Republicans Fall Silent as Trump’s Rhetoric Pushes the Limits of Global Order

There are moments in a democracy when the danger is not hidden in shadows but broadcast in plain sight. The United States may now be living through one of them.

In recent weeks, President Donald Trump has repeatedly suggested that international law, long-standing alliances, and even the sovereignty of allied nations are negotiable—subject not to treaties or Congress, but to his own judgment. As his rhetoric has escalated, particularly regarding Greenland and America’s role in NATO, one response has stood out just as clearly: the silence of congressional Republicans.

In a series of interviews and public remarks, Trump has framed global power as an extension of personal authority. Asked what might restrain him on the world stage, he offered a striking answer: “My own morality, my own mind. It’s the only thing that can stop me.” For critics, the comment captured a worldview unmoored from institutional checks or international norms.

That worldview has been most vividly expressed in Trump’s renewed fixation on Greenland, an autonomous territory of Denmark and a member of the NATO alliance. Trump has argued that U.S. “ownership” of the island is not only desirable but psychologically necessary for success, dismissing treaties and long-standing agreements as inferior to outright control.

Denmark and Greenland’s leaders have been unequivocal in their response: Greenland is not for sale, and its people do not want to be American. European allies have warned that such rhetoric undermines international law and threatens alliance cohesion. Yet the White House has continued to float the idea, with senior aides suggesting that U.S. dominance makes resistance futile.

Historically, NATO has never seen one member threaten another’s territory. The alliance was built after World War II to deter aggression, not enable it. Trump’s comments—suggesting force could not be ruled out—have alarmed diplomats who fear that even rhetorical flirtation with territorial seizure could weaken deterrence and embolden adversaries.

Despite the stakes, Republican leadership in Congress has largely avoided confrontation. Speaker Mike Johnson and Senate Majority Leader John Thune have downplayed Trump’s remarks, characterizing them as speculative or unserious. When pressed by reporters, several Republican lawmakers professed ignorance, uncertainty, or memory lapses about what the president or his cabinet had actually said.

A handful of Republicans have spoken out. Senator Mitch McConnell, nearing the end of his tenure, warned that talk of annexing Greenland would be “strategic self-harm.” Senators Lisa Murkowski and Rand Paul have expressed skepticism about the legality and wisdom of such ideas. But these voices remain the exception, not the rule.

For most Republicans, the response has been careful hedging rather than firm repudiation. Political analysts say the calculation is straightforward: defying Trump still carries electoral risk. Loyalty to the former—and current—party leader remains closely tied to survival in Republican primaries, where the MAGA base wields outsized influence.

Yet the Constitution assigns Congress a central role precisely to prevent this kind of executive overreach. Article I grants lawmakers the authority to declare war, regulate the military, and serve as a check on unilateral presidential action. If a president threatens force against an ally, it is Congress—not the courts or foreign governments—that is empowered to intervene.

So far, that authority has gone largely unused. Trump’s broader record reinforces the concern. Past actions involving military force, covert operations, and foreign interventions were often carried out without explicit congressional authorization or debate. Critics argue that each instance has further normalized executive dominance at the expense of legislative oversight.

The consequences extend beyond domestic politics. European officials worry that ambiguity from Congress signals weakness, making U.S. commitments appear conditional and personal rather than institutional. Alliances depend not only on military power but on credibility—the belief that treaties will be honored regardless of who occupies the White House.

As midterm elections approach, the silence carries political risk as well. Republican strategists privately acknowledge that Trump’s rhetoric could alienate moderates and independents uneasy with imperial language and constitutional shortcuts. At the same time, failing to challenge him may further entrench the perception that Congress has surrendered its co-equal status.

History offers little comfort to legislatures that defer too long. Democracies rarely collapse in a single moment; they erode as institutions decline to use the powers they possess. The question now facing Republicans is not whether they agree with Trump’s worldview, but whether they are willing to assert the authority the Constitution already gives them.

In the end, silence is not neutrality. It is a choice—one that history is unlikely to judge gently.