In an April 1 address, U.S. President Donald Trump announced that he planned to continue bombing Iran over the next two to three weeks. “We’re going to bring them back to the stone ages, where they belong,” Trump announced. The next day, he posted a picture of a bombed bridge alongside a message reading, in part, “IT IS TIME FOR IRAN TO MAKE A DEAL BEFORE IT IS TOO LATE, AND THERE IS NOTHING LEFT OF WHAT STILL COULD BECOME A GREAT COUNTRY!” Then, on April 5, he wrote, “Open the Fuckin’ Strait, you crazy bastards, or you’ll be living in Hell.”

In war, rhetoric matters. The violence of Trump’s language represents a consistent and central aspect of his approach to international relations. And as such, it deserves to be taken seriously. Amid the changing goals and often incoherent rhetoric of Washington’s most recent conflicts, one common theme has emerged: instilling terror in the administration’s enemies. The White House seems to believe that hostile and threatening language, paired with the use of overwhelming force, represents an effective approach to global leadership, one that will force other countries to bend to the United States’ will.

In an April 1 address, U.S. President Donald Trump announced that he planned to continue bombing Iran over the next two to three weeks. “We’re going to bring them back to the stone ages, where they belong,” Trump announced. The next day, he posted a picture of a bombed bridge alongside a message reading, in part, “IT IS TIME FOR IRAN TO MAKE A DEAL BEFORE IT IS TOO LATE, AND THERE IS NOTHING LEFT OF WHAT STILL COULD BECOME A GREAT COUNTRY!” Then, on April 5, he wrote, “Open the Fuckin’ Strait, you crazy bastards, or you’ll be living in Hell.”

In war, rhetoric matters. The violence of Trump’s language represents a consistent and central aspect of his approach to international relations. And as such, it deserves to be taken seriously. Amid the changing goals and often incoherent rhetoric of Washington’s most recent conflicts, one common theme has emerged: instilling terror in the administration’s enemies. The White House seems to believe that hostile and threatening language, paired with the use of overwhelming force, represents an effective approach to global leadership, one that will force other countries to bend to the United States’ will.

The reality, however, is that while threats can sometimes get results, Trump’s language will undermine U.S. foreign-policy goals over the long and even medium term. As Iran has shown, neither Trump’s words nor actions, however violent, can compel foreign actors to act the way he wants. Instead, this approach squanders global goodwill and generates further resistance. Ultimately, Trump’s rhetorical violence may even make it harder for a future Iranian government to accept his terms even if it wants to.

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Trump’s use of violent language began in his approach to domestic politics. From Portland to Minneapolis, he has engaged in a constant stream of “us versus them” rhetoric to legitimize paramilitary action on immigrants and fellow citizens alike. By identifying “savages” at home and abroad, as well as painting migrants are “stone-cold killers,” Trump seeks to justify unrestrained violence in the name of national security.

To protect “war-ravaged” U.S. cities, for instance, the administration can cheer on extralegal detentions by U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agents or defend the murder of citizens simply for exercising their First Amendment rights, all without remorse. In this context, the language of “domestic terrorists” and “illegal monsters” validates Trump’s claim that he is waging a “war from within,” one where the very survival of the nation at stake.

Now, this rhetoric of “enemyship” is being projected outward in increasingly violent ways. In January, when Trump set his sights on Venezuela, his targeting of a sovereign state became far easier because then-President Nicolás Maduro was leading a “dead country.” Boastful, aggressive language soon followed. In the aftermath of Maduro’s capture, U.S. Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth proudly crowed that U.S. adversaries should “remain on notice” because the nation could “project our will anywhere, anytime.”

Of course, amplifying threats while warning against complacency is not new. Parallels to preemptive war rhetoric can be seen in Ronald Reagan and George W. Bush’s earlier military incursions overseas. Trump and his principal lieutenants, however, have elevated the use of menacing, belligerent discourse. Painting any enemy as a “terrorist” to warrant their demise while browbeating ally and adversary alike to “do what’s right or pay a very big price” leaves little room for diplomacy or deliberation before committing to the use of military force.

Not surprisingly, such martial bombast generates skepticism about the United States’ commitment to peace. When Delcy Rodríguez, Venezuela’s current acting president, called Maduro’s capture “barbaric” and an “illegal and illegitimate kidnapping,” it seemed likely that other heads of state across the globe were nodding in agreement. Surely at least some leaders and residents in the Western Hemisphere, when considering the history of U.S. military interventionism in Latin America, bristled after Trump recently mused of “taking Cuba in some form” because he could “do anything I want” with the country.

Trump’s threatening of Cuba is even more disconcerting when placed within the global context of his preemptive—yet retributive—war in the Middle East. With Iran, the White House arguably has spoken in its most violently bellicose, even apocalyptic manner to date. Hegseth proclaimed, “No quarter, no mercy for our enemies,” while Trump, threatening the destruction of Iranian oil fields, publicly contemplated finishing off “what’s left of the Iranian Terror State.”

Trump’s political devotees, like Sen. Lindsey Graham, might exult that the “mothership of terrorism is sinking.” Yet such rhetoric makes it more difficult for an Iranian government to bargain in good faith—especially since the United States has twice now started a war while negotiating with Iran.

Moreover, Hegseth’s cavalier attitude, choice of school yard vocabulary in calling Iran a “death cult,” and derision of “stupid rules” of engagement all degrade the U.S. Defense Department. No doubt Trump’s musing that he might bomb Iran’s Kharg Island “a few more times just for fun” excites the more xenophobic fringes of his political base at home. But does such language make for good policy overseas?

Confronting Iran and its so-called Axis of Resistance—a network of Iran-backed actors from Hezbollah in Lebanon to Hamas in Gaza—should be a part of any U.S. regional strategy hoping to build a more stable, peaceful Middle East. But Trump’s terror-based rhetoric, linked with his administration’s shifting end goals, have led only to an agonizing day-to-day reality of this recent war: pain and destruction delivered by Americans and their Israeli collaborators.

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In conflict, communication should have purpose, ideally intended to advance the political goals of military operations that place service members in harm’s way. Trump categorically understands the power of persuasion and seems to believe that weaponizing is working. As one study found, his use of violent vocabulary has increased over time.

In short, both Trump and Hegseth are literally, not just figuratively, terrorizing the language. Their rhetoric assumes that intimidation leads to results. It exaggerates “imminent” threats to rationalize a militarized U.S. foreign policy. In the process, terroristic language becomes an end unto itself—creating more terror.

All the while, an almost joyous attitude about inflicting suffering persists despite its negative impact on the United States’ long-term interests. Assuming there is true regime change or even moderation at some point in Iran, unnecessary destruction makes it politically impractical for any popular government to cooperate with Americans.

Manipulating a politics of fear has worked before, at least in the short term. Yet as scholars have shown, demonizing rhetoric often leads to violent consequences and, politically, the potential for accepting a form of violent demagoguery at home with grievous effects abroad.

Every war has a narrative. Human conflict is grounded in storytelling. The narrative that the Trump administration has been crafting these past few months has compromised U.S. foreign-policy objectives. Rather than reshaping the world, it has simply demonstrated that projecting terror is not the same thing as projecting power and influence overseas.