In January 2025, U.S. President Donald Trump signed a series of executive orders, one of which drew widespread attention — renaming the Gulf of Mexico as the Gulf of America. This decision reflected a long-standing belief that the name “America” belongs exclusively to the United States, implying that its rise and development were exceptional and detached from those of its southern neighbors. Such thinking, however, ignores centuries of intertwined histories — from European conquest and independence wars to civil conflicts and political upheavals — that have shaped both North and South America as parts of one deeply connected hemisphere.
In this context, historian Greg Grandin, in his 2025 book America, América: A New History of the New World, offers a fresh reading of this shared history. Grandin urges a broader understanding of the Americas’ relationship, showing how North and South America have continually shaped one another over five centuries — through conquest, war, rivalry, and occasional cooperation. He argues that this continental relationship profoundly influenced not only the fate of the Western Hemisphere but also the formation of the modern world itself. According to Grandin, both the United States and Latin America helped define the laws, institutions, and ideals that govern the world today.
Spanish Conquest and English Settlement
One section of the book examines the Spanish conquest of the Americas (1532–1572). Grandin references the writings of Spanish friar Bartolomé de las Casas, one of the earliest witnesses to the massacres and mass deaths suffered by Indigenous peoples. In the Cuban village of Caonao, Las Casas described Spanish soldiers slaughtering thousands of men, women, and children who knelt before them in silent submission.
The translation of Las Casas’ accounts quickly spread among Protestant rivals of Spain, becoming a powerful propaganda tool. “The English,” Grandin writes, “felt morally superior when reading Las Casas’ descriptions of Spanish cruelty, portraying themselves as more moderate in contrast to Spain’s savagery.” This moral self-image, inherited by the United States, fostered the enduring notion of Anglo-American ethical superiority within Western political and cultural discourse.
Yet, Grandin notes, English colonists were far from humane. They invoked Spain’s atrocities to justify their own violence against Catholics in Ireland and later against Indigenous peoples in America. Initially, English settlers were influenced by the Salamanca School of thought — legal scholars like Francisco de Vitoria argued that conquest violated the principles of “just war.” But this restraint collapsed after the 1622 Powhatan attack on the Jamestown colony in Virginia, when English settlers adopted a policy of total destruction and expansion, leading to decades of conflict with Indigenous nations.
Divergent Paths to Progress and Independence
In the early 19th century, after achieving independence from Spain, Latin American nations viewed “progress” not as conquest or territorial expansion but as moral and social advancement. In 1837, Argentine writer Esteban Echeverría defined progress as “the desire for improvement, hope, and creative labor.” Similarly, Chilean philosopher Francisco Bilbao, inspired by the revolutions of 1848, rejected the “prophets of progress” who justified slavery and genocide as part of a divine plan. Bilbao championed a perpetual struggle against the monarchic and patriarchal institutions of the past and was likely the first to use the term “Latin America” in 1856, describing it as a shared space uniting all races and peoples.
In contrast, the United States equated progress with territorial expansion — an ideology of ceaseless conquest driven by Manifest Destiny, which framed continental domination as both natural and ordained.
This divergence extended to the issue of borders. Latin American republics embraced the Roman legal principle uti possidetis (“as you possess, you shall continue to possess”), formalized by Colombian diplomat Pedro Gual in 1822 to preserve colonial administrative borders and prevent expansionist wars. The United States, however, rejected this principle, waging continuous wars and conquests based on the belief that land belonged to whoever could seize it.
Thus, Latin America envisioned a continental project rooted in unity and human solidarity — “America for Humanity” — in opposition to the U.S. slogan “America for Americans,” which, in practice, served only Washington’s interests.
By 1825, most of Latin America had gained independence, and its citizens identified as Americans. Their northern neighbors, however, claimed the term exclusively. Following the 1848 Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, which ended the U.S. war against Mexico and forced massive territorial concessions, many educated, landowning Californians became U.S. citizens. But their rights were soon violated by waves of Anglo settlers, who used “American” as a marker of racial and cultural superiority over both Native peoples and Mexican-origin residents.
Latin America as a Counterbalance to U.S. Power
Grandin argues that post-independence Latin America once served as a moral and political counterweight to U.S. expansionism. Throughout the 19th century, Latin American nations convened a series of regional conferences — beginning with Simón Bolívar’s 1826 Panama Congress, which placed abolishing slavery high on its agenda. Latin American revolutionaries often equated colonialism with slavery and moved to abolish both.
President John Quincy Adams had wanted the U.S. to attend, but domestic opposition prevented participation. Subsequent multilateral meetings in the region produced a set of legal principles emphasizing that no land in the Americas was “terra nullius” (ownerless), that all nations were equal before international law, and that disputes should be resolved through arbitration, not war.
In 1844, Argentine jurist Juan Bautista Alberdi named this framework “Derecho Internacional Americano” — American International Law — a forerunner of modern international law.
When Latin American diplomats arrived in Washington for the First Pan-American Conference (1889), they brought these principles with them. They stood united in condemning aggression, while the United States cast the lone dissenting vote — foreshadowing a long tradition of Washington standing against the majority in hemispheric affairs.
Nevertheless, the early 20th century saw the U.S. benefit from this “restraining function” of Latin America. Under Woodrow Wilson, Pan-American cooperation helped establish the League of Nations, and later, Franklin D. Roosevelt strengthened hemispheric ties through his Good Neighbor Policy of the 1930s.
The Return of U.S. Imperialism
Following the defeat of fascism in World War II, the fragile alliance between the Americas collapsed. Despite Latin America’s contribution to victory, the U.S. soon backed authoritarian regimes across the region — reviving imperial patterns of intervention.
Postwar Latin Americans demanded higher wages, expanded social rights, and political reform. Leaders like Colombia’s Jorge Eliécer Gaitán embodied these aspirations until his assassination in 1948, days after the Bogotá Conference, chaired by U.S. Secretary of State George C. Marshall. When protests erupted, U.S.-trained Colombian forces rushed to protect foreign delegates — a grim symbol of Washington’s shifting priorities.
In the aftermath, the U.S. rejected calls for a “Marshall Plan” for Latin America, instead pushing for a unified security front against communism. As Henry Kissinger told Argentina’s foreign minister in 1976, during the country’s “Dirty War”:
“Look, our basic position is that we want you to succeed.”
That “success” meant the survival of U.S.-aligned dictatorships.
Conclusion: Two Visions of the Americas
Grandin concludes that Latin America’s enduring struggle lies in merging political liberalism with strong social rights — a combination that once defeated fascism in Europe. The true dividing line in the Western Hemisphere, he argues, does not run along the Rio Grande, but between those who seek democracy and shared prosperity and those who defend oligarchy and authoritarianism.
Today, over 480 million Latin Americans live under governments with varying degrees of social democracy — often viewed by the West with suspicion, as either a threat or a prize to be claimed. Meanwhile, some contemporary U.S. leaders, echoing old imperial attitudes, have even suggested removing Spanish from official websites or sending dissidents to forced-labor camps in El Salvador without trial or return.
Source:
Greg Grandin, America, América: A New History of the New World, Penguin Press, 2025.
