The Coffee Girl and Trump's Tariff Hike

A five-year-old girl and the price of the world.

It was a five-year-old girl named Madah, on a farm near the Federal District, who explained to me what is happening to the world. Wearing denim shorts and her hair tied back with a yellow ribbon, she said, with the seriousness of someone giving an interview to the international press: — “I don’t like Lula because coffee is expensive.”

I reflected on the depth of that phrase. Behind a childish comment lay the stark logic of global markets: extreme weather, Trump's tariff hikes, financial speculation, and the turmoil of international trade—all summed up in a morning cup of coffee. Coffee, once a symbol of tropical abundance and the smell of home, has become a barometer of tensions between the South and the North, between what is planted and what is taxed.

From the coffee plantations of Minas Gerais to the New York Stock Exchange.

The numbers help to understand the girl's astonishment. In 2024, Brazil exported 50,44 million 60-kilo bags of coffee, a historical record according to Cecafé. And prices, in February 2025, reached unprecedented levels: R$ 2.769,45 for Arabica and R$ 2.087,05 for Robusta, according to Cepea/Esalq.

The boom was short-lived. With the March harvest and a partial easing of supply, prices fell by almost half: in July, Arabica was at R$ 1.682,70, and Robusta at R$ 975,70. Even so, the Brazilian consumer did not get a break. Ground coffee accumulated 18 months of increases, totaling almost 100% inflation until June 2025. Only in July did the first relief arrive: a timid deflation of -1,01%.

The problem is that, while prices were falling on the farms, they were rising in diplomatic talks.

Trump discovers the power of a cup.

In August, Donald Trump, recently re-elected and always theatrical, announced a 50% tariff on Brazilian products, leaving coffee out of the list of exceptions. It was the trigger for an international farce: the world's largest coffee-consuming power—with 30% of its demand supplied by Brazil—decided to punish precisely the product it most needs to import.

In Brazil, the gesture sounded like heresy. Coffee is more than a commodity: it's a way of life. On social media, memes emerged with slogans like "Coffee is national sovereignty" and "You don't mess with a Brazilian's espresso." Analysts pointed out that, without the tropical bean, the average American might not wake up to go to work—a systemic risk greater than any fiscal deficit.

The president of the Brazilian Coffee Exporters Council (Cecafé), Márcio Ferreira, summed it up with diplomatic irony: "The tariffs are prohibitive for buying Brazilian coffee."

From the frost in Minas Gerais to global geopolitics.

The situation became even more surreal when, on August 10th and 11th, frosts hit the Cerrado Mineiro region, destroying part of the coffee plantations. Estimated losses of between 400 and 600 bags rekindled fears of scarcity. Conab revised the Arabica harvest to 35,2 million bags, 11% lower than the previous year.

Meanwhile, Itaú BBA and the United States Department of Agriculture (USDA) were vying for forecasts: 38,7 million for the former and 40,9 million for the latter. The numbers, more than just statistics, became weapons of argument in the corridors of global trade.

From then on, the market reversed course. On August 31st, Arabica coffee soared to US$386 per 100 pounds on the New York Stock Exchange, while Robusta reached US$4.815 per ton in London—increases of 34% and 44%, respectively, in just one month. In Brazil, the price of a 60kg bag of Arabica jumped to R$2.323, and that of Robusta to R$1.534, roughly US$8,50/kg and US$4,82/kg respectively. With the off-season in September approaching, the perfect scenario for a new price surge was complete.

Coffee roasters in turmoil and diplomats in turmoil.

In early September, coffee roasters reacted. Melitta increased the prices of processed beans by 15%; 3 Corações, by 10% for roasted and ground coffee and by 7% for instant coffee. Coffee, which was once a means of exchange and an instrument of social advancement, has now become the symbol of a new type of global inflation: geopolitical inflation.

The diplomats, in turn, began to gauge the temperature of the cups. It was then that it became clear that the conversations between Lula and Trump, previously fraught with distrust and irony, were beginning to take on an almost friendly tone.

And why not? Nothing unites two presidents more than a simultaneous threat of coffee and hamburger meat shortages.

Coffee and hamburgers: a diplomatic duo.

Beef, another victim of the price hikes, followed a similar script: record prices, pressure on American consumption, and an increase in the cost of hamburgers—that cultural institution that sustains the American middle class.

With coffee and hamburgers under tariff attack, Trump realized that the American electorate could turn against him on what matters most: breakfast.

Thus, the "friendly" dialogue between the two presidents was born discreetly. Lula, pragmatic and cordial, knows that modern diplomacy is done more at the coffee table than at the negotiating table. Trump, in turn, understood that challenging Brazil—the world's largest producer and exporter—is to risk the patience of millions of American consumers addicted to caffeine.

In a way, the girl from the farm with the yellow ribbon had already foreseen this impasse: the whole world depends on coffee, but nobody wants to pay the price.

The grain as a mirror of the world.

Behind the foam in the cups lies an accurate portrait of the global economy:

• The extreme weather, which reduces harvests and causes frosts;
• Financial speculation, which amplifies both upward and downward movements;
• political tariffs, used as bargaining chips;
• and consumption is concentrated in the regions that produce the least.

Global coffee stocks at the start of the 2025/26 crop year are the lowest in 25 years — just 21,8 million bags. And global demand, at 169,4 million bags, continues to rise. The math doesn't add up, and the price goes up.

Ultimately, coffee is a perfect metaphor for our time: the product is tropical, but the profit is tempered on Wall Street; the risk is agricultural, but the cause is political; the blame, of course, always falls on the president in office.

Coffee, diplomacy, and the bitter taste of protectionism.

While the planet tries to balance supply, demand, and climate, Brazilian coffee remains an unwitting protagonist in a larger dispute: one that will define the future of international trade. The American tariff increase has opened a rift between two worlds—that of tropical production and that of temperate consumption—which will only be overcome through dialogue and cooperation.

But until then, we'll continue to gauge market sentiment by the price of coffee—and children's moods by the price of the cheese bread that goes with it.

Perhaps one day, when the aroma of geopolitics dissipates, humanity will realize that coffee is the last link that keeps us civilized: it prevents morning wars, makes the news bearable, and occasionally inspires unlikely agreements between two presidents who, for different reasons, don't want to see the world wake up in a bad mood.

Epilogue: Lessons from the Coffee Girl

I returned to the farm weeks later. Madah remained resolute, but a little more conciliatory. She said that now she “might like Lula a little,” because the coffee “had become cheaper.” I asked if she knew what a tariff was. She thought for a moment and replied:

"That's when the price goes up because Trump picked a fight with Brazil."

No economist could explain it better.