At the end of World War II, Europe and Japan lay in ruins, while the United States emerged as the global hegemon—economically and militarily. With a GDP accounting for half the world’s total, a rapidly expanding industrial base, and the status of a net foreign creditor, the U.S. consolidated its dominant position.

George Kennan, one of the architects of postwar U.S. foreign policy, wrote in 1948: “We have about 50% of the world’s wealth but only 6.3% of its population… Our real task is to maintain this position of disparity.” Behind the rhetoric of “democracy,” “human rights,” and “national security,” the enduring priority of U.S. foreign policy has been the preservation of hegemony and economic privilege.

It was within this context that the promise of prosperity, security, and social mobility—commonly known as the “American Dream”—took shape in the U.S. and other Western nations. During the “glorious thirty” years (1945–1975), industrial growth delivered stable employment, rising wages, and a robust welfare state that ensured healthcare, education, and social protection. Yet today, that dream survives only in cinematic portrayals. Since the late 1980s, the transition from a productive to a finance-dominated economy has replaced the American Dream with a meritocratic ideology that justifies rising inequality through a kind of “social Darwinism”: a few winners, many losers.

In this scenario, “meritocracy” operates more as ideology than reality. It takes hold precisely when the original American Dream—based on hard work and opportunity—becomes unreachable: when wages stagnate, protections vanish, and work loses dignity. This marks the end of industrial capitalism and the rise of a post-global economy that concentrates wealth and hollows out the promise of mobility.

In the U.S. today, the wealthiest 1% holds nearly one-quarter of national income (up from 9% in 1976) and owns half of all stocks, bonds, and mutual funds. Meanwhile, the bottom 50% holds a mere 0.5% of these assets. They don’t invest—they survive.

A typical CEO now earns 380 times the salary of the average worker. The 19 richest families control $2.6 trillion—nearly as much as the poorer half of the U.S. population—and in 2024 alone, their wealth grew by more than the entire GDP of Switzerland. This explosive growth in billionaire wealth is deeply tied to the monopolistic power of large corporations. Economic power and the related rents enable a small elite to accumulate vast fortunes, exacerbating inequality and increasingly shaping political outcomes.

Trump is not the cause but the product of this imbalance—the political expression of a country deeply divided between the financial elites of Wall Street, the tech oligarchs of Silicon Valley, and a deindustrialized, impoverished heartland. The protectionist tariffs his administration imposed, particularly against China, failed to reverse the U.S.’s industrial decline. The American economy now depends on importing advanced technologies from China while exporting primary goods like gas and grain, which are easily replaceable on global markets.

Even recent efforts to initiate a peace process in Ukraine reflect a strategic awareness: the U.S. no longer has the economic or industrial capacity to sustain a prolonged war in Europe, especially while continuing to offer unconditional support to Israel and maintaining a commercial standoff with China.

But the most intransigent enemy is not external—it is the economic elite itself. Having thrived in recent decades, these elites continue to exert a decisive influence on the political, economic, and media agenda. Today, they hold Europe hostage, blocking any meaningful peace initiatives in Ukraine, strategic engagement with China, or redistributive reforms within individual states. They appear unwilling—or unable—to reckon with a rapidly transforming global order.

(Published by Il Fatto Quotidiano)