The Monroe Doctrine Is Back—or Is It?

Suddenly, the Monroe Doctrine is everywhere again. A foreign‑policy statement from 1823 is being invoked in 2026 as if it cleanly maps onto today’s geopolitical landscape. The enthusiasm is striking—and worth unpacking.

Where It All Began: 1823 and the “Era of Good Feelings”

James Monroe

President James Monroe first outlined what would later be called the Monroe Doctrine in his annual message to Congress on December 2, 1823. The United States was still basking in the glow of the so‑called “Era of Good Feelings,” a moment of national pride following the War of 1812. Americans believed they had won a decisive victory. In reality, the war ended in a stalemate. Britain, exhausted by decades of conflict and focused on rebuilding after the Napoleonic Wars, simply agreed to peace. No borders shifted. No major policies changed.

Still, symbolic triumphs—Oliver Hazard Perry’s victory on Lake Erie and Andrew Jackson’s dramatic win at New Orleans (fought after the peace treaty had already been signed)—fed a powerful national myth that outpaced the facts.

A Hemisphere in Flux

Meanwhile, much of Central and South America had recently broken free from European colonial rule. These new nations were fragile, indebted, and vulnerable. U.S. leaders feared that instability or default might tempt European powers to return.

Monroe’s message was direct: any attempt by European nations to colonize or interfere in the Western Hemisphere would be considered a threat to U.S. peace and security. The doctrine was reactive—if Europe interfered, then the U.S. would respond.

At its heart, the Monroe Doctrine was meant to shield the sovereignty of newly independent nations. Monroe believed that keeping Europe out would benefit U.S. economic interests, but those interests were secondary, not central, to the doctrine’s purpose.

A Doctrine the U.S. Couldn’t Enforce

In practice, the Monroe Doctrine was more aspiration than enforceable policy. The United States lacked the military strength to back it up, and European powers knew it. Their disregard was obvious:

• 1833: Britain reclaimed the Falkland Islands.
• 1838–1850: France—and later France with Britain—blockaded Argentina’s Río de la Plata and Buenos Aires.
• 1861: While the U.S. was consumed by the Civil War, Spain reoccupied Santo Domingo and France invaded Mexico, installing a Habsburg emperor.

Only after the Civil War did the U.S. begin enforcing the doctrine more assertively, supporting Mexico’s resistance to French occupation. This marked the start of America’s rise as a hemispheric power—but decades of inconsistency had already damaged trust across Latin America.

Theodore Roosevelt Rewrites the Rules

In 1904, President Theodore Roosevelt dramatically reinterpreted the Monroe Doctrine. What had been a defensive warning became an offensive justification for intervention. The Roosevelt Corollary argued that if Latin American nations failed to maintain order or repay debts, European powers might intervene—so the United States should intervene first.

 President Theodore Roosevelt's
1905 diplomatic mission
to Asia, led by William Howard Taft,
secretly laid the groundwork for
future U.S. conflicts in the Pacific,
including World War II,
by making secret deals that
fueled Japanese imperialism

Roosevelt claimed an American “international police power” to address “chronic wrongdoing or impotence,” transforming the doctrine into a tool of U.S. imperialism. Examples include:

• Dominican Republic (1905–1924): U.S. control of customs houses, followed by occupation.
• Nicaragua (1912–1933): U.S. Marines intervened to crush a revolution and stayed for two decades.
• Haiti (1915–1934): U.S. forces occupied the country after the assassination of its president.

These interventions deepened resentment throughout Latin America.

FDR’s Good Neighbor Policy: A Different Vision

In 1933, President Franklin D. Roosevelt charted a new course by rejecting the Roosevelt Corollary and introducing the Good Neighbor Policy. FDR pledged non‑intervention, mutual respect, diplomatic engagement, and cultural exchange. This shift ended routine U.S. military occupations and opened the door to more cooperative hemispheric relations.

The timing proved crucial. During World War II, the Good Neighbor approach helped unify the Americas. Most Latin American nations aligned with the Allies, provided essential raw materials such as rubber, hosted strategic bases, and curtailed Axis influence. A region once wary of U.S. power became a network of indispensable partners.

