Opinion | Gold Doesn’t Make You Great: America’s Soft Power in Crisis

The United States waited 46 years to reclaim gold in men’s hockey. But where there was victory in sport came defeat in nationhood.

On the ice in Milan, America looked like a superpower again—dominant, disciplined, unified. Forward Jack Hughes clinched the golden goal in overtime, delivering a 2-1 victory over rival Canada. But off the Olympic ice, the celebration that followed February 22 told a story less assured: a nation still wrestling with the very qualities—stability, institutional trust, and equality—that lend such prowess its legitimacy. The United States may have Canada beat on the scoreboard, but in the quieter contest of democratic credibility and restrained leadership, the real victory lay north of the border.

How did America’s long-awaited hockey triumph end up casting Canada in a stronger light? If sport is meant to project unity and strength abroad, what does it mean when winning instead exposes the very fissures that undercut American authority?

“I am so proud to be American today,” a toothless Jack Hughes roared in the moments following the great Olympic upset—capturing the raw exhilaration of a nation that had not won gold in men’s hockey since 1980. That year in Lake Placid, a roster of collegiate and minor league players stunned the four-time defending Soviet champions before holding on to beat Finland 4-2 in the final, pulling off an American conquest forever immortalized as the “Miracle on Ice.” That miracle then symbolized more than a win—it affirmed a sense of growing national confidence and moral certainty during the Cold War, a perfect fortuity where pure sport and unbridled patriotism converged seamlessly to project American strength outward. 

Indeed, in Milan, familiar echoes of that fortuity returned. But where the Miracle on Ice once revitalized the American project, the celebration we saw this year exposed its cracks. 

When a call swiftly rang in the locker room from the White House, the Olympic team’s brief triumph collided with the ballooning theatre that is domestic spectacle in modern-day America. In personally inviting the team to be his guests of honour at the State of the Union, President Trump placed the athletes squarely within a political minefield: accept and risk alienating the broader American and international public; say no and provoke the ire of die-hard MAGA loyalists. 

In the same breath, the President of the United States—leader of the free world—reminded everyone who truly holds power in America: men like him. “I must tell you, we’re going to have to bring the women’s team, you do know that,” Trump ridiculed, doubling down that his swift impeachment would likely follow if not. In a clip quick to go viral on Instagram and X, the men’s squad can be seen laughing on camera—even the Hughes brothers, whose own mother, Ellen Weinberg-Hughes, is a consultant for the US women’s hockey program. And yes, the women’s team too had clinched Olympic gold over Canada—also 2-1 in overtime—days before the men even took to the ice.

In an instant, what should have been a celebration of national gold curdled into a grotesque theatre of national humiliation: the joke spotlighted America’s enduring gender inequities and continued silence over women’s issues and victories alike—even at the highest levels of power. In February, the administration withdrew from the Executive Board of UN Women. Women still earn roughly 81 cents for every dollar earned by men. They hold fewer than one-third of seats in Congress, despite making up half the population. Female athletes receive less funding, media coverage, and sponsorship than their male counterparts—even when they win. A casual joke voiced by the President was not merely tasteless—it was telling. 

And yet, despite the outrage and scrutiny, the men’s team showed up. Only five did not—and most not as a gesture of protest. America’s struggles with gender equality and visibility do not remain confined to domestic debates, but spill onto the global stage—undermining the very soft power the country once projected so easily through sport. 

But the spectacle didn’t end here. Days later, Trump took his theatrics digital: on Truth Social, he posted an AI-generated video of himself in the Olympic rink, violently bodychecking Canadian athletes and scoring goals all while flaunting his signature red tie. The clip was disturbing; a reminder that the President regards himself not as a public servant or world leader, but as an intemperate athlete—a winner. To be clear: the ethics of a sitting president glorifying violence on a platform with millions of followers—while female athletes who actually won Olympic gold go unheeded—cannot be passed over. America’s victories mean little when they betray the values they are meant to reflect. 

The White House then followed up with a tweet: a photoshopped eagle standing on the neck of a Canadian Goose—an unmissable celebration of purported US dominance. Yet episodes like these weaken international alliances and tarnish US legitimacy far more than they assert any sort of American strength. Meanwhile, Canada’s Prime Minister offered a masterclass in restraint, with Mark Carney taking to X: “Congratulations on a hard-fought and well-earned silver, @TeamCanada. You made your country proud.”

Beyond the president’s perturbing viral antics, Olympic victory too exposed cracks in the credibility of America’s foremost institutions. In a striking display of poor judgment and questionable decorum, Kash Patel—the current FBI Director appointed by Trump in 2024—was recorded guzzling a beer with the men’s team in the locker room. Patel’s trip, officially labelled “government travel” and taken on a taxpayer-funded jet, blurred the line between personal whim and professional responsibility. The FBI, long guided by the maxim “Never embarrass the Bureau,” is meant to operate with frugality and discretion—yet viral images of its principal leader partying with Olympic athletes rupture this founding ethos. At a time when public services are chronically underfunded, the optics of the FBI’s director partying abroad on government resources send the signal that, in the States, personal indulgence can trump public duty. 

Sport has long been understood within international relations theory as a subtle instrument of statecraft—a vector through which nations bolster their global image and cultivate soft power. The Olympic Games provide governments with the stage to signal cohesion, discipline, and institutional credibility abroad, translating domestic achievement into widespread global legitimacy. The potency of sports diplomacy resides in its quiet wins: admiration, emulation, and respect are accrued through performance and the following of a sort of unspoken code of conduct. Soft power is inherently outward-facing—targeting foreign publics, allied governments, and the international community—and depends as much on perception as on material capability or athletic skill. 

The United States inverted this very logic. In Milan, the world watched as triumph became a lesson in soft disempowerment: a victory that should have signalled authority instead exposed instability. Soft power, forged through reputation and legitimacy, will not survive past the scoreboard if audiences see institutions compromised and leaders perform merely for themselves rather than for the world. When victories are weaponized for spectacle at home, they signal insecurity—not strength. American gold, in this light, became less a measure of national prowess and more a mirror of deepening domestic dysfunction. 

The ultimate irony? America’s victory on the ice only illuminated its greater losses off of it: a nation gilded in gold yet blind to the gravitas that makes triumph truly meaningful. 

Edited by Stellar Zhang

Featured Image: “U.S. Olympic Men’s Hockey Team Visit the White House, February 24, 2026” by Ooligan via the Executive Office is licensed under the Public Domain.