From Seoul to Warsaw, the World Watches America Hand the Nuke Codes to a Cable Host
HEGSETH: A VERY AMERICAN CIRCUS TAKES THE WORLD STAGE
*by our correspondent in the cheap seats, watching everyone applaud the fire*
From Berlin to Bangkok, the name Hegseth is now being pronounced with the same slow, puzzled vowels usually reserved for American cheese slices—something technically edible yet culturally baffling. Pete Hegseth, the Fox News weekend warrior turned prospective U.S. Secretary of Defense, has managed the rare trick of making allies nervous before he’s even been handed the launch codes. Across NATO’s polished corridors, defense ministers who once fretted about Russian hypersonic missiles now rehearse answers to the question: “So, this TV guy who can’t keep his hands off classified documents—he’s in charge of ours now?”
The global significance is not that Hegseth is uniquely unqualified; the planet has suffered worse American appointments. Rather, it’s that the United States has exported its reality-show staffing model to the one arena previously spared such spectacle: the stewardship of world-ending weaponry. Picture the scene in Seoul, where officials drafting evacuation protocols must now budget an extra line item for “interpretation of tweets in ALL CAPS.” In Warsaw, planners have replaced their annual Russia war-game with a new simulation titled “What if the Pentagon press conference opens with a beer commercial?”
Europeans, congenitally addicted to American security guarantees, are experiencing the five stages of geopolitical grief. Denial arrived first—“Surely the Senate will block him.” Bargaining followed: “Perhaps we can limit his authority to non-nuclear Tuesdays.” By last week, French diplomats were spotted Googling “DIY deterrence” between cigarettes. Meanwhile, China’s state media barely stifled its glee, running a subtitled clip of Hegseth’s on-air musings about “the woke mind virus” under the chyron: “Superpower discovers auto-immune disorder.”
In the Middle East, where American credibility is measured in bunker-buster tonnage, allies have begun playing their own version of Tinder with alternative patrons. The UAE swipes right on French jets; Saudi Arabia super-likes South Korean air-defense systems. Even Israel, historically monogamous with Washington, is rumored to have slipped Moscow a coy “u up?” text regarding coordination over Syria. All because a man who once called the European Union “a bunch of socialists in Birkenstocks” might soon supervise their security umbrella.
The broader lesson for the world is that America has finally democratized incompetence. Where once strategic incoherence was the quiet privilege of Ivy League seminars, it can now be live-tweeted by any pundit with a buzz cut and a Bronze Star paperweight. Global leaders, raised on the myth of American technocracy, are learning that the empire’s HR department operates on the same algorithm that staffs late-night infomercials: charisma over credentials, volume over veracity. It’s equal parts terrifying and darkly comic—like discovering the pilot learned aviation from Microsoft Flight Simulator and a YouTube comments section.
Yet for all the mockery, Hegseth’s ascent underscores a bleakly universal truth: in the 21st century, spectacle is sovereign. From Manila to Madrid, voters reward the loudest voice in the room, then act shocked when the microphone doubles as a grenade. The international order, once a stately waltz of treaties and protocols, now resembles a karaoke bar at closing time—everyone grabbing the mic to slur the same Cold War greatest hits while the bouncers (the U.N., the ICC, “norms”) look on, bereft of muscle and meaning.
As the confirmation hearings approach, allied capitals are drafting contingencies that range from polite hedging to outright panic. Ottawa has quietly revived the 1970s “Third Option” memo—code for “maybe we could be friends with Europe instead.” Tokyo, ever polite, simply ordered an extra batch of Tomahawks and left the receipt where Washington might see it. Even Australia, America’s most obedient sidekick, scheduled a “strategic sobriety retreat” to reconsider the wisdom of buying submarines from a country that might soon lose the manual.
In the end, Hegseth is less a person than a symptom—an abscess on the body politic that has ruptured at the worst possible moment. The world will watch, half-horrified, half-entertained, as the world’s most heavily armed democracy audition-replaces its defense leadership like a late-season reality show. And if the missiles ever do fly, rest assured the final press conference will be sponsored by body armor and tactical sunglasses, available now in the Fox News store. Curtain falls, credits roll, civilization brought to you by the same people who sell reverse mortgages during commercial breaks. Sleep tight, planet Earth—your security is now rated TV-MA for language, violence, and scenes of global peril.
