At the turn of summer 2026, attention to the United States outside the country is once again focused not on the economy or technological breakthroughs, but on politics and wars. In South Africa, France and Japan, the United States is written about primarily as a power whose internal rifts and external "fatigue" are reshaping the contours of global security. The tone of these conversations varies noticeably: in some places pragmatic calculation prevails, in others — anxiety for democracy, and elsewhere — a cool Asian wariness toward an unpredictable Washington.
The first major theme linking the three countries is the return of Donald Trump and the question of what his line "let Europe fend for itself" means for the war in Ukraine. In France this issue is discussed through the prism of the fate of European autonomy and the ability of Paris and Brussels to live in a world where America stops being the guarantor of security. In Japanese and South African debates there is more palpable fear: for Tokyo — that a weakening of US commitments in Europe could presage erosion of guarantees in Asia, for Pretoria — that Washington will decisively reorient toward confrontation with China and stop taking the interests of the Global South into account.
French publications, from centrist to right‑wing, describe the new American foreign policy in terms of "reassessing leadership" and a "return to a transactional approach," linking it not only to the personality of Trump but also to a broader American society's fatigue with the role of the "world's policeman." In essence, the French discussion revolves around the question: can Europe continue to rely on Washington if today the White House sells security as a service, and tomorrow might outsource it to Berlin or Warsaw? Against this backdrop, criticism of the US sounds twofold: on one hand, Washington is blamed for readiness to "sell" Ukraine in exchange for a deal with Moscow; on the other — European capitals are reminded that their decade‑long dependence on the American "nuclear umbrella" made such a scenario possible.
The South African lens is different. Commentaries in major newspapers and think tanks have long used the wars in Ukraine and the Middle East as examples of the "selectivity" of American morals. When Washington tightens sanctions on Russia while for decades maintaining close ties with Middle Eastern allies accused of human rights abuses, this is perceived in Pretoria as confirmation of an old suspicion: values are values, but geopolitics always underpins them. From this stems a narrative of the "unflattering symmetry" between the US and Russia — both portrayed as powers willing to sacrifice external partners for their own interests — and precisely for this reason South Africa seeks to build maneuvering space within BRICS rather than engage in direct confrontation with Washington.
Japanese analysis, especially in the business and expert press, views the same US moves through the lens of balance in the Indo‑Pacific region. For Tokyo the key question is this: if the United States is ready to sharply reassess its role in the European security architecture, how resilient are its commitments to Japan and South Korea? Japanese columns on the US often use the term "内向きの米国" — "America turned inward," emphasizing a trend toward reducing external commitments and focusing on internal conflicts. Analysts link this to the rise of populism, polarization and societal fatigue with endless wars on foreign continents, and ask whether Asia might repeat Europe's scenario in the coming years, where allies suddenly find themselves facing revisionist powers without Washington's guaranteed backing.
The second major block of discussion is the perception of American domestic politics as a factor of global instability. In France the situation is still compared with the early 1970s: inflationary risks combine with a crisis of trust in institutions and societal fatigue with elites, and transatlantic ties depend on the outcome of another American electoral cycle. French columnists note that any change of administration in Washington now threatens not just course corrections but a complete reversal: from climate policy to the maintenance of alliances. This creates a feeling that Europe is no longer dealing with a predictable ally, but with a state whose foreign policy is "a hostage to the oscillations of an internal civil‑strife."
South African voices link American polarization to their own experience of transitional democracy. On the pages of newspapers and in expert speeches, the US is often described as a country undergoing a "delayed reckoning with the history of racism and economic inequality." Parallels with cases of police violence and mass protests in the US allow South African commentators to draw direct analogies with apartheid, while many emphasize that American institutions remain much stronger. An interesting detail: in such texts the US is simultaneously criticized for "double standards" and treated as a laboratory where one can study what to avoid in one's own reconciliation policies.
In Japan, America's internal strife is considered primarily through the prism of its consequences for the stability of policy toward China and North Korea. Japanese observers note that the consensus in Washington on containing Beijing persists for now, but warn: if the domestic political crisis escalates into constitutional or legal confrontation, priorities can quickly shift, and allies in Asia will have to assume more risks and costs themselves. This fuels discussion in Tokyo of the idea of "limited strategic autonomy" — without severing the alliance with the US, to build up their own capabilities so as not to find themselves in the same situation as Europeans forced to adapt to internal American perturbations in a crisis.
The third theme common to the three countries is the changed role of the United States in the wars in Ukraine and Gaza and the broader question of whether Washington still has the moral right to claim the status of "leader of the free world." In France the tone of criticism is often cloaked in diplomatic phrasing, but the essence is clear: Washington is reproached both for a slow and half‑measured reaction to the Russian invasion and for its inability to stop the destruction in Gaza, despite having the levers of influence. French commentators point out that Europe finds itself between a rock and a hard place: on one hand it must support the American line, on the other — public opinion at home is increasingly not in agreement, especially on the Middle East.
The South African perspective is even harsher. There, the war in Gaza has become a symbol of the "double standards of the West," and the US plays a central role in this narrative. Pretoria's appeals to international courts and public statements by South African lawyers and politicians are directed not only against the concrete actions of Middle Eastern actors but also against what they call the "American right to issue moral certificates to the world." Criticism is also leveled at how Washington selectively uses the language of human rights: violations committed by US opponents are condemned as crimes against humanity, while allies' actions are excused as "complex situations." For many in South Africa this confirms that the system built after World War II under US auspices no longer reflects the interests of most countries.
In Japanese debates the same theme takes on a cooler, technocratic tone. Commentators note that the "normalization of war" in Europe and the Middle East amid American societal fatigue with external conflicts weakens the deterrent effect of American power. When Russia, Iran or North Korea see that Washington struggles to form coalitions, faces sabotage in its own Congress and is forced to make compromises, Japanese analysts argue, this creates a window of opportunity for revisionist moves in Asia. In this logic the US is no longer an unconditional guarantor of order but a variable in a complex equation, where allies must factor in the possibility of American indecision or reversal.
Against this background it is interesting to see how the three countries interpret American "leadership fatigue" differently. In France — it is primarily a challenge to the European idea of strategic autonomy: elites acknowledge that decades of relative comfort under the American umbrella have left Europe without the tools or political will to quickly occupy the vacated space. In South Africa the same fatigue is seen as an opportunity for the Global South to build a more multipolar world where the US remains an important but no longer dominant player. In Japan it is sounded as a warning: if allies do not help Washington share the burden, it may at some point simply shed it.
At the same time, in all three countries the US remains an object not only of criticism but also of intense attention. French experts continue to view America as a laboratory of political and economic experiments, from regulation of tech giants to green transformation. South African authors closely follow American debates on race, inequality and migration, drawing lessons for their own society. Japanese analysts study the evolution of American doctrine in cybersecurity and space, understanding that decisions in Washington determine the security architecture in their region.
The result is a paradoxical picture. On one hand, belief in American "exceptionalism" and unquestioned leadership is rapidly fading: the US is no longer perceived as a moral arbiter and a default guarantor of stability. On the other — the world remains so dependent on political cycles and strategic decisions in Washington that every new turn in America's internal struggle immediately reverberates in leading headlines in Paris, Pretoria and Tokyo. This duality — fatigue with America and the impossibility of distancing from it — is, perhaps, the main nerve of current international discussions about the United States.
