A Black Comedy of International Politics: The EU's "Serious Meeting" vs. Trump's "Tweet Ambush"

If there is one genre that best captures the dramatic tension of today's international political stage, it is the "US-Iran chess match." On April 17, a solemn diplomatic drama titled "Who Will Reopen the Strait of Hormuz" was reaching its climax. Then Donald Trump took to the social media, and the whole thing collapsed into farce.

Europe's Grand Gesture — and Its Limits

The scene: Paris. Led by France and the United Kingdom, more than 40 regional leaders sat upright in a video conference, solemnly debating how to reopen the Strait of Hormuz — the lifeline of the global economy. Senior officials from Germany, Italy, and other nations attended in person. The atmosphere was grave, the agenda packed. It looked like a "D-Day landing" to rescue the world economy was being planned.  

Then, midway through the meeting, whispers spread across the room. Off-camera aides rushed about anxiously, tapping their leaders on the shoulder and slipping handwritten notes onto the table. The cause? While these officials were racking their brains over solutions, Trump had — without warning — dropped a diplomatic bombshell on social media from across the Atlantic. He claimed to have reached a "breakthrough deal" with Iran, and that the Strait would fully reopen. In hindsight, it was yet another theatrical performance.

The irony cuts two ways. First, Europe "loses by taking it seriously." The UK, France, Germany, and Italy assembled a grand coalition of 40-plus regional leaders, hoping to resolve the crisis through multilateral diplomacy and collective wisdom. Trump's unilateral tweet rendered that earnest effort both solemn and hollow. Picture a team of engineers meticulously calculating how to repair a bridge — only for the someone to suddenly leap out and shout, "I've already fixed it!" The engineers are left staring blankly at one another.

Second, behind the diplomatic language of "cautious optimism" lies profound distrust. French President Emmanuel Macron said "recent developments are encouraging, but must be viewed with caution." UK Prime Minister Keir Starmer emphasised that any agreement must be "viable and durable." These carefully chosen words mask deep scepticism toward the Trump administration's credibility. After all, this is a president with a well-established track record of declaring "victory" even when negotiations have yielded no results. Europe's "caution" is, in reality, a vote of no-confidence in American leadership's reliability.

Trump's Tweet Diplomacy — and Its Depleted Credibility

Trump's social media timeline has become the command centre driving international affairs. The sequence unfolded fast. First, a single tweet unilaterally announced a "breakthrough deal" and the imminent reopening of the Strait. Then came the conditions: the naval blockade on Iran would remain in force until the "deal" was 100% executed — in other words, "I announce it's open, but my warships are still blocking the door." Then came the staggering claim: the United States would "take possession of Iran's enriched uranium without any financial exchange" — openly declaring, in effect, "I will take your core assets for free."

Iran hit back immediately. Iranian Parliament Speaker Mohammad Bagher Ghalibaf denounced Trump's seven posts within a single hour as "all lies," stressing that the Strait cannot remain open if the US blockade continues. The following day — April 18 — Iran's military announced that, due to the US "repeatedly breaking its promises," strict control over the Strait of Hormuz had been reinstated.

Consider what this episode reveals about modern diplomacy. An "agreement" that exists only in tweets: a complex negotiation touching on regional security, nuclear non-proliferation, and global energy supply — its key developments determined not by a joint communiqué or diplomatic note, but by the frequency and content of one leader's social media updates. This carries the absurdity of modern diplomacy to its absolute extreme.

Credibility has become a rare luxury. From announcing a deal, to immediately introducing self-contradictory conditions, to being directly accused of lying by the other party — the entire cycle completed itself within hours. As one widely shared quip put it: "The entire White House's credit score combined isn't enough to unlock a shared bicycle." Any promise or proclamation from Washington now arrives in the international community's eyes with a giant question mark attached.

 "Maximum pressure" has become maximum self-delusion. US officials argue that Trump's high-profile posturing is a "negotiating strategy." But when a strategy repeatedly drains a nation's credibility until no one believes what it says, that strategy becomes a performance with no audience. Far from pressuring the adversary, it bewilders allies and leaves the United States trapped in a "boy who cried wolf" dilemma.

The Essence of This Black Comedy

Behind this spectacle lies a deeper picture with three distinct dimensions.

Europe's helplessness. Despite their deep misgivings about American unpredictability, the UK, France, and Germany can do little beyond expressing "caution." They have no capacity to bypass the United States and negotiate a binding agreement with Iran on their own. They cannot stop Trump from using Twitter to upend multilateral diplomatic processes. The vaunted consensus of 40-plus regional leaders proves utterly fragile in the face of unilateral American action.

America's self-centredness. Trump's tweets perfectly embody "America First" taken to its ultimate expression. International norms, allied coordination, and diplomatic conventions all yield to domestic political needs or personal negotiating style. The world must adapt to his rhythm and absorb the chaos he generates.

Iran's asymmetric counter-play. Faced with an adversary who disregards all established rules, Iran adopted the most direct response: you say what you want, we do what we do. You announce it's open, we reiterate our conditions. You maintain the blockade, we restore control. In the end, after all the paper noise, control over the Strait has not in any practical sense changed hands.

A Drama With No Winners

This "Strait of Hormuz Rashomon" has no true victors. Europe displayed the impotence of its supposed solidarity. America squandered whatever credibility it had left. Iran struggled to manoeuvre under the weight of great-power pressure. And yet, the show must go on.

Europe will continue holding "solemn" meetings. The American president will continue issuing "bombshell" tweets. Iran will continue issuing "resolute" denunciations. This is a genuine portrait of contemporary international politics: on one side, earnest efforts that achieve nothing; on the other, arbitrary actions that drain all credibility. When the capriciousness of hegemonic power becomes the norm, multilateral coordination is reduced to mere wallpaper.