The Cold War Ends the Good Neighbor Era

The Cold War quickly unraveled the Good Neighbor Policy. As anti‑communist containment became the overriding priority, earlier commitments to sovereignty and non‑interference faded. The United States resumed overt and covert interventions across Latin America:

• Guatemala (1954) – CIA‑backed overthrow of President Jacobo Árbenz.
• Cuba (1961–1962) – Bay of Pigs invasion and the Cuban Missile Crisis.
• Brazil (1964) – Support for a military coup against President João Goulart.
• Dominican Republic (1965) – Deployment of 22,000 Marines to suppress an uprising.
• Chile (1973) – Support for the coup that brought Augusto Pinochet to power.
• Operation Condor (1970s–1980s) – U.S. intelligence cooperation with South American dictatorships.
• Nicaragua (1981–1990) – Funding the Contras, leading to the Iran‑Contra scandal.
• Grenada (1983) – Invasion to remove a Marxist junta.
• Panama (1989) – Invasion to arrest General Manuel Noriega.

The hemisphere once again became a battleground for U.S. strategic priorities.

2025–2026: A New Corollary Emerges

In December 2025, the Trump administration introduced what it called the “Trump Corollary” to the Monroe Doctrine. The policy seeks to reassert U.S. primacy in the Western Hemisphere and claims the right to intervene to prevent “hostile foreign incursion or ownership of key assets”—and asserting that it “supersedes” the original Monroe Doctrine.

“To supersede” means “to take the place of”—and the term fits, because the Trump Corollary diverges sharply from Monroe’s original intent.  The Monroe Doctrine centered on protecting the sovereignty of Western Hemisphere nations. The Trump Corollary prioritizes “America First” national security interests over the territorial and political autonomy of neighboring states. It asserts that the U.S. no longer extends unconditional respect for the sovereignty of regional partners.  The Trump Corollary also explicitly links national security to U.S. access to the natural resources of Western Hemisphere nations, framing economic extraction as a condition of American security—an approach far removed from Monroe’s defensive posture.

Which Monroe Doctrine Are We Talking About?

The Monroe Doctrine has never been a fixed idea. It has been reinterpreted, stretched, and repurposed for two centuries—sometimes as a shield against European imperialism, sometimes as a justification for American intervention, and sometimes as a diplomatic olive branch. The 2026 revival raises an important question: are we witnessing a return to Monroe’s original vision, or the emergence of something entirely new?

History suggests that every generation remakes the doctrine to fit its own anxieties and ambitions. The real issue, then, is not whether the Monroe Doctrine is “back,” but which version of it policymakers are choosing to resurrect—and what that choice reveals about the future of the Western Hemisphere.

 

 

Two Lectures in Early 2026

What a great time I had with my last lecture series Pilgrims and Puritans: A Theocracy in Colonial New England.  And it seems the participants really liked the experience.  As one of them emailed me:

Thank you for another WONDER-FULL presentation. Of course, YOU would go above and beyond what the title implied. Pilgrims and Puritans ain't all turkey when Dincher is the one talkin'!

I am doing something a little different in early 2026.  I'll be delivering two single-session presentations through the Osher Lifelong Learning Institute at Cal State East Bay.

Beyond Economics: Healthcare Justice

Tuesday, March 3, 2026
9:30 AM to 11:30 AM

Register here

Medicine’s classical duty to “do no harm” has collided with a modern, market-driven healthcare system.  In today’s America, health care is no longer a simple exchange between doctor and patient. It’s a sprawling, high-stakes system involving providers, hospitals, clinics, labs, pharmaceuticals, cutting-edge technologies—and the ever-present insurance industry. The cost of accessing this system was the central flashpoint in the 43-day U.S. government shutdown of 2025.  But beyond economics lies a deeper concern: justice. When access to life-saving care depends on a person’s ability to pay, the problem becomes not only economic but ethical—a question of justice about who counts, who pays, and how a just society cares for the sick. Beyond Economics:  Healthcare Justice explores how values in medicine have evolved from Hippocrates’ timeless call to “do no harm” to today’s urgent debate over fairness and equity—and the intersections with theories of justice.

Erasing History—or Caring for our National Soul?

