By Kenneth Tiven
In just under 11 weeks, on November 3, American voters will elect a new Congress—and, in doing so, pass their judgment on Donald Trump’s management of the nation at home and abroad.
The polling and primary-election results so far point to an increasingly unsettled country, one in which Republican congressional majorities could be vulnerable. A Democratic takeover of both the House and Senate would transform the political landscape and put impeachment and aggressive congressional investigations at the centre of the opening months of 2027. The roughly three months between the election and the convening of the new Congress could be particularly volatile, with potentially serious consequences beyond America’s borders.
The larger question is whether the Trump administration has a coherent approach to international relations—or whether foreign policy is being driven by improvisation, personal loyalties and the political demands of the moment.
The decision to launch and then prosecute the war against Iran has sharpened that question. Trump has insisted that his Iran policy has nothing to do with the mid-terms. Yet, the war has already produced higher fuel prices and mounting political pressure as the elections approach. On August 17, Trump demanded that Iran effectively surrender and threatened Oman with military action if it interfered with American objectives concerning the Strait of Hormuz. Oman, a longstanding US partner, has been involved in diplomatic efforts surrounding the conflict.
The danger is not simply that a war may become unpopular. It is that an administration appears to be improvising its objectives while the consequences spread across regions and alliances.
Trump’s approach to South Korea is a striking example. For 75 years, Washington has regarded the US-South Korean alliance as a cornerstone of the security architecture in East Asia. Yet, Trump has now ordered a substantial reduction in joint military exercises with Seoul, citing their cost, South Korea’s refusal to support US efforts regarding Iran, and his “very good relationship” with North Korean leader Kim Jong Un.
The annual Ulchi Freedom Shield exercises were subsequently shortened and scaled back. The drills, originally scheduled for 11 days, were reduced to five days, with some live-training activities cancelled or converted into simulations. North Korea responded by firing about 10 short-range ballistic missiles.
Trump’s explanation—that Kim has been “unthreatening and respectful” and that South Korea declined to join the US effort against Iran—has turned an alliance relationship into something resembling a personal transaction. His repeated emphasis on his relationship with Kim is difficult to separate from the broader pattern of a president who places extraordinary weight on personal loyalty and personal regard.
The timing is particularly uncomfortable. North Korea has deepened its military relationship with Russia, already sending forces to support Moscow. Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy has claimed that as many as 50,000 additional North Korean troops could be deployed to Russia, although that figure remains an allegation rather than an independently established fact.
That development comes as Trump is attempting to revive his personal diplomacy with Kim. Pyongyang, however, appears in no hurry. The message from North Korea is that personal chemistry alone will not overcome its strategic demands.
The domestic contrast is equally striking.
Millions of Americans are struggling with household expenses while communities fight the construction of enormous data centres and the infrastructure demands associated with the artificial-intelligence boom. Yet, Trump recently devoted a substantial amount of presidential attention to displaying his remodelling of the White House grounds.
He led reporters on a tour of a newly rebuilt granite driveway, landscaping improvements and a new South Lawn helipad. A granite marker bearing his name was placed at the centre of the helipad. The White House makeover also forms part of a much larger programme of physical changes, including the proposed 90,000-square-foot ballroom.
The spectacle evoked, at times, a lost episode of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.
Democratic Senator John Ossoff of Georgia has portrayed Trump as a real-estate developer more interested in construction, golf and flying around in his new aircraft than in the hard work of governing. Whether one accepts that characterisation or not, the symbolism is difficult to miss: at a time of economic anxiety, the president is visibly preoccupied with grandeur.
The political danger for Republicans is that voters do not experience the economy through stock-market indices alone. The markets may be buoyed by enormous investment in AI, but stock ownership remains heavily concentrated. The wealthiest one percent of American households control roughly 31.7 percent of household net worth. For millions outside that narrow financial universe, the more immediate questions are the price of food, gasoline, housing and whether wages are keeping pace.
That disconnect could matter enormously in November. Pew Research Center’s July survey found the economy remained the leading issue among voters approaching the mid-terms, while Trump’s approval and disapproval ratings were sharply divided. Among voters who strongly disapproved of Trump, Democrats held a substantial advantage in congressional preference.