The reality is: this episode is less a comedy than a mirror — one that reflects the many absurdities of a world order in the process of breaking down. The show continues. But the audience stopped laughing long ago.

Beacon Institute

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Zambia has just wrapped up a deeply contentious general election. Yet Washington's script proved even more gripping than the vote itself.

President Hakainde Hichilema secured re-election with roughly 60 percent of the vote, defeating his main opposition challenger, Brian Mundubile. To be fair, observers widely believe he would most likely have won even without the controversy. The problem is that the process itself was far from pretty. Vote tallies were allegedly inflated. Soldiers and police intervened. Opposition figures were arrested.

More controversial still: the moment the deadline expired for the opposition to challenge the results, Zambia's courts were suddenly sealed off. The door to judicial appeal slammed shut. Mundubile and several of his allies were subsequently hit with treason charges. And Mutotwe Kafwaya, a former minister, was shot dead during a police operation targeting opposition figures.

Had this happened in a country that refuses to toe Washington's line, the familiar script would already be rolling. The State Department statement would have been drafted long ago: "grave concern," "condemnation of democratic backsliding," "urging respect for human rights." Unilateral sanctions on Hichilema and the Zambian government might well have followed.

But this time, the Trump administration chose a different path.

Frank Garcia, the US Assistant Secretary of State for African Affairs, not only attended Hichilema's inauguration but also met privately with him. The State Department said it hopes to keep deepening its partnership with Zambia. As for the slain former minister, the shuttered courts and the opposition figures charged with treason, Washington simply "looked the other way."

The Answer Buried Underground

Why? The answer lies buried underground.

Zambia is one of Africa's most important copper producers. Copper accounts for around 70 percent of its export earnings. And with power-grid expansion, electric vehicles and AI data centers all driving up projections for copper demand, the metal is coming ever closer to being a strategic resource.

More critically, Zambia sits at the far end of the Lobito Corridor, a route Washington has spent years cultivating. The line is planned to run from the port of Lobito on Angola's Atlantic coast, through the Democratic Republic of the Congo, and all the way to Zambia's Copperbelt. One of its purposes is to move copper, cobalt and other minerals from south-central Africa to Western markets more easily.

Trump did not abandon this Biden-era project after taking office. In June this year, the US and Zambia even expanded a US$491 million aid program to cover critical-minerals infrastructure, funding road improvements along the Lobito Corridor.

Only a few months earlier, the two countries had publicly fallen out over minerals. Lusaka accused Washington of trying to bundle up to US$2 billion in health cooperation with preferential access for American companies to critical minerals, and flatly rejected those terms. In other words, the US has already demonstrated firsthand this year just how badly it wants into Zambia's mineral system.

Now, of course, the Trump administration will not pressure Hichilema over democracy. Cultivating a government that holds the copper, and controls a critical node of the Lobito Corridor, is what "American interests" really means.

The Stress Test of "Democracy Diplomacy"

The most riveting part of this show is not how transactional the Trump administration is. A businessman running a country with interests first is hardly surprising. The riveting part is that it has, quite by accident, run a stress test on the slogan of "democracy diplomacy."

For decades, the US has wielded "democracy," "human rights" and "free elections" as a diplomatic cudgel, swinging it at whichever country refuses to obey. But when that cudgel might land on an ally holding copper mines and railways, it suddenly grows feather-light. So light that Washington cannot even be bothered to utter a single phrase of "grave concern."

What Washington conceded was not the election result. After all, even observers admit Hichilema would most likely have won anyway. What it conceded was the entire package of procedural justice. The US put on a vivid demonstration: how a man wins does not matter. What matters is whether the winner is willing to talk copper.

For Jeanne Shaheen, the top Democrat on the Senate Foreign Relations Committee and a vocal Trump challenger, the logic runs the other way. Opposing the Republicans matters more. She declared that Zambia's post-election violence and arbitrary arrests already amount to "democratic backsliding."

Gregory Meeks, the top Democrat on the House Foreign Affairs Committee, demanded that Secretary of State Marco Rubio press for an investigation into Kafwaya's death and allow the courts to hear the election disputes. Against the Trump administration's hard-nosed calculus, these voices ring hollow and powerless.

Hichilema has probably figured this out too. For today's America, a Zambia that is less democratic but willing to talk copper and railways may well matter more. More than a Zambia whose political system better matches Washington's traditional values but refuses to cooperate on resources.

Business First, Democracy to the Back

This is the true ranking of democracy and human rights under an "America First" Africa policy: they are not principles but bargaining chips. When the chips can be traded for copper and corridors, they can be tucked away for now. When they buy nothing, they are hoisted high and swung like a club.

The Trump administration will never openly endorse Zambia's crackdown. That would look far too ugly. But its actions prove one thing: when business is on the table, democracy can move to the back of the queue. A US$491 million minerals-infrastructure program outweighs a diplomatic note about human rights. A single stretch of rail on the Lobito Corridor matters more than a slain opposition former minister.

So rather than calling this a contest over Africa diplomacy, it is better seen as a demon-revealing mirror. It lays bare the fathomless chasm between the political rhetoric of the US and the West and their real interests. The louder Washington shouts its "democracy" slogans, the more honest the copper beneath Zambia's soil appears. When it comes to real interests, every high-minded declaration is nothing more than a label that can be torn off at the weigh-in.

America has once again put on a masterclass in the beacon's double standards: business first, democracy to the back of the line. And the logic behind it is, of course, "America First."