Dwain Northey (Gen X)

There was a time when a Sharpie was simply a writing instrument. You used one to label a box, sign a birthday card, or write “DO NOT EAT” on the leftovers in the refrigerator. Under Donald Trump, however, the Sharpie has apparently evolved into something considerably more powerful: a geopolitical weapon, a cartographic wand, and perhaps the most powerful instrument in the United States government.

Apparently, Donald Trump believes that if he draws something on a map with sufficient confidence, reality is legally obligated to comply.

We first witnessed the phenomenon during his first administration, when Hurricane Dorian was heading toward the United States and Trump famously presented an altered weather map showing Alabama inside the hurricane’s projected path. Because when the National Weather Service disagrees with you, apparently the appropriate response isn’t “perhaps I should reconsider.” It’s “Where’s my Sharpie?”

The lesson, apparently, was learned.

Why stop at hurricanes when there are entire continents and oceans just sitting there waiting to be renamed?

Greenland? Write USA across it.

Venezuela? Perhaps a little annotation in the margin: “Ours now.”

The Gulf of Mexico? Gone. With one presidential flourish, it becomes the Gulf of America, because apparently centuries of geographic convention can be defeated by the same technology normally used to write a phone number on a cardboard box.

And now we arrive at the latest masterpiece of cartographic statesmanship: the Strait of Hormuz.

Draw a circle around it.

There.

American.

See how easy that was?

This is the remarkable thing about Trump’s worldview: maps apparently aren’t representations of reality. They’re suggestions. And the president, armed with a Sharpie and an almost supernatural confidence in his own judgment, is apparently the editor-in-chief of reality itself.

If a hurricane is going somewhere he doesn’t like, draw a new line.

If a body of water has the wrong name, write a new one.

If another country possesses territory that looks interesting, write USA on it.

If a strategically important international waterway doesn’t appear sufficiently American, circle it.

Problem solved.

The only thing missing is a giant red crayon labeled “MAKE AMERICA BIGGER.”

Of course, the absurdity becomes considerably less funny when you remember that geography doesn’t actually work this way.

Hurricanes don’t care about presidential Sharpies. Atmospheric pressure, ocean temperatures, wind shear and atmospheric circulation determine where storms go. You cannot redraw a hurricane’s path any more than you can circle a tornado and tell it to make a left turn.

Likewise, countries do not become American because someone writes “USA” on a map. Oceans do not change names because someone with a presidential seal behind him decides the old name isn’t sufficiently patriotic. And international waterways don’t become American property because someone draws a circle around them.

Reality has this terribly inconvenient habit of refusing to acknowledge presidential stationery.

And that’s where the joke stops being merely funny.

There is something genuinely troubling about a worldview in which the distinction between claiming something and actually possessing something seems to disappear.

A map is not a magic spell.

A Sharpie is not a treaty.

A presidential proclamation is not a deed.

And drawing a circle around the Strait of Hormuz doesn’t suddenly cause the United States border patrol to materialize on the other side holding a sign that says, “Welcome to America.”

Unfortunately, the world doesn’t operate according to the rules of a kindergarten coloring book.

There are sovereign nations. There are international agreements. There are treaties. There are territorial waters. There are centuries of history, competing claims, military realities, diplomatic relationships and international law.

You can’t simply grab a marker and say, “Mine.”

Well, technically, you can.

You just can’t make everyone else agree with you.

And perhaps that’s the most Trumpian part of all.

He doesn’t seem to view the Sharpie as something that records reality.

He seems to view it as something that creates reality.

Draw the line, and the hurricane changes course.

Write the name, and the Gulf changes identity.

Write USA on Greenland, and Greenland presumably starts checking Zillow for American mortgage rates.

Circle a strategic waterway, and apparently the map itself is expected to salute.

It would be hilarious if the consequences of confusing personal declarations with actual geopolitical power weren’t so potentially serious.

Because nature doesn’t negotiate.

Maps don’t obey.

Borders aren’t suggestions.

And the rest of the world doesn’t necessarily recognize the authority of a Sharpie simply because the person holding it happens to be President of the United States.

There is, however, one thing Donald Trump may have genuinely accomplished.

He has elevated the humble Sharpie from office-supply-store merchandise to an instrument of presidential ambition.

NASA has rockets.

The military has aircraft carriers.

Diplomats have treaties.

Donald Trump has a marker.

And apparently, in his mind, that’s all the geopolitical infrastructure anyone really needs.

Somewhere, a cartographer is quietly staring at a map and whispering:

“Please, Mr. President. Put down the Sharpie.”