In the winter of 1972, Air Force One landed in Beijing in a scene that seemed to come straight out of political fiction. Richard Nixon, the president who had spent much of his career confronting communism, stepped off the aircraft to shake hands with Mao Zedong, the leader of the Chinese Revolution and the head of a nation that Washington regarded as a strategic enemy.

This handshake was far more than a diplomatic gesture; it was a defining moment that reshaped the global order. In the span of a single week, Nixon opened the door to China, altered the balance of power during the Cold War, and advanced détente with the Soviet Union, establishing himself as one of the principal architects of the twentieth century's geopolitical transformation.

But history has a way of embracing irony. The man who reshaped the international order also presided over one of the greatest crises of confidence in the American presidency. Just two years later, Nixon left the White House under the weight of the Watergate scandal, becoming the first U.S. president to resign after being accused of obstructing justice and abusing the powers of his office.

Between the handshake in Beijing and the departure from Washington lies the central question of Nixon's legacy: Can a leader be exceptional in shaping the world while failing to govern the power entrusted to him?

More than fifty years later, Nixon's legacy returned to the center of American political debate through Donald Trump. When J.D. Vance remarked at the Nixon Presidential Library that Watergate, if it occurred today, would likely not dominate the news for more than twelve hours, and that the idea it could bring down a presidency now seems "insane," he was doing more than revisiting a historic scandal. He was reopening a deeper debate about the relationship between the presidency and the institutions designed to constrain it, as well as the limits of executive power.

Vance offered a different interpretation of Nixon's downfall, arguing that the problem lay not only in the excesses of the White House but also in the power of the institutions that ultimately isolated him politically. This interpretation aligns with the narrative promoted by many Trump supporters about what they call the "deep state", unelected institutions they believe are capable of obstructing the will of a democratically elected president.

History, however, tells a more complex story. Watergate did not unravel because of the press alone, despite the pivotal role of The Washington Post's investigative journalism. Nor was Nixon brought down solely by his political opponents; Republicans and Democrats alike took part in the constitutional process that ultimately led to his resignation. The Supreme Court also played a decisive role. In its unanimous 1974 ruling, it compelled Nixon to surrender the White House tapes, which exposed efforts to conceal the scandal.

Watergate was not the story of a president brought down by a conspiracy; it was a test of the strength of democratic institutions and their ability to hold even the most powerful office in the state accountable.

Here lies the true similarity between Nixon and Trump. Both saw themselves as confronting a political and media system they considered hostile, and both sought to redefine the boundaries of presidential power. Yet the key difference is that Nixon ultimately operated within the existing rules of the institutional order, whereas Trump has aimed to reshape the very relationship between the presidency and the institutions that constrain it.

Since returning to power, Trump has focused on reshaping the executive branch by appointing officials aligned with his political vision and redefining the relationship between the presidency, the Department of Justice, and federal law enforcement agencies. This has been accompanied by repeated criticism of the federal bureaucracy, which he portrays as an obstacle to the will of voters. His supporters interpret these moves as a restoration of authority to the elected president, while his critics argue that the strength of democracy lies not only in electing leaders but also in maintaining institutions capable of holding them accountable.

This raises a central question: did Trump draw a lesson from Nixon’s downfall? Rather than viewing Watergate simply as the story of a president who overstepped his limits, Trump appears to interpret it as the story of a president who lost control over his surrounding political environment. From this perspective, his response has been to attempt to redefine the presidency’s position within the state itself, rather than merely operate within existing institutional constraints.

Even in foreign policy, parallels in the two men’s approaches are evident, as both defied traditional diplomatic expectations. Nixon traveled to Beijing, breaking with decades of hostility and reshaping U.S.–China relations, while Trump met North Korean leader Kim Jong-un at the demilitarized zone in 2019, attempting to open an unprecedented channel of negotiation.

But history does not judge leaders solely by what they change in the world, but also by what they leave behind within their own countries. Nixon sought a strong presidency, yet he ultimately clashed with institutions that demonstrated their capacity to resist him. Trump, by contrast, has sought to make the presidency more deeply embedded within the mechanisms of the state itself.

The question remains open: has Trump succeeded in avoiding Nixon’s fate, or is the United States instead witnessing a new version of the same enduring question?

Democracies are not truly tested when leaders are weak, but when their power risks exceeding the ability of institutions to contain it. It is in that delicate space between the authority of the ruler and the rule of law that the most decisive chapters of history are written.

Disclaimer: The opinions expressed by the writers are their own and do not necessarily represent the views of Annahar.