Why everyone should be a student of American studies
The US president Donald Trump’s domestic and foreign policy has surprised much of the world, particularly US allies. It breaks with expectations about how the US has traditionally behaved.
This is mainly due to Trump’s speed and bluntness of decisions, his breaks with longstanding norms and his unpredictable style. But the capture of Venezuelan president, Nicolás Maduro, and the mounting tension over America’s threatened occupation of Greenland are not isolated events. Neither is the government’s stance over immigration policy and citizenship. They’re rooted in longstanding struggles for power, justice and equality.
This is what makes the academic subject of American studies – in decline in UK universities – so relevant. American studies examines the nation’s history, literature, politics and social movements. By doing so, it helps contextualise current conflicts. Political polarisation, racial tensions, culture wars and debates over identity are placed within a broader historical framework.
During Trump’s presidencies, the US has projected a more muscular, transactional approach to global affairs. At the same time, it has also reconfigured its own traditional ideals. This shift has affected everything from security and trade to climate and technology.
Expanding our understanding of how American society, culture and politics works helps us anticipate instability. This could be through formal education like an American studies course or through building our own knowledge.
The American experiment
America has long understood itself as an “experiment” rather than a finished nation. It’s a political project constantly being tested, revised and debated. This idea is embodied in the US Constitution. It was designed not as a fixed blueprint but as a living framework, capable of change through amendments.
American history is rife with examples of how democracy has been an ongoing (and flawed) project, not a completed one. The nation’s history is marked by struggles over who gets to participate in the democratic process. This includes the exclusion of women, the LGBTQ+ community, African Americans and Native Americans, and the fight for voting rights and civil liberties. Understanding this history can help contextualise the current political landscape. It reminds us that the issues we face today are not entirely new.
American studies can’t fully explain the present without grounding students in the Constitution’s foundational architecture. This includes the separation of powers into equal branches, the system of checks and balances, and the assumption that no single person or institution should dominate the republic.
These principles have been challenged before. During the Civil War, the survival of constitutional democracy itself was at stake. During the McCarthy era – a period of persecution of people with left-wing views in the 1940s and 50s, led by US senator Joseph McCarthy – fear eroded civil liberties. Understanding what is occurring during the Trump administration therefore requires situating him not as an anomaly outside the system, but as a stress test within the American experiment. This stress reveals both the vulnerabilities and the resilience of the constitutional order.
Past and present
Trump’s recent capture of Maduro follows months of military campaigning and years of strained relationships. The possibility of a US-led invasion of Venezuela stems back to 2017, when Venezuela slid towards political unrest. The erosion of democracy, accusations of human rights violations and economic collapse led to humanitarian crises.
The US has a long history of interventions, peace operations and force-backed diplomacy that long predates this event, such as in Cuba (1961), the Dominican Republic (1965), Grenada (1983) and Panama (1989). These examples all fit into a long tradition of US intervention rooted in the Monroe Doctrine (1823) and later expanded by the Roosevelt Corollary (1904). Together, these doctrines supplied the ideological and legal justification for US involvement in Latin America.
Read more: The ‘Donroe doctrine': Maduro is the guinea pig for Donald Trump’s new world order
The mounting tension over America’s heavy strategic interest in Greenland echoes cold war anxieties. It is reminiscent of the great-power rivalry, strategic geography and militarisation that defined that era.
More significantly for global relations and stability, it potentially jeopardises the future of Nato. As The US is one of Nato’s principal architects, guarantors, and its military backbone, this is alarming. America’s historical association with the alliance has been defensive and leadership-driven.
The recent killing of Renee Good by a US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agent in Minneapolis has refocused the debate over America’s immigration enforcement. The expansion in power and visibility of ICE fits into a long history of questioning “What is an American?”. It’s been a topic of debate since the 18th century.
Debates over immigration reflect deeper questions about national identity. The US vice-president, J.D. Vance, questioned New York City’s then-mayoral candidate Zohran Mamdani’s American citizenship. He linked American identity to the American civil war. This raised a highly problematic – if not shocking – interpretation of “Americanness”.
By looking back at these historical moments, we can better understand the root causes of contemporary problems. In short, understanding America’s past is a vital tool for understanding and navigating the global present.
Sarah Trott does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.