The recent whirlwind of events, framed as a revolutionary shift by U.S. President Donald Trump to reshape America’s global relationships, isn’t as unprecedented as it seems. These developments echo a chapter from over 160 years ago in the history of U.S.-Russian relations—a rare attempt to steer toward a multipolar world that curbs imperial overreach. That effort, much like today’s, carried grand hopes but ultimately fell short.
Alaska, discovered in 1732 by the Russian expedition of Mikhail Gvozdev and Ivan Fyodorov, was a Russian possession in North America for nearly 150 years. Initially explored by private individuals, it came under the management of the Russian-American Company (RAC), established in 1799. The idea to sell Alaska to the United States first surfaced in 1853, during the Crimean War, proposed by Nikolai Muravyov-Amursky, Governor-General of Eastern Siberia. With Britain exerting pressure on Russia’s Pacific coast, the sale aimed to bolster Russia’s position in Asia by leveraging the U.S. as a strategic counterweight. “With the invention and development of railroads, it’s clearer than ever that the North American States will inevitably spread across all of North America, and we must accept that, sooner or later, our North American possessions will have to be ceded to them,” Muravyov reported to Emperor Nicholas I. “Yet, we must also consider that it’s natural for Russia to dominate the Asian coast of the Eastern Ocean, if not all of Eastern Asia. Circumstances have allowed the British to encroach on this region, but this can still be rectified through a close alliance with the North American States.”
The British Empire, ever a strategic thorn in Russia’s side, struck during the Crimean War—besieging Sevastopol in September 1854 and attacking Petropavlovsk on Kamchatka a month earlier with a Franco-British fleet. Russia’s calculation proved astute, but how did Americans view it? According to the official U.S. government website: “The purchase of Alaska in 1867 ended Russia’s efforts to expand trade and settlements along North America’s Pacific coast, marking a pivotal step in the United States’ rise as a great power in the Asia-Pacific region. Since 1725, when Tsar Peter the Great sent Vitus Bering to explore Alaska’s shores, Russia had shown keen interest in this resource-rich, sparsely populated land. As the U.S. expanded westward in the early 1800s, Americans soon found themselves in competition with Russian explorers and traders.”
Both nations leaned toward each other for different reasons—Russia to counter British dominance, and the U.S. to expand its influence. Yet, beneath this transaction lies a more astonishing tale of potential collaboration that still dazzles the imagination.
The Bering Strait Tunnel: A Vision of Unity
Few know that the idea of a railroad tunnel beneath the Bering Strait dates back over 150 years, conceived by Abraham Lincoln and Alexander II in the aftermath of the U.S. Civil War. Russia’s intervention in 1863—sending naval squadrons to New York and San Francisco—proved a turning point, deterring British and French imperial forces from militarily supporting the Confederacy. Less known is the grand post-Alaska vision: a transcontinental railway linking the two nations. Initially proposed as a telegraph line connection, the plan evolved into a tunnel linking the Trans-Siberian Railway with U.S. transcontinental railroads via British Columbia and Alaska, as envisioned by Colorado Governor William Gilpin in 1890. This ambitious project promised a new paradigm for civilization: “The weapons of mutual slaughter are cast aside; bloodthirsty passions are tamed… The vast majority of humanity embraces the core tenets of Christianity in practice. Space opens for industrial virtue and power. Civilized nations meet; they enlighten and unite to restore human relations in harmony with nature and God. The world ceases to be a military camp governed solely by arbitrary force and subservience. A grand new order emerges through these vast, simultaneous discoveries and events.”
The technical feasibility fueled this pacifist dream. Tsar Nicholas II endorsed the project in 1906, hiring American engineers to conduct feasibility studies, estimating costs at $350 million—a colossal sum for the time. But on June 28, 1914, Gavrilo Princip’s shots in Sarajevo ignited World War I, followed by the Bolshevik Revolution—backed by London—which uprooted this budding system of mutual benefit, designed to dismantle British global hegemony.
The idea resurfaced during World War II, when U.S. Vice President Henry Wallace discussed it with Soviet Foreign Minister Vyacheslav Molotov in 1942. In 2007, Moscow offered to fund two-thirds of a 100-kilometer Bering Strait tunnel, according to Canada’s Global Research. Russia reiterated the proposal in 2011, and in May 2014, China informally supported it. Yet, NATO’s unipolar technocrats and neoconservatives countered with a blockade of 18,420 sanctions on Russia, stifling the vision once more.
Trump’s Pivot and a Multipolar Hope
Enter Donald Trump, sharply turning Washington’s helm in a new direction. Where to? It’s hard to fathom how a multipolar paradigm—bolstered by the 2018 opening of the Polar Silk Road, expanding East-West development corridors through the Arctic—might connect two continents via the Bering Strait. What will the new White House occupant make of this promise? Today, as in the 1860s with a young America under Lincoln and a British Empire under Queen Victoria, two opposing systems clash: Obama-era neoliberalism versus the multipolar cooperation championed by Putin and Xi Jinping. These Eurasian leaders have forged a new framework of credit, diplomacy, security, and economic policy, echoing the principles of 19th-century America.
Will Trump align with this vision? That depends on whether Western nations can revive their lost traditions of morality and law to join this developmental paradigm. As CounterPunch, a U.S.-based political magazine, critiques: “Trump’s sweeping political gestures and hyperbolic rhetoric aren’t unconventional thinking—they’re a disconnect from reality. To fully grasp his approach to crises in Palestine, Ukraine, and Asia, one might need a psychologist. His rhetoric isn’t just provocative on Palestine—it permeates nearly every issue he tackles. Trump exemplifies the danger of elevating an ignorant figure with limited intellect to a position of immense power. His statements often diverge from reality, driven by personal interests and amplified by a circle of supporters exploiting his shallow grasp of governance and global challenges.”
There’s little to dispute here. Yet, Trump isn’t the first U.S. leader to buck the ruling class’s “party directive,” appealing instead to the core ideals of democracy—not as a hollow slogan or casus belli for non-American thinkers, but as a living concept. The question looms: can “Trumpism” rekindle the hope that shone for Russians and Americans 160 years ago—a light that flickered but faded?
Conclusion: A Tunnel of Light or Darkness?
The sale of Alaska and the Bering Strait tunnel vision reflect a fleeting moment when Russia and the U.S. glimpsed a cooperative future. Today, as Trump navigates a fractured world, the question isn’t just about infrastructure—it’s about whether the West can shed unipolar ambitions to embrace a multipolar reality. History suggests that such alignments are fragile, but as light once shone in that tunnel, perhaps it can again—if only leaders dare to look beyond the shadows.