The Al Anon approach to life is to recognize the limits of your power and influence and to allow people to reap the consequences of their decisions. Ukraine tried to ally with the West. As a result, Russia smashed it. Perhaps America needs to step back and let Ukraine reap the consequences.
Grok says:
The Al-Anon approach, rooted in accepting personal limits and letting others face natural consequences, can frame complex geopolitical issues like Ukraine’s situation, but it oversimplifies the dynamics. Ukraine’s alignment with the West was a sovereign choice, driven by historical, cultural, and security concerns, including Russia’s prior aggression (e.g., 2014 annexation of Crimea). Russia’s invasion in 2022 wasn’t just a consequence of Ukraine’s Western pivot but a calculated move to assert dominance, violating international norms.
Applying Al-Anon’s “step back” logic to U.S. policy ignores strategic realities. Ukraine’s fight isn’t just its own; it’s a firewall against autocratic expansion that could threaten NATO allies, global stability, and energy markets. U.S. support—$113 billion in aid by mid-2024—hasn’t just sustained Ukraine but weakened Russia’s military and economy without direct U.S. boots on the ground. Stepping back could embolden Russia, signal weakness to adversaries like China, and unravel alliances built on mutual defense.
That said, the counterargument resonates with war fatigue and fiscal concerns. Pouring billions into a distant conflict while domestic issues fester can feel reckless, and some argue Ukraine’s Western ambitions provoked Russia unnecessarily. Yet, abandoning Ukraine risks a worse outcome: a Russian victory could destabilize Europe, spike global inflation, and invite further aggression.
Al-Anon’s wisdom about control has merit—America can’t dictate Ukraine’s path or Russia’s actions. But geopolitics isn’t personal recovery; disengagement could amplify consequences far beyond Ukraine’s borders. The challenge is balancing principled support with pragmatic limits, not washing hands of the mess.
Donald Trump learned to deal with an alcoholic brother. I wonder if this has affected his worldview?
Donald Trump’s older brother, Fred Trump Jr., struggled with alcoholism and died in 1981 at age 43. Trump has often cited this experience as profoundly shaping his personal choices, notably his decision to abstain from alcohol and drugs. He’s spoken about Fred’s addiction as a cautionary tale, emphasizing the destructive power of substance abuse and the importance of discipline. This suggests a worldview that values self-control and sees personal responsibility as critical, potentially aligning with an Al-Anon-like perspective of recognizing limits in controlling others’ choices while learning from their consequences.
Fred’s struggle also reportedly strained family dynamics, with their father, Fred Sr., pushing high expectations that clashed with Fred Jr.’s more laid-back personality. Trump witnessed this tension and has described feeling pressure to succeed where his brother faltered, particularly in the family real estate business. This could have reinforced a competitive, results-driven outlook, where weakness—whether personal or strategic—is something to avoid or exploit.
Politically, Trump’s rhetoric often frames issues in terms of strength and winning, which some analysts tie to his formative experiences with his brother’s decline. His foreign policy, including skepticism of prolonged U.S. involvement in conflicts like Ukraine’s, might reflect a belief in cutting losses and avoiding entanglement in others’ self-inflicted problems—a stance that echoes Al-Anon’s “letting go” ethos. For instance, during his presidency and 2024 campaign, Trump criticized extensive aid to Ukraine, arguing it risks escalation and burdens U.S. taxpayers, suggesting a preference for nations to handle their own consequences.
However, Trump’s worldview also diverges from Al-Anon’s humility. His public persona—confident, often domineering—contrasts with the program’s emphasis on serenity and acceptance. His approach to adversaries like Russia or China leans transactional, prioritizing deals over moral stands, which might stem less from his brother’s alcoholism and more from his business background. Still, Fred’s fate likely deepened Trump’s disdain for perceived weakness and his focus on personal agency, influencing how he views both individual and national struggles.
No direct evidence ties Trump’s Ukraine stance explicitly to Fred’s addiction, but the parallels are suggestive: a belief that nations, like people, must navigate their own paths, with America stepping back from enabling or over-managing others’ crises. Yet, his broader geopolitical instincts—favoring strongman tactics and quick resolutions—suggest his brother’s influence is just one piece of a complex puzzle.
