic vision: a certain amount of elite sophistication is acceptable as long as the overall goal remains supporting working-class interests against concentrated wealth and power. ### The Enduring Nature of American Political Division These internal party divisions demonstrate why Musk's third-party proposal is ultimately futile. The fundamental cleavages that divide Americans—between commercial pragmatism and idealistic principle, between elite governance and populist democracy, between international engagement and domestic focus—already exist within both major parties. A third party would simply redistribute these same tensions without resolving them. More fundamentally, these divisions trace back to the Hamilton-Jefferson split that has defined American politics since the 1790s. Americans today aren't witnessing new political conflicts, but rather the latest iteration of arguments that began when the republic was young. The names and specific issues change, but the underlying philosophical divide between two visions of American democracy remains constant. Understanding this historical continuity helps explain why American politics feels so perpetually contentious. Americans aren't just disagreeing about policies—they're relitigating fundamental questions about the nature of American democracy that have never been definitively resolved. The "No Kings" protesters of 2025 are essentially making the same argument Jefferson made in 1796: concentrated power threatens democratic governance. Trump's supporters are essentially making Hamilton's argument: strong leadership and commercial success matter more than idealistic principles. Both traditions are deeply American, and both will continue to shape American politics for generations to come. The tension between them isn't a bug in the system—it's a feature, reflecting the fundamental contradictions and possibilities that have always defined the American experiment. ## The Eternal Tariff Debate: From the "Tariff of Abominations" to "Liberation Day" Perhaps no issue better illustrates the continuity of American political divisions than the debate over tariffs. When President Trump declared April 2, 2025, as "Liberation Day" and announced sweeping tariffs on virtually all imports—including a universal 10% baseline tariff and "reciprocal tariffs" reaching as high as 104% on Chinese goods—he was invoking arguments that have echoed through American politics for more than two centuries. ### The Origins: Hamilton's Vision and the First Tariffs (1789) The tariff debate actually began with the very first Congress under the Constitution in 1789, when Alexander Hamilton, as the nation's first Secretary of the Treasury, proposed tariffs as part of his comprehensive financial system. These initial tariffs were relatively modest—around 5% on most imported goods—and were primarily designed to raise revenue for the federal government rather than protect domestic industry. Hamilton understood that tariffs served multiple purposes: they would fund the federal government, encourage domestic manufacturing, and reduce American dependence on foreign goods. This was part of his broader vision of an economically independent and industrially strong America that could compete with European powers. ### The Tariff of Abominations and the Nullification Crisis (1828-1833) The tariff issue reached a crisis point with the Tariff of 1828, which Southern opponents dubbed the "Tariff of Abominations." This was not Hamilton's modest revenue tariff, but a protective tariff designed specifically to shield Northern manufacturing from British competition. The tariff raised duties to nearly 50% on many imported goods, particularly textiles and manufactured items. The economic logic was straightforward: by making British textiles more expensive through tariffs, American consumers would be forced to buy higher-priced products manufactured in New England factories. This protected Northern jobs and allowed American manufacturing to grow, but it came at a significant cost to consumers throughout the country, and especially to the South. Southern cotton planters were furious for multiple reasons. First, they had no manufacturing base to protect—their economy was entirely agricultural, based on cotton exports to Britain. Second, the tariffs made all imported goods more expensive, effectively forcing Southerners to subsidize Northern industrial development through higher prices. Third, they feared British retaliation against American cotton exports if the United States continued to impose high tariffs on British goods. As [[John C. Calhoun]], then Vice President, wrote in his anonymous "South Carolina Exposition and Protest": the tariff was "a system of robbery" that transferred wealth "from the South to the North." The South Carolina legislature eventually passed the Ordinance of Nullification in 1832, declaring the federal tariffs "null, void, and no law" within their state borders. President [[Andrew Jackson]], despite being a Southerner himself, refused to accept nullification. He threatened military action, telling Congress: "I consider the power to annul a law of the United States, assumed by one State, incompatible with the existence of the Union." The crisis was resolved only through the Compromise Tariff of 1833, which gradually reduced rates, and Jackson's Force Bill, which authorized military enforcement of federal law. This crisis established a pattern that has persisted in American politics: tariffs benefit some regions and industries while harming others, and those harmed often view tariff policy as fundamentally unfair use of federal power to redistribute wealth. ### Trump's "Liberation Day": Same Arguments, Different Century On April 2, 2025, President Trump announced what he called the most comprehensive tariff policy since the Smoot-Hawley Act of 1930. Speaking in the White House Rose Garden, Trump declared: "We're going to start being smart, and we're going to start being very wealthy again." He imposed a universal 10% tariff on all imports, with additional "reciprocal tariffs" ranging up to 104% for countries with large trade surpluses with the United