Donald Trump made 30,573 false or misleading claims during his first term in office, according to calculations published by The Washington Post in 2021—an average of roughly 21 a day. That record was widely seen as unprecedented in modern US politics. Yet in his second term, Trump appears undeterred, continuing to lie to Americans and the world with relentless regularity. His disregard for truth, honesty and basic moral responsibility in public life—most recently reflected in his callous response to the fatal shooting in Minneapolis—has become not merely a character flaw, but a global danger.
Last week, Trump declared that the only constraint on his power was “my own morality, my own mind.” The statement was revealing. Trump recognises no external ethical framework, no binding legal or constitutional restraint. He is his own judge, jury and confessor—a church of one. In this closed moral universe, truth is optional, accountability is absent, and power answers only to personal impulse.
The damage caused by this worldview is not abstract. Trump lies to himself as much as he lies to others, and the consequences are pernicious. Lives are lost, democratic norms are weakened, and trust between nations erodes. While US voters have grown grimly accustomed to Trump’s chronic mendacity, foreign governments now face a far higher price for indulging it. Not challenging his falsehoods, not drawing firm lines, only emboldens behaviour that is increasingly erratic, authoritarian and destabilising.
Nowhere is this clearer than in three major international crises currently unfolding: Greenland, Venezuela and Ukraine. In each case, Trump’s distortions of reality are not incidental. They are a driving force.
Take Greenland. Trump has repeatedly claimed that Chinese and Russian warships are “all over the place” near the Arctic island, presenting this alleged threat as justification for US control or takeover. Danish officials, including foreign minister Lars Løkke Rasmussen, have openly dismissed these claims as fantasy. Greenland’s own leaders and residents, who live with the realities Trump describes from afar, call the assertions nonsense.
Denmark points out that it already spends billions of dollars annually on Greenland’s defence and development. The supposed flood of Chinese investment is another White House fabrication. Polling consistently shows that Greenlanders oppose annexation or sale to the United States. Their preference is for eventual independence—an aspiration that Americans, celebrating their own revolution against imperial rule, might be expected to respect.
Trump insists his interest is about security. In reality, his fixation is economic and imperial. Greenland’s vast reserves of rare earth minerals and strategic Arctic positioning fit neatly into Trump’s zero-sum worldview. “Make America bigger again” is the unspoken doctrine. Sovereignty, self-determination and international law are inconvenient obstacles to be brushed aside.
In Venezuela, Trump’s relationship with truth has been even more destructive. A torrent of false claims preceded last weekend’s attempted coup. Trump alleged, without credible evidence, that President Nicolás Maduro is a “narco-terrorist” cartel boss. His administration authorised lethal operations at sea that reportedly killed more than 100 people based on unsubstantiated suspicions of drug trafficking. Trump also falsely declared the United States to be “at war,” bypassing Congress and illegally usurping its constitutional authority.
The reality is more cynical. Trump has pursued a personal vendetta against Maduro since a US-backed regime change effort collapsed in 2018. He now openly admits that restoring democracy is not the primary objective. Although he has belatedly agreed to engage with opposition leader María Corina Machado, the real prize is Venezuela’s oil.
Under Trump, the United States is no longer even pretending otherwise. Sanctions, military pressure and covert operations have converged into what critics describe as a campaign of economic looting, accompanied by threats against Mexico, Cuba and Colombia. Trump claims he has a “plan” to run Venezuela indefinitely. That, too, is fiction.
With Venezuela’s armed forces intact, militias entrenched, and the Maduro regime still standing, the country is headed toward confrontation. The democratic opposition remains determined to seize power. Only a deeper and prolonged US military intervention—something Trump has openly mused about—could impose control. Such a move risks turning Venezuela into a protracted conflict zone, a Balkan-style quagmire on Washington’s doorstep.
Ukraine is the third theatre where Trump’s inability—or refusal—to distinguish truth from falsehood has inflicted profound damage. Trump famously claimed he could end the war with Russia in 24 hours. When that boast collapsed under reality, he repeatedly vowed to get tough with Vladimir Putin. Yet time and again, Putin—himself a serial liar—has humoured Trump, only to resume bombing Ukrainian cities.
Each time, Trump backs down, often redirecting blame toward Ukraine’s president, Volodymyr Zelenskyy. This duplicity undermines allied efforts to sustain Kyiv’s defence. One day Trump basks in praise from Nato leaders; secretary-general Mark Rutte reportedly dubbed him “Daddy.” The next, Trump mocks the alliance and warns Europe of “civilisational erasure.”
Last week, Trump claimed Nato would not assist the United States in a crisis. This is demonstrably false. Nato invoked Article 5 after the September 11 attacks, supporting the US during two decades of war in Afghanistan. Facts, however, have little staying power in Trump’s narrative universe.
The three crises share more than Trump’s dishonesty. They also expose the alarming weakness and fragmentation of Europe’s political leadership. The EU has struggled to respond decisively, and national governments remain divided and hesitant. The conclusion is unavoidable: Europe cannot trust or rely on this US president.
In this context, Brexit no longer appears merely misguided. It looks dangerously self-harming, leaving Britain isolated at precisely the moment when collective European strength is most needed.
Across Greenland, Venezuela and Ukraine, there is a consistent pattern: contempt for international law, disregard for sovereignty, and the steady dismantling of the UN-backed rules-based order in favour of neo-imperial spheres of influence. Democratic rights are trampled in the process. The US has presumptuously ruled out elections in Venezuela. Russia is attempting to obliterate Ukraine’s democracy. Greenlanders insist their future is theirs alone to decide. Few in power seem inclined to listen.
Many of these trends predate Trump. But his return to office in 2025 has acted as both catalyst and accelerant. His behaviour is destabilising, lawless and chaotic—but above all, it is morally corrosive. His turpitude poisons public discourse, legitimises cruelty and erodes the ethical foundations of international relations.
Trumpism is not merely a political movement. It is a contagion. Its latest victims are in Minneapolis and Portland. In truth, they are everywhere.
To adapt Mark Twain: there are three kinds of lies—lies, damned lies, and Donald Trump. Americans, and their too-diffident allies in Britain and Europe, must find the courage to speak truth to power. History offers a warning. Like the much-reviled George III before him, an unrestrained leader convinced of his own infallibility may yet do something truly catastrophic.
