Nearly 15 years ago, China’s top diplomat, Yang Jiechi, served notice to his country’s neighbors that a new era was commencing, one of unbridled assertiveness from Beijing.

After regional diplomats complained about China’s territorial claims in the South China Sea during an Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN) meeting in July 2010, Yang sent a chill through the audience. “China is a big country. And you are small countries. And that is a fact,” he said, in a bald variation on the old maxim that might makes right.

Yang’s comments quickly came to be seen as part of the launch of a new style of Chinese diplomacy: the so-called wolf warrior era, when China would make no apologies for its actions while demanding that other nations yield to its desires. He demonstrated that his country was a revisionist power—one willing to lay waste to the existing world order and the rules that underpin it in the narrow pursuit of its national interests.

Since then, the toll of China’s aggressive approach has become clear. Fear and distrust of Beijing have helped Washington shore up its alliances in Asia, even fueling a rapprochement between countries with long-standing mutual distrust, such as Japan and South Korea. China’s actions have also induced India to deepen its security cooperation, if not outright alliance, with the United States and its allies Japan and Australia.

Perhaps the best evidence of the failure of China’s sharp turn, though, lies in its own course correction. It is safe to assume that Beijing’s national interests haven’t changed much, but its diplomatic strategy certainly has. In recent years, China’s most vociferous diplomats have become much more likely to voice support for the international system, free trade and open markets, and cooperation with other states.

There has never been a better time to think back to the 2010 ASEAN summit and its dismal aftermath for China. A little more than two weeks since President Donald Trump returned to the White House, the United States—a country that usually emphasizes its support for the long-standing conventions of an orderly international system, whatever the contradictions—has become the most revisionist state the globe has seen since World War II.

New evidence of this comes on a near-daily basis, but the most disturbing example occurred on Tuesday, when Trump announced during a press conference alongside Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu that the United States may seek to take over Gaza and evict its 2 million Palestinian residents to turn it into the “Riviera of the Middle East.”

Both the language and symbolism were grotesquely revolting—far worse, in fact, than Yang’s crude expression of power. Here was a convicted felon, Trump, standing with an indicted war criminal who has personally overseen the utter devastation of Gaza, speaking of the land of a besieged people as if it were little more than a real estate opportunity—a “demolition site” ripe for development that Palestinians “have no alternative” but to abandon. Trump said he didn’t want to sound like a “wise guy,” but by then it was too late to avoid that impression.

Like Yang, Trump has sounded a shrill alarm, but this time it is not limited to a single region. A few days earlier, U.S. Secretary of State Marco Rubio issued a crude ultimatum to Panama’s leader, threatening action against the country if it did not bow to U.S. demands to reduce China’s influence over the Panama Canal.

In recent days, Trump has also announced—and then temporarily paused—stiff tariffs on the United States’ two biggest trading partners, Canada and Mexico, despite long-standing close ties, including a trade agreement that Trump himself endorsed during his previous term. These threats, too, came with a “wise guy” ring to them: Make public concessions to me, Trump seemed to say, or I will wreak utter havoc on your economies with an immediate 25 percent increase in tariffs.

The week before, it was Greenland, with Trump’s repeated demands that Denmark—which enjoys a quasi-colonial custodianship of the territory—cede it outright to the United States. Those demands came with threats that if Denmark didn’t get the message, it, too, would face economic pain or perhaps even U.S. intervention in Greenland.

The signs of backlash to Trump’s designs are beginning to gather like storm clouds on the horizon. Not only did Middle East states denounce the idea of a U.S. takeover of Gaza and the expulsion of Palestinians, but so too have leading U.S. allies, such as Germany and France. If Trump persists with this unilateralist folly, stronger opposition is certain. Fortified by delusions about a commanding mandate, when in fact he won a small election victory and enjoys tiny margins in Congress, Trump seems to think that the United States is in an equally commanding position internationally—that it has the might to simply demand that friend and foe alike yield to its wishes.

The fact is, though, that the world is more multipolar than it has been since the early 20th century, before Washington’s sharp postwar rise. Global wealth and power are much more diffuse today than they were during the decades of U.S. preeminence. And just as Asian countries reconfigured their diplomacy in response to an imposing China, states will figure out a way to do so in relation to a United States under Trump.

What will be left of the country’s international standing by the time this lesson is absorbed? Washington’s conservative hawks sometimes speak of competition with China in strikingly narrow terms. The United States can prevail, they seem to think, by acquiring more advanced weapons and ensuring technological leadership in other areas, such as artificial intelligence.

What they forget is that modern U.S. power is based on Washington’s partnerships and the power of its example. However flawed the latter can be, the country has never jettisoned claims to idealism behind its leadership, until now. Nobody has ever loved the United States all the time, but admiration for—and emulation of—Washington has long been widespread, and this has been a secret sauce more powerful than any submarine fleet or space force.

But what happens when the United States throws strengths like these, along with a respect for rule of law and democracy, out the window? What happens when a U.S. president says in effect that small countries must roll over and obey? What happens when a would-be strongman decides that he can pursue his own interests and whims? What happens when traditional checks and balances built into the U.S. system—not just Congress and the courts but a strong, independent, and fearless press—are being dismantled? What happens when U.S. politics becomes increasingly overtaken by white nationalism? What happens when Washington turns more vicious toward immigrants, one of the vital forces that built the country, rounding them up aboard military aircraft for publicized deportation to Guantánamo Bay?

In a world where China may already be wealthier than the United States by some measures, what will happen if the United States jettisons its values, trashes its institutions, and continues to throw its weight around? What would the argument be for siding with Washington versus Beijing anymore or forging other alliances and arrangements? If the United States continues down its present path, we may soon find out.