Played Like a Brexit Violin: Trump Was the Mark, Not the Mastermind.

Trump’s new “U.S.–U.K. trade deal” is less a diplomatic win than a staged cleanup of his own economic arson. Here’s what really happened—beyond the headlines.

As I woke up this morning—huzzah—a trade deal.

Of course, it comes with the usual trumpet blast: “Big stuff” will be announced in the gilded Oval at 10 a.m. Eastern.

Oh joy, I think to myself.

So I start chasing down the details of this supposed “deal” with the United Kingdom. What did we, the American people, get? Let’s not forget what we were promised: riches beyond the dreams of avarice.

We were gonna be so rich. Remember?

So… what did we get?

Basically, nothing we weren’t already on track to receive through the WTO or standard diplomatic channels. The U.K. was moving in that direction anyway.

Trump burned down the courthouse to avoid paying a parking ticket that was likely to be dismissed—then stood on the ashes and yelled, “Victory!”

Great job, imbecile.

Let’s get into the details—and what this charade means for the rest of us.

(Note: This will be a shorter post than my normal ones, because this is an evolving and fluid topic. This subject is “more than a note,” so I made it a post instead.)

The Deal (Allegedly)

According to the announcement, this “comprehensive” U.S.–U.K. trade deal lifts tariffs on select British exports—most notably steel, cars, and some agricultural goods. In return, the U.K. will dial back its digital services tax on American tech giants.

Comprehensive. 3 for 1. Yeah, totally comprehensive. What’s missing is that U.S. agricultural products are still closed off to the United Kingdom. With good reason from the British perspective, they think our food is garbage, and they won’t budge on it. So, Mr. “I’m so great at negotiating, I’m going to make them do whatever I say,” completely screwed the pooch on that one. That was by far the biggest market for the United States.

Screwed—

The—

Pooch.

Broligarchs get a tax cut in exchange for a reduction on targeted tariffs of UK imports. That’s the “comprehensive” deal we got.

That’s the headline.

On paper, it might sound like progress. Tariffs come down, broligarchs breathe easier, and the White House gets to slap a fresh coat of “dealmaker” paint on the orange clown—defined more by economic firebombing and gold leaf than actual results.

Everyone wins, right? Especially Broligarchs, which, as we all know, is indeed the most important thing here (eye roll).

Except here’s the thing: nearly all of these so-called “wins” were already in motion—and if anything, were put at risk by Trump’s self-proclaimed “day of liberation.” The U.K. was already facing pressure from the OECD and its own business sector to soften the digital tax. And those tariffs? They were Trump’s own April handiwork, imposed on allies under bogus national security pretenses. In other words: the classic Trump flip-flop.

This isn’t a breakthrough. It’s a carefully timed photo op.

It’s not a reset. It’s a reversal.

Calling it a “deal” is like hurling a brick through your neighbor’s window, then offering to split the cost of the repairs.

It’s classic Trumpian nonsense, plain and simple.

Look, Ma—I saved the cat I threw into the tree!

Coddling the Toddler

Again, let’s be clear: the U.K. didn’t cave to Trump.

They gave him what they were already planning to give. The digital services tax rollback? Already in motion under OECD pressure. Agricultural access tweaks? Already part of quiet bilateral feelers. Even the tariff reversals simply erased the tripwires Trump had planted himself.

But the U.K. went along with the charade.

Why? Because in a post-Brexit world, optics matter almost as much as policy. Britain needs to show momentum—any momentum—to markets, media, and its own citizens. So they smiled, nodded, and treated the toddler like he was making grown-up decisions.

They coddled him.

Let him bang on the pots, call it music, and take credit for dinner.

Again, why? Because the alternative is being labeled uncooperative, ungrateful, or worse—irrelevant. The cost of refusing the show is higher than the cost of playing along.

So what looks like a concession is really just managing the tantrum.

The U.K. didn’t fold.

They gamed the game. This is “the game,” now with the U.S.

They understand it’s not a trade deal. It’s a media asset.

And when your economy is drifting and your global footing uncertain, sometimes survival means keeping the toddler from burning down the nursery again.

After all, as the British National Anthem describes it:

"Confound their politics, frustrate their knavish tricks..."

Seems like that’s precisely what they tried to do. They definitely know how, they’ve been doing it for like 400 years.

Some of you readers asked me why Carney came to the U.S.? Why countries are putting up with Trump? Why the charade?

Because, this is the game now. It’s not substantive, it’s performance.

Burning Down the System

Enter this point in our story, the Talking Heads, and the song “Burning Down the House.”

Here’s the real cost of this charade: not in the terms of the deal, but in what had to be torched to get it.

