Grand Strategy
by General Douglas MacArthur

As the most erudite warrior in the history of my country, and probably the world, I cannot imagine how a dunce like Donald Trump became president of the United States, but I was almost as flabbergasted when my former secretary, Dwight Eisenhower, moved into the White House. I told Ike that he could become perhaps the greatest man since Jesus Christ if he responded to my strategic insights. He instead dismissed me with a curt “God bless you.”

Praying that Trump would listen to a man of vastly superior intellect, I called him at the White House but his flunkies dismissed me as a crank and hung up, so I put on my finest bemedalled uniform and rode in a chauffeured limousine to a ghastly structure that looked as if it was recently bombed by our enemies. At the rear gate I examined two uniformed guards and announced, “General Douglas MacArthur to see President Trump.”

One man said, “Never heard of you, and I know you don’t have an appointment.”

I resolved to court-martial that ninny, and turned to the other guard. “Sir, I was the Supreme Commander, Southwest Pacific Area during World War II and the undisputed leader of post-war Japan serving under the title Supreme Commander for the Allied Powers.”

“You look like MacArthur,” the young man said. “Let me call the brass inside.”

He stepped away and placed a wireless call and talked excitedly to several people until at last he turned to me and said, “President Trump is a fan of you, I mean of the character you’re imitating, and is willing to meet you for a few minutes.”

I saluted, and the guard said, “We’ll call the beast to take you up there. You’ll have to be searched, of course, but don’t worry. Our electronic detection devices preclude your having to be strip searched.”

“I should hope so.”

When the beast arrived, I calmly stated, “That vehicle is almost as formidable as a tank.”

The guard smiled and opened a rear door for me. In two minutes, during which I dreamed of the great days of President Franklin Roosevelt, I entered the White House proper and stepped through detection devices and underwent a perfunctory pat down and soon was ushered into the Oval Office by two secret service agents who stood at attention behind me, one on each side of the door. President Trump at once rose from his chair behind the desk and stepped around it to shake my hand.

“Amazing,” he said. “You’re playing MacArthur in a movie, right? You’re perfect for the part, just like George C. Scott in Patton. Great picture. Did you see it?”

“No, Mr. President, I didn’t, but I remember the actor George C. Scott and his authoritative voice, and am duty bound to tell you that the real Patton had a comically high voice that many of his troops derided.”

“Bet they didn’t get smartass in front of ole Blood and Guts,” he said.

“Probably not, sir. I have stepped forth today to offer you my strategic insights and to tell you that you’re the most remarkable president we’ve had since the second Roosevelt.”

Trump frowned before saying, “I think I’m the best since Abe Lincoln, and I win the tie since I’m so much better looking.”

“You’re indeed a dashing man.”

“I’ve heard your ‘Old Soldier’ speech. Your voice could be MacArthur’s.”

“I’ve had this remarkable instrument of oratory since adolescence, Mr. President. May we please sit down so I can present my worldview.”

“Okay, but only briefly. By the way, what’s your real name?”

“Douglas MacArthur, sir.”

Trump rolled his eyes at two fatuous aides I recognized and said, “Don’t worry, General MacArthur, they’ll keep our secrets. I suppose you and all generals are thrilled by my blitzkrieg of Venezuela.”

“That was a superb assault, Mr. President, but it is only the beginning.”

“If the Venezuelans don’t obey my orders, I’ll strike them again.”

I stiffened and said, “Striking them hundreds of times won’t be enough. If you’re going to control a meaningful part of the country, you’ll have to deploy troops.”

“I don’t want any Vietnam quagmires,” he said.

“You can either occupy them or let them continue behaving as they have. That brings us to Cuba. I’m sure you don’t want any Bay of Pigs fiascos that would inevitably result from a tiny assault group of ragtag rebels.”

Trump nodded. “Of course not. We’d hit Cuba from the air and strangle it with a blockade.”

“Oh, General MacArthur, do tell us what to do,” said a snotty little fellow. “Since I’m Secretary of State Marco Rubio, I’d love to know.”

“I’ve been studying warfare more than a century. It’s in my blood. My father, as I hope you know, was a Civil War hero. He later commanded the Philippines and our occupying force of some seventy-five thousand soldiers. I sometimes took part in operations there. Even with so many American soldiers by various means killing more than two hundred thousand Filipino soldiers and citizens, we had to occupy the country forty-five years until the end of World War II. Are you prepared for that kind of commitment?”

“Okay, General MacArthur, I’ll play along,” said a muscular man in a too tight suit, jutting his jaw. “I’m Secretary of War Pete Hegseth. You seem too antiquated to understand that our lethality is infinitely superior to what was available generations ago.”

I barely looked at this bumpkin and turned to Trump to say, “Lethality wouldn’t be particularly relevant in Venezuela or Cuba or Colombia, which I know is also in your psychic crosshairs. Each of those countries has guerilla forces that would withdraw into the jungles and mountains and forests. You’d need millions of soldiers to subjugate them.”

“We’re not trying to subjugate them,” Trump said, “but we demand they stop poisoning our people with drugs.”

“And the only way to do that is to control their resources and democratize them,” said Marco Rubio.

Feeling even more superior than usual in this company, I imperiously said, “I believe I’ve made it clear that you cannot control or democratize people by immaculately blockading and bombing them. What do you think would be the consequences of bombing drug manufacturing sites in Mexico?”

“There’d be a lot of dead drug dealers,” said Pete Hegseth.

“There would be attacks on Americans and U.S. interests in Mexico and terroristic acts across the border in the United States. The same pertains to Venezuela, Cuba, and Colombia if you attempt to occupy them. You better reinstitute the draft.”

“We will if we have to,” said Trump.

“We occupied Japan for many years after the war,” I said. “In fact, we’re still there. We occupied Germany after the war. And indeed, we’re still there, too. You need to maintain those alliances, which have helped stabilize the entire world. In order to do what you’ve long been doing, you’ve needed current force levels of one million three hundred thousand soldiers. You’d need twice that, at least, to subjugate or democratize Latin America. And what if Brazil becomes involved? Add a million more soldiers there. And what if China, emboldened by overextended American forcers, attacks Taiwan? Better count on a few million soldiers there, many of whom would be slaughtered.

“And what if NATO breaks off relations with you if you try to absorb Greenland? What would Canada do if you provoke it? And the Middle East. What would you do if Israel continues slaughtering Gazans, and other countries in the region say they’ll no longer tolerate Hitler-scale slaughter of the Palestinians? And what about the West Bank? What if Iran attacks Israel? What if Israel attacks Iran with nuclear weapons? What if Russia then strikes Israel with a nuclear weapon? What if Turkey attacks Israel?”

Trump shoved a traffic cop palm toward me and said, “That’s enough, General MacArthur. Go back to Hollywood, and we’ll remake the world.”

“You can’t be MacArthur,” said Pete Hegseth. “He wanted to hit China with nukes during the Korean War.”

“That would have been an unmitigated disaster, and President Truman was right to fire me.”

“We don’t need nuclear weapons to pacify Latin America,” said Marco Rubio.

“You need much more than you’ve got to do all the things you’re threatening to do.”

President Trump jerked his head toward the door and told the two secret service agents, “Get him the hell out of here.”

They responded quickly, each taking an arm, and led me through the door.

George Thomas Clark on Amazon