Why Are There No Tariffs on Russia? Trump’s Sanctions Already Crushed Their Trade

Democrats have branded President Trump a Russian agent, pointing to his tariffs on U.S. allies like Canada and Europe while appearing to spare Russia. However, while Trump has not introduced new tariffs on Russia in his second term, he has extended and enforced existing trade restrictions—maintaining the punitive measures implemented during his first term and reinforced under the Biden administration.

In his first term alone, Trump imposed more than 270 sanctions on Russian individuals and entities. Combined with Biden’s later actions, these measures slashed U.S. imports from Russia to just $3 billion in 2024, down from $29 billion in 2021. Today, Russia is a trivial player in the U.S. trade picture.

Trump ranks third in total sanctions on Russia—behind Presidents Obama and Biden, but the numbers alone miss the bigger picture. Obama sanctioned Russia after Moscow invaded Ukraine and annexed Crimea in 2014 on his watch. He failed to broker peace, failed to reclaim territory, and left office with Crimea still in Russian hands. Yet, no one accused him of being a Russian asset.

Biden imposed even more sanctions following Russia’s full-scale invasion in 2022. Like Obama, he failed to prevent the war, failed to reverse Russian gains, and exited office without a negotiated settlement.

Trump, by contrast, offered President Zelensky two clear paths for continued U.S. support—focused on defense in exchange for critical resources like minerals and energy—and made repeated efforts to negotiate an end to the conflict. Zelensky rejected both. Democrats may not like Trump’s approach, but calling him a Russian agent ignores the facts: he tried harder than either of his predecessors to bring the war to a close.

Meanwhile, U.S. exports to Russia, hampered by strict export controls, fell to $526 million in 2024, leaving a modest trade deficit of $2.5 billion. This pales in comparison to the $63 billion deficit with Canada and the $236 billion deficit with the European Union, underscoring Russia’s minor role in U.S. trade imbalances.

Far from being a Kremlin stooge, Trump hammered Russia with sanctions. These struck hard and wide: in 2018, the Treasury Department froze the U.S. assets of 7 oligarchs, 12 companies they controlled, and 17 senior Putin allies, targeting election meddling and cyberattacks. The 2017 CAATSA law, signed under congressional pressure, locked in sanctions on 39 Russian defense and intelligence entities, while 273 designations hit Ukraine-related aggression and other provocations.

Trump also banned Kaspersky Labs software from U.S. government systems in 2017 over spying risks and, in 2019, sanctioned firms building the Nord Stream 2 pipeline to curb Russia’s energy grip on Europe. In his 2025 term, he’s kept the heat on, adding oil and banking sanctions in March. Paired with Biden’s 2022 energy import ban, these measures have crushed U.S.-Russia trade—imports plummeted from $29 billion in 2021 to just $3 billion in 2024—showing tariffs would be overkill when sanctions have already done the job.

By contrast, Europe and Canada each account for a significant share of the U.S. trade deficit, dwarfing Russia’s impact. In 2024, the U.S. goods trade deficit with the European Union reached $235.6 billion, while Canada’s stood at $63.3 billion—together, nearly 15% of the total U.S. goods deficit of $2 trillion. These countries have long imposed higher tariffs and restrictions on U.S. imports, tilting the trade balance in their favor. For example, Germany restricts U.S. agricultural exports like beef and poultry through stringent EU sanitary and phytosanitary rules, effectively banning hormone-treated meat since 1989, and imposes a 10% tariff on U.S. cars—four times the U.S.’s 2.5% rate on German autos.

Across the EU, tariffs average 3.5% on U.S. goods, with peaks like 12% on apparel and €0.192 per liter on ethanol, plus non-tariff barriers like complex certification for machinery and tech. Canada, meanwhile, levies tariffs up to 270% on U.S. dairy under its supply management system and restricts U.S. lumber with quotas and duties, often exceeding 20%. These barriers have kept U.S. exports at bay while their goods flood American markets.

At the same time, the U.S. has shouldered Europe’s defense burden since World War II, providing roughly 70% of NATO’s total spending—peaking near 80% during the Cold War and settling at 68% ($811 billion of $1.2 trillion) in 2024, per NATO data. This security umbrella freed EU nations and Canada from hefty defense budgets, letting them channel funds into sectors like education and healthcare—Germany spends just 1.6% of GDP on defense versus the U.S.’s 3.5%, while Canada hovers at 1.4%. With the U.S. as their backstop, these allies enjoyed trade surpluses with America, bolstered by lower military overhead.

Russia’s trade relationship with the U.S. was never this lopsided: the U.S. ran a $2.5 billion deficit with Russia in 2024, but never sponsored Moscow’s national security. Unlike Europe and Canada, Russia faced U.S. sanctions, not subsidies, highlighting a stark disparity in how America’s trade and defense policies have played out.

Democrats are also labeling Trump a Russian agent for scaling back funding for Ukraine and Europe’s defense, but his motives counter that narrative. Trump’s reluctance to pour money into these efforts stems from a desire to avoid emboldening European nations into escalating tensions with Russia.

Britain and France, two NATO heavyweights, are weighing troop deployments to Ukraine to monitor a potential ceasefire—signaled in early 2025 by Keir Starmer and Emmanuel Macron amid ‘coalition of the willing’ talks. Such a move could drag the U.S. into a direct clash with Russia, risking a third world war with catastrophic fallout, especially for Europe. Trump believes Europe is less likely to take these gambles if they can’t count on U.S. support.

The bottom line is, he’s tired of Europe banking trade surpluses—like the EU’s $235.6 billion and Canada’s $63.3 billion trade surpluses with the U.S. in 2024—while leaning on American defense and flirting with global disaster.