Tuesday, April 21, 2025
9:30 AM to 11:30 AM

Register here

Confederate statues topple from their pedestals. Military bases shed names that once honored rebellion. Government websites are scrubbed clean, museum exhibits closed, and school curricula rewritten.  Across the political divide, accusations fly—each side charging the other with “erasing history.” Yet beneath the noise lies a deeper question: when does such action distort the past, and when does it nurture the spirit of our nation? Erasing History—or Caring for the National Soul offers one perspective on the difference. 

Following Stars into Humble Rooms

When I was a kid, my family had a peculiar Christmas tradition. The tree never appeared until Christmas Eve after all the kids were tucked in bed. Santa, apparently moonlighting as an interior decorator, did all the heavy lifting overnight. The catch? We were banished to bed at an unreasonably early hour—practically before the sun had finished setting—and heaven forbid we stumbled downstairs and spooked Santa mid‑tinsel toss.

By morning, the house had undergone a full HGTV holiday makeover. A towering tree glittered with tinsel icicles (the kind made of lead, because nothing says “Merry Christmas” like mild poisoning). Beneath it sprawled an American farm village, heroically encircled by my grandfather’s 1940s Lionel train, which ran endless laps like it was training for the Polar Express Olympics.

And then there was the creche. An antique even back then, it featured the usual suspects: angel, shepherd, cow, donkey… plus, for reasons never explained, a World War II GI accompanied by a German shepherd. (Apparently Bethlehem had a draft.)

The three magi, however, were always late to the party. On Christmas morning, they started out across the room, looking like they’d taken a wrong turn at Albuquerque. Each day they shuffled a little closer, inching their way to Bethlehem like they were following GPS with bad reception.  They finally arrivid at the manger on January 6^th, just in time for the Feast of the Epiphany and for the whole display to be packed away. Timing is everything.

Of course, the actual magi didn’t exactly have a smooth trip either.  They followed a star expecting splendor: a prince in a palace, courtiers at his side, servants ready to anticipate his every need, and maybe a buffet spread.  But the star led them elsewhere—to a backwater town of farmers and shepherds where the soil was stubborn and meadows few, to a carpenter’s fixer-upper in a land where trees were scarce.  Instead of a prince kept warm in velvet, they found a poor child cradled by a young mom juggling the hard chores of survival, a child who looked like he needed diapers more than incense.  Not quite the Ritz.  I picture the magi standing there, gifts in hand, glancing at one another, and thinking, “Well, this is awkward.  Should we just Venmo them a few gold coins and call it a day?”

But wisdom is more than foresight.  And the magi were wise.  They had the ability to see meaning in the commonplace, in the unexpected, in the awkwardness.  And generosity is more than wealth.  It is the courage to give as if the recipient were worthy of a crown.

So, they offered their treasures anyway.

Christmas is as Christmas Does

Remember Forrest Gump’s mama? She had a way of boiling wisdom down to bumper-sticker brilliance: “Stupid is as stupid does.”  Turns out Thomas Merton, the monk-poet with a knack for solemnity, may have been humming the same tune back in 1939. In a poem attributed to him, Christmas as to People (although there is no sure evidence that he actually wrote it), he declared: "Christmas is as Christmas does." Given the world stage in 1939, the poem isn't exactly decked with candy canes and carols. It opens with:

Christmas is as Christmas does.
And the wide world shudders now with woes.

From there, the sleigh ride heads downhill fast. Me? I prefer my Christmas poetry to have a little more sparkle: holly and evergreen, jingling bells, and enough tinsel to make Clark Griswold proud.

Still, Mama Gump and the apocryphal Brother Merton were onto something. Their words remind us of a timeless truth: we become what we do.

In ancient Greece, when philosophy and psychology still shared the same cradle, Aristotle reminded his students that character is not a gift—it’s a habit. Do something often enough, and it becomes who you are. Tell the truth repeatedly, and honesty takes root until it feels effortless. Practice friendliness, generosity, and consideration, and kindness will become second nature. Live “as if” you were already the person you aspire to be, and you’ll find yourself becoming that person. In that sense, the spirit of Christmas—generosity, peace, compassion—isn’t a seasonal costume we put on once a year. It’s a way of being that grows stronger each time we choose it.

