US PRESIDENT Donald Trump’s latest diplomatic foray into the Middle East — spanning Riyadh, Doha and Abu Dhabi — unveiled a foreign policy philosophy that is neither grounded in idealism nor constrained by traditional strategic alliances. Instead, it champions a form of calculated pragmatism that is transactional to its core. The abandonment of long-cherished American values — democracy promotion, human rights advocacy and institutional reforms — was not merely an oversight but a deliberate act. This recalibration of priorities signals a strategic reorientation that seeks to extract measurable returns from diplomacy even if it means engaging with pariahs, overlooking past transgressions or bending ethical lines.
In Riyadh, Trump’s announcement to end America’s policy of ‘nation-building’ echoed with finality. The phrase, once central to US missions in Afghanistan and Iraq, has become politically radioactive after decades of blood and treasure yielded little in terms of stability. The pivot is not without precedent. From president Eisenhower’s realpolitik dealings with