There is another constituency whose patience matters: America’s military families.
The USS Abraham Lincoln, carrying roughly 5,000 sailors, has been deployed for an extraordinary period in support of US operations connected to the Iran conflict. The carrier’s deployment stretched beyond 250 days before the USS George Washington arrived to relieve it. Reports from families described shortages and deteriorating living conditions, including food problems, broken toilets, mould, water concerns and difficulties with mail and care packages.
Trump’s response was dismissive. Asked whether the deployment had gone on too long, he said it was “not nearly long enough.”
That response risks missing something fundamental about American patriotism. Most Americans, whatever their political affiliation, remain deeply supportive of their military. But supporting the troops is not synonymous with accepting indifference to their welfare.
Iran, meanwhile, has demonstrated an understanding of psychological warfare. Reports that Tehran has offered bounties for captured American soldiers are designed not merely to reward individuals, but to create anxiety among service members and their families. At a moment when sailors are already enduring extraordinary deployments, such propaganda can become a weapon in itself.
And then there is Canada.
Trump has turned his attention to America’s closest ally and largest trading relationships, imposing additional 50 percent tariffs on specified Canadian goods under Section 338 of the Tariff Act of 1930. The White House says the measure is intended to counter what it calls discriminatory Canadian trade practices.
Canada has resisted being bullied into a settlement. Prime Minister Mark Carney’s government has emphasised that progress in negotiations is not the same thing as a completed trade agreement. As of this week, Washington and Ottawa were still negotiating, with the United States threatening to impose or maintain significant tariffs while Canada sought a broader settlement.
The deeper issue goes beyond tariffs. America and Canada share a roughly 9,000-kilometre border and an extraordinarily integrated economy. The relationship has been built over generations. To treat it primarily as a series of transactions in which one side must demonstrate submission risks damaging something much more valuable than a single trade concession.
The critical-minerals issue illustrates why.
Washington and American industry are increasingly anxious about China’s dominance of global critical-mineral supply chains. Lithium, nickel, cobalt, graphite, copper, rare earths and uranium are essential to batteries, semi-conductors, defence systems and the infrastructure supporting artificial intelligence.
The American response is, therefore, understandable strategically: secure reliable supplies and reduce dependence on China.
But there is a difference between building a strategic partnership and extracting concessions through economic pressure. The former creates durable alliances; the latter creates resentment.
The emerging Trump strategy increasingly resembles a politics in which conflict itself becomes the commodity.
Every confrontation creates a news cycle. Every threatened deadline creates suspense. Every pause can be presented as a victory. Every concession can be marketed as proof that the president’s pressure worked.
That may be politically effective in the short term. But it is not necessarily a strategy for governing a complex republic or managing alliances that have taken generations to construct.
The mid-terms will, therefore, be about more than Republican and Democratic control of Congress. They will be a referendum on a governing philosophy.
Trump has always understood politics as a contest of dominance. His opponents are expected to yield. Allies are expected to pay. Foreign leaders are judged partly by how respectfully they treat him. Institutions that resist him are treated as obstacles. And the spectacle of power is often presented as evidence of power itself.
But American voters may be asking a different question: What does all this conflict actually produce?
A stronger economy? More secure alliances? Lower prices? Better prepared armed forces? Greater international stability?
Or simply more disruption?
The answer will begin to emerge on November 3.
And if Democrats capture both chambers, the first test will come almost immediately. Trump has already demonstrated how intensely he resists losing political power. The transition between an election that changes congressional control and the swearing-in of the new Congress could, therefore, be one of the most consequential—and volatile—periods of his presidency.
America has been here before: a president convinced that personal power is the same thing as political legitimacy. Trump’s reaction to his defeat in 2020 culminated in the January 6 attack on the constitutional transfer of power. Any suggestion that a future defeat would be met similarly would be speculation. But the memory of 2020 ensures that the possibility of a turbulent transition cannot simply be ignored.
The question facing America is no longer merely whether Trump can dominate the political conversation. It is whether the country still wants to be governed through perpetual confrontation.
—The writer has worked in senior positions at The Washington Post,
NBC, ABC and CNN and also consults for several Indian channels
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