But Aristotle also knew the shadow side of this truth. Habits don’t discriminate between virtue and vice. As Jungian analyst John A. Sanford observed in Meeting the Shadow, Robert Louis Stevenson’s tale of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde is a chilling parable of this dynamic. Jekyll believed he could dabble in darkness without consequence, slipping in and out of Hyde at will. Yet each indulgence gave Hyde more power, until the mask became the man. His actions reshaped his very core.

And so, whether in the glow of Christmas lights or the gloom of Hyde’s London streets, the lesson is the same: we become what we do. Mama Gump said it plain, Merton said it solemn (maybe), Aristotle said it wise. The choices we make—bright or bleak—are the brushstrokes that paint the portrait of our lives. If Christmas is as Christmas does, then perhaps the best gift we can give is to live each day “as if” we were already the generous, peaceful, compassionate people we long to be.

James Madison’s Master Plan

I am approaching the final sessions of my Pilgrims andPuritans lecture series where I will contrast the theocratic vision of the Pilgrims and Puritans and their modern heirs with the democratic principles enshrined in the U.S. Constitution. That contrast requires giving attention to James Madison, the U.S. Constitution’s principal architect, and his vision of government.  So, I am going to ramble on here a bit about Madison, the Constitution, power, and moral character.

From Articles to Architecture

By the summer of 1786, just five years after the Articles of Confederation took effect, it was painfully clear that the national government created by the Articles was too weak to meet the country’s needs. Congress tried to patch the system with amendments, but gaining the unanimous consent from thirteen states required by the Articles proved impossible.

In 1787 Congress changed its approach and invited the states to send delegates to revise the Articles. Madison, convinced the Articles were beyond repair, arrived with a bold blueprint for a new government. Within weeks he had persuaded the delegates to abandon revision and an entirely new Constitution. Congress was so feeble at the time that the Convention did not even bother to inform it of the change in direction,

The underlying question before the delegates—and later the states—was this:  could they create a federal government strong enough to unify the nation and meet its challenges a still be limited enough that fundamental rights would be protected. Madison believed it was. Others disagreed.

The Bill of Rights: A Necessary Rick

As the Convention concluded, opposition to a constitution that created a powerful federal government remained fierce. George Mason, Madison’s fellow Virginian, proposed a solution: add a Bill of Rights. Madison initially resisted. He feared that listing specific rights might imply that any unlisted rights were fair game for government infringement—thus expanding federal power rather than limiting it leading to tyranny.

Structure as Safeguard

Madison argued that a Bill of Rights was unnecessary. The Constitution itself—through its architecture—would be the true guardian of liberty. Simply put, Madison believed that a well-structured governmental system was the best safeguard against corruption and tyranny.

His structural safeguards included the separation of powers and a system of checks and balances, ensuring that no single branch of government could dominate. This framework was not merely theoretical—it was a practical mechanism to prevent corruption and tyranny. Each branch would serve as a check on the others, creating a dynamic equilibrium that preserved liberty.

He also made the legislative process slow, included a difficult constitutional amendment process, and provided for the indirect election of officials, such as the president (through the electoral college) and senators (elected by state legislatures). Madison designed these mechanisms to temper popular passions and encourage deliberation. Madison feared that direct democracy could lead to mob rule or the rise of demagogues. By inserting layers of representation and procedure, he hoped to cultivate a more thoughtful and stable government.

The Role of Character in Governance

Madison was a master political engineer who passionately believed that a well-designed government, anchored in the separation of powers and a system of checks and balances, would prevent a slide into tyranny. He also understood that no democratic system would survive without virtuous leaders and frequently addressed the need for good character in government officials, emphasizing wisdom, virtue, integrity, and competence as essential traits for a good political leadership.

Madison believed that a system of enumerated powers and structural safeguards like the separation of powers and checks and balances would support the rise of public servants of good character, mitigate the impact of human flaws, and prevent the abuse of power, corruption, and the violation of fundamental rights.  Structure would check ambition.

Was Madison Right?

Madison placed his faith in a system of enumerated powers, structural safeguards, and the moral compass of public servants. Over the past two centuries, that faith has been tested—sometimes severely. We might ask: Was Madison’s confidence in constitutional design justified? Or did he underestimate the fragility of virtue and the resilience of ambition? Madison’s vision certainly invites us to reflect not only on the limits of power, but on the enduring challenge of cultivating character in those who wield it.