States. Trump's justification echoed Hamilton's arguments from 1789: "These tariffs seek to address the injustices of global trade, re-shore manufacturing, and drive economic growth for the American people." He argued that decades of "unfair trade practices" had "led to the hollowing out of American manufacturing" and "rendered the defense-industrial base dependent on foreign adversaries." The economic mechanism remains identical to 1828: by making foreign goods more expensive, American consumers are incentivized to buy domestic products, protecting American jobs and encouraging domestic investment. Trump specifically highlighted this logic for automobiles, announcing a 25% tariff on foreign cars: "A $30,000 car may become $37,500," as one car dealer noted, but this would encourage Americans to buy cars manufactured in the United States. ### The Economic Reality: Who Pays? Just as in 1828, the burden of these tariffs falls on American consumers through higher prices. Economists broadly agree that tariffs are taxes paid by importing companies, which typically pass the costs on to consumers. The National Association of Manufacturers estimated that Trump's tariffs could raise household costs by an average of $2,000 per year, with the burden falling disproportionately on lower-income families who spend a larger percentage of their income on consumer goods. This creates the same regional and class divisions that emerged in the 1820s. Regions with significant manufacturing (particularly the Midwest and parts of the South with automotive and steel production) benefit from protection against foreign competition. Regions that rely more heavily on imports, trade, and services (particularly coastal areas) bear higher costs without receiving protective benefits. Small businesses face particular challenges, just as Southern cotton planters did in 1828. One educational toy manufacturer, Learning Resources, filed suit claiming the tariffs would increase their import costs by 4,000%—from $2.3 million to $100 million annually—while causing a 25% drop in sales. Like the Southern planters who exported cotton to Britain, this company's business model depends on international trade rather than domestic protection. ### The Same Political Logic The political coalitions supporting and opposing tariffs have remained remarkably consistent. In 1828, Northern manufacturing interests and their workers supported protection, while Southern agricultural exporters and urban consumers opposed it. In 2025, Trump's tariffs are supported by manufacturing unions, domestic steel and aluminum producers, and communities seeking to rebuild industrial capacity, while they're opposed by importing businesses, technology companies, and urban consumers. The arguments have even remained substantively similar. Tariff supporters in both eras argue that protection is necessary for national security, economic independence, and fair competition against foreign producers who benefit from subsidies or lower labor costs. Opponents argue that tariffs amount to taxes on consumers, distort market efficiency, and invite retaliation that harms American exporters. ### Historical Irony and Continuity There's a historical irony in Trump's invocation of "Liberation Day": the original American Revolution was fought partly over opposition to British trade restrictions and taxation. The Boston Tea Party protested the Tea Act, which gave the British East India Company preferential treatment in American markets. Yet Trump's tariffs function similarly—they use government power to give American companies preferential treatment in American markets by making foreign competitors more expensive. This reflects the fundamental tension at the heart of American economic policy since Hamilton and Jefferson first debated the proper role of government in the economy. Hamilton believed government should actively promote American economic development through tariffs, subsidies, and industrial policy. Jefferson favored free trade and minimal government intervention in economic affairs. The tariff debate reveals that this tension has never been resolved. Every generation of Americans must decide whether to prioritize economic nationalism (protecting American producers) or economic liberalism (allowing free competition). The specific industries and countries change, but the fundamental choice remains the same. What's particularly fascinating is how this protectionism versus free competition approach gets adopted interchangeably as a motto by one party or the other, depending on political convenience. For example, Biden campaigned heavily on unionizing jobs and therefore increasing protectionism for American companies, while the Republican Party typically champions free competition. But it depends entirely on who's in power and who's campaigning. When the Democratic Party is in power, they tend to speak more about protecting American products because they do it from a campaign perspective—they want to win support from American workers. But when they're campaigning and not in power, they tend to promote free trade and ask government to step out of trade dynamics or apply lighter pressure on existing trade relationships. Similarly, when Republicans are campaigning, they're always in favor of small government and free markets. But then they take power and suddenly embrace big government, big spending, and protecting American producers and industry—exactly what Trump did with his "Liberation Day" tariffs. It's political opportunism dressed up as economic philosophy, with both parties willing to abandon their stated principles when it serves their electoral or governing interests. When Trump declared "Liberation Day," he was announcing America's latest attempt to resolve this eternal tension in favor of economic nationalism. Whether this proves more successful than previous attempts—from Hamilton's system to the Tariff of Abominations to Smoot-Hawley—remains to be seen. But the very fact that Americans are still having this debate after more than two centuries suggests that both sides have valid points, and neither vision can completely triumph over the other.