Once again, the high priests of the American dollar have descended upon Jackson Hole, Wyoming, to perform their annual ritual of pretending they understand the economy. It is a scenic backdrop for an ugly truth: a collection of over-educated bureaucrats in bespoke suits trembling at the thought of a septuagenarian with a spray tan and a smartphone. The headline act this year isn’t the nuanced discussion of quantitative easing or the philosophical weight of the ‘neutral rate.’ No, the main attraction is Donald Trump’s latest crusade against interest rates—a battle of wits between a man who treats the national treasury like a personal piggy bank and a Federal Reserve that has the collective backbone of an overcooked noodle.

Trump’s demands for lower interest rates are as predictable as they are intellectually vacant. He views the economy not as a complex ecosystem, but as a vending machine that should dispense unlimited snacks if he kicks it hard enough. His crusade is built on the premise that the only thing standing between us and a perpetual golden age of gaudy hotels and skyrocketing deficits is Jerome Powell’s refusal to turn the printing presses up to ‘eleven.’ It is a masterful display of economic illiteracy, wrapped in the populist grievance that has become his only consistent brand. He wants the rates down because he wants the numbers up, and he doesn’t particularly care if the resulting inflation incinerates the life savings of the very people who wear his hats. It’s a self-defeating strategy, a pyrrhic victory where the prize is a currency that buys exactly half as much as it did before the ‘winning’ began.

But let us not save all our vitriol for the orange menace. The Federal Reserve itself is a masterclass in performative independence. They sit in their mountain retreat, sniffing the thin air of intellectual superiority, while desperately trying to convince the world that they aren't terrified of the political climate. They speak in a coded language of ‘data-dependency’ and ‘asymmetric risks,’ which is central-banker speak for ‘we have no idea what we are doing, but please don’t fire us.’ The Fed’s supposed independence is a convenient myth they trot out when they want to avoid accountability, yet they react to every market hiccup and political barb with the grace of a startled gazelle. They are the ‘guardians’ of a system that serves only to ensure the wealthy stay wealthy while the rest of the populace argues over which flavor of fiscal ruin they prefer.

This entire conflict is a shadow play. Trump screams for lower rates to juice his reelection prospects and inflate his ego, ignoring the reality that such a move would likely trigger a wage-price spiral that would make the 1970s look like a period of fiscal discipline. Meanwhile, the economists at Jackson Hole wring their hands and publish white papers that no one reads, terrified that any decision they make will either trigger a recession or a Twitter-fueled riot. The irony is that Trump’s crusade actually makes the Fed’s job harder; by turning rate cuts into a political demand, he forces the Fed to keep rates higher just to prove they aren’t his puppets. It is a cycle of stupidity where the only certainty is that the average citizen gets squeezed from both sides.

We are witnessing the final stages of a decadent empire where the management of the world's reserve currency has devolved into a public spat between a narcissist and a committee of cowards. The Left will decry Trump’s ‘attack on institutions,’ as if those institutions haven't been failing us for decades. The Right will cheer for ‘growth,’ ignoring that growth built on cheap debt is just a fancy way of saying we’re borrowing from a future we’ve already sold. Neither side has the courage to admit that the interest-rate lever is a blunt instrument being wielded by people who shouldn't be trusted with a toaster, let alone the global economy.

In the end, Jackson Hole remains what it has always been: a place where the elites gather to reassure themselves of their own importance while the world burns below them. Trump’s interest-rate crusade isn’t just self-defeating; it’s a symptom of a deeper rot. It’s the sound of a system that has run out of ideas, left with nothing but the loud, hollow echoes of a man who wants everything for free and an institution that can’t find its way out of a paper bag without a five-year forecast and a consensus vote. Enjoy the view, gentlemen. The descent is always faster than the climb.