"Hi-Yo, Silver, Away!" - Philosophy with a Mask and a Silver Bullet

 Have you seen The Lone Ranger with Armie Hammer and Johnny Depp? I saw it when it first came out in 2013 and just watched it again—despite remembering it as not being a particularly good movie. Hammer and Depp are enjoyable, but their talents could not overcome the lackluster script or the over-the-top barrage of stunts and explosions.

So, why did I watch it again?

In my current lecture series, Pilgrims and Puritans: A Theocracy in New England, I am about to introduce John Locke (1632–1704), a philosopher of the Age of Enlightenment—and that is where The Lone Ranger comes in.

Pilgrims, Puritans, John Locke, and The Lone Ranger? Really? Anyone who has followed my lectures over the years knows my mantra: everything is related.

At the beginning of the film, John Reid—who becomes the Lone Ranger—is a lawyer and an
unwavering believer in the rule of law. Reid is animated by John Locke’s social contract theory. Locke envisioned society as a mutually binding contract between the people and their government: the people voluntarily surrender certain freedoms and delegate power to a governing entity, which in turn is obligated to protect the people’s rights and uphold social order.

Reid, like a missionary preaching in the wilderness, rides into the Wild West with a copy of Locke’s 1689 Two Treatises of Government tucked under his arm, quoting it chapter and verse as if it were scripture.

But Reid’s Lockean ideals collide with the chaos of the frontier. Disillusioned by the failure of the legal system to deliver justice, he trades his faith in institutional law for vigilantism, becoming the Lone Ranger. Some might interpret this shift as a rejection of Locke’s principles. I would argue otherwise.

Locke’s social contract theory holds that government derives its authority from the governed for the express purpose of protecting rights and maintaining order. When a government violates those rights—when it breaks the contract and becomes tyrannical—Locke insists the people have the right to protest, resist, and ultimately rebel against the government. Crucially, it is the people who decide that the contract has been broken, not the government.

The author of the American Declaration of Independence took Locke’s principle a step further. Jefferson interpreted the right to rebel as a duty to rebel: when a government engages in “a long train of abuses and usurpations,” it becomes the people’s “duty to throw off such Government.”

So yes, The Lone Ranger may be a flawed film—but buried beneath the spectacle is a surprisingly rich philosophical thread. John Reid’s journey from idealistic lawyer to masked vigilante is not a rejection of Locke’s social contract; it is a dramatization of it. When the institutions meant to uphold justice collapse into corruption, Locke does not call for passive endurance. He calls for action. Reid’s transformation is not lawlessness, but a Lockean reckoning: a citizen reclaiming the moral authority to resist tyranny and restore justice. In that sense, The Lone Ranger gallops straight out of Enlightenment philosophy and into the American mythos, reminding us that even in the dust and chaos of the frontier, ideas endure—and sometimes, they wear a mask.

Democracy by Default: When Silence Elects the President

After my last post, Truth, Justice and Wednesday Addams, a few friends reached out to challenge my claim that Americans are politically passive. They pointed to the abundance of protests, movements, online activism, and reports in what I call "news-as-entertainment" as evidence of high engagement.

But voter participation tells a different story. Unlike media coverage or social media trends, turnout at the polls is a more reliable measure of democratic engagement. A healthy democracy depends on citizens showing up—not just speaking out.

I dug into the 2024 election data from the U.S. Federal Election Commission and the Census Bureau. The numbers paint a sobering picture.

• Voter Registration: In 2024, 73.6% of eligible U.S. citizens were registered to vote. That means over a quarter of eligible voters weren’t even on the rolls.

• Voter Turnout: Of those registered, 65.3% actually voted. That’s 65.3% of 73.6%—which comes out to just 48.1% of all eligible citizens. Less than half of those who could vote did.

• Election Results: The current President received 49.8% of the popular vote. That’s 49.8% of the 48.1% who voted—meaning only 24.3% of eligible citizens cast a vote for the person now leading the country.

So yes, there’s noise. There’s protest. There’s passion. But when fewer than one in four citizens choose the President, it’s not just passivity—it’s a quiet surrender of democratic power.