Trump didn’t just negotiate badly. He deliberately sabotaged the postwar trade architecture that the U.S. helped build, undermining the World Trade Organization, alienating allies, and weaponizing tariffs as tools of personal theater. All to create the illusion of a standoff so that he could choreograph his own resolution.

By invoking national security to slap tariffs on British steel and German cars, Trump did more than pick a fight—he nuked the principle that trade disputes should be handled through neutral, rules-based systems.

He made every economic disagreement a loyalty test.

The result? The WTO’s dispute resolution mechanism is now crippled.

The appellate body—once the crown jewel of global trade law—was defunded and blocked by Trump’s administration. While Biden made half-hearted gestures toward restoring it, the damage is done. Global trust in American leadership on trade has fractured. It’s doubtful that it can be restored even after Trump is gone (regardless of whether there’s ever an election again, if you’re inclined to believe such things.)

Meanwhile, the U.K.—desperate for post-Brexit trade wins—played along. Not because it trusted the U.S. system but because it no longer expected any system. And that’s the quiet shift: We're no longer in a rules-based order. We're in a vibes-based order.

And the vibes? They’re increasingly authoritarian, transactional, and unstable.

This wasn’t a trade negotiation. It was a hostage situation.

And the U.S. lit the fuse.

The Cost of Chaos

The damage here isn’t just diplomatic—it’s economic, structural, and enduring.

Multilateral trade systems exist for a reason: predictability. Investors, corporations, and governments need to know the rules won’t change at the whim of a mood-swinging demagogue. When the U.S. treats international agreements like reality show plot twists, the long-term cost isn’t just bruised egos in Brussels—it’s capital flight, reshoring hesitancy, and a global pivot toward China as the more stable trading partner.

Let that sink in: the Communist Party of China now looks more dependable than the United States in certain boardrooms.

One of you, readers, posted in response to one of my notes last night to argue that the Russian government was “the adult in the room” when it came to stabilizing the Indo-Pak conflict.

(faints)

So that’s where we are now.

Relying on China. Russia. North Korea. For leadership.

Trump’s “deal” with the U.K. didn’t reassure markets—it reminded them that nothing negotiated with the U.S. is permanent. That’s why the EU is pouring billions into “strategic autonomy,” India is hedging its bets, and even traditional allies like Japan are scaling up domestic resilience.

No one’s betting on the U.S. as a reliable anchor anymore. They’re betting on surviving without it.

And what did we get in exchange for all that credibility?

A slightly cheaper Jaguar.

A tax break for Google.

That’s not a win.

That’s a clearance sale on American legitimacy.

What Does It Mean? What Do We Do Now?

What does it mean?

It means we no longer live in a system governed by norms, institutions, or predictability. We’re living in a managed spectacle—a regime of image over outcome, where deals are made not to solve problems but to perform solutions to problems someone else deliberately created. That’s not policy. That’s propaganda with tariffs.

This deal tells us that even our most basic economic relationships are now part of the theater—and the audience is global. Allies aren’t reassured; they’re re-evaluating. Adversaries aren’t deterred; they’re adapting. And everyone is learning that the U.S. is a country that can’t commit to anything except the next press release.

The net effect? Every nation is building lifeboats. Strategic autonomy in Europe. Belt-and-Road hedging in Africa. Currency diversification in the Gulf. No one’s waiting around for the next four-year cycle of American whiplash.

And here at home? We’re still told it’s winning.

What do we do now?

If you’re in government, business, or civil society: start acting like the institutions won’t hold. Build redundancies. Make your moves global. Stop assuming tomorrow will look like yesterday just because the flag still hangs on the wall.

If you’re part of the growing class of disillusioned citizens—those of you reading this from a coffee shop in Lisbon, a VPN in Singapore, or your living room in Cincinnati—don’t get caught staring at the fire. Start moving your assets, your options, your plans into systems that aren’t actively being dismantled in real time.

Because what this moment reveals is that the collapse isn’t coming—it’s here.

It’s just not televised like you thought.

It’s disguised as “deals,” as “wins,” as “normal.”

But normal is gone. And if you want to survive what replaces it, you’ll need to start playing a different game.

The Fire Was the Point

Trump didn’t put the fire out.

He lit it, filmed it, blamed someone else for it, and then held a press conference in the ashes claiming victory.

That’s not diplomacy. That’s arson as governance.

And the scariest part? It works—because the audience is too exhausted to care, too disoriented to remember what the house used to look like.

We’re not just watching fires now.

We’re learning to live in the smoke.

Because in this America, the fire isn’t an emergency.

It’s the system working exactly as designed.

Maybe the real danger isn’t that the fire spreads—
It’s that we stop noticing the heat.

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