Trump doesn’t really care about a united Ireland – he’s terrified by the midterms

If the main aim of Donald Trump’s visit to Ireland was to get an unpredictable transatlantic guest in and out with minimum breakage of the diplomatic crockery, one clattering mishap occurred along the way. The US President blundered into the hypersensitive matter of Northern Ireland’s relations with the Republic, with an off-the-cuff proposal that a united Ireland would be “a cool thing” and “a great feather in everyone’s cap”. What he affably termed in later comments a “nice answer” to a bloodsoaked, century-old question was a discombobulating one for hardcore nationalists, rarely aligned with the rest of the Trump agenda. It also reflects a broader conundrum for European politicians who suddenly find the great Shrek of transatlantic relations on their side – is it an endorsement or an inconvenience? Given that the Good Friday Agreement nailed down the need for majority support across Northern Ireland and the Republic for any poll on unity, and that the terms would need to be clearly spelled out, the President’s comments were more of a musing than reliable prediction. As things stand, pro-unification sentiment in the North lags a clear 10 percentage points or so behind advocates of a united Ireland – and “don’t knows” might well be swayed by practical factors. Northern Ireland citizens would lose prized access to the NHS and also forfeit subsidies which compensate for a large spending deficit. The Republic is in the Eurozone, which means that it is even more exposed to Trump-era tariffs than the North – and pharmaceuticals, one of its leading industries, is currently under a 15 per cent tariff deal, whereas the UK has a hard-fought three-year deal of zero levies. Costs and uncertainties would therefore be as important as big questions of ideology. And even in the Republic, where support for a one-country status is much stronger than in the North, the more cautiously nationalist Fianna Fáil party keeps a “firewall” against any linkage to left-nationalist Sinn Féin, with its history in the North of IRA alignment. There was however another reason Trump intervened – one which has little to do with beliefs. And the audience for his declarations on what European countries should and should not do often lies a lot closer to home. Right now he faces midterm elections, where chances are growing that he will lose the House of Representatives – or more dramatically the House and the Senate – to Democrats. He has to contend with disillusionment over his economic performance and concerns about inflationary pressure on fuel and groceries triggered by the Iran crisis, and voters who fret that the US economy’s “Trump bump” is receding. Unlike Joe Biden, who made little secret of his fondness for the Republic and played sedulously on a nostalgic strain of Irish-American life, Trump has not previously made much emotional connection to Irish-descended voters, many of whom in the blue-collar demographics traditionally lean towards the Democrats. Nonetheless, many midterm races will come down to independent or swing voters, and a tranche of these with Irish roots are a target. Blue-collar Irish voters in major cities such as Chicago have moved rightwards, often as a response to immigration and a decline in traditional Irish-dominated neighbourhoods. Republican movements like “Chicago Flips Red” have challenged the dominance of declining trade union and Catholic church ties. For decades the Democrats had high-profile leaders with Irish roots – the Kennedy dynasty, Biden and Tipp O’Neill, Ronald Reagan’s entertaining arch foe as House speaker – whose fame exceeded individual states. Now that has waned, leaving a mixed picture voter loyalty, and Trump’s visit to Ireland visit puts him back on their news radar. In essence, his pronouncements on European nations are invariably less about those countries and more about what it means back home. The edicts for European leaders to spend more on defence can be window-dressed as a sobering reality check for their cavalier approach to attending to their own security, but the driver is always to reduce US expenditure and exposure to risk and responsibility. Another example was the dispatching of CIA chief John Ratcliffe, a close Trump ally, to Moscow to take soundings on the chance of Russia-Ukraine peace talks before the midterm vote in November. When that did not meet with progress in Moscow, the matter was swiftly dropped. Self-interest is not unusual in the US political cycle, where good news is sought to add to campaign artillery at home. Trump needs to resolve the standoff in the Straits of Hormuz, arising from a war with Iran that he started but can not readily conclude. Right now, Tehran is suffering major damage owing to a heavily-sanctioned economy – but it has one big advantage over America in that it does not hold the kind of elections that can punish leaders for their misjudgements. Yet Trump can also show tactical restraint – notably so when he took a shoulder-shrugging view of the UK intensifying sanctions on Israel over the West Bank settlements last week, possibly because the administration is itself in a chilly mood with Benjamin Netanyahu over the Iran quagmire. And while many Trump acolytes, including his Vice President JD Vance and tech supremo Elon Musk, have been vocally supportive of the ultra-nationalist AfD party surging in eastern Germany, the US President has restrained himself to reposting election results which embarrass Chancellor Friedrich Merz, rather than giving an endorsement. The message may have arrived in the West Wing that the AfD has its roots in virulent anti-Americanism, reluctance to spend money on Nato, and too close to Putin even for Trump’s comfort. In other words, the world according to Donald Trump is a kaleidoscope of varying and often paradoxical interests, instincts and opportunisms. The one constant is that Making America Great Again is about what Americans think. Anything else matters far less – at least until after the next election campaign is over. Anne McElvoy is executive editor at Politico and co-host of the Politics at Sam and Anne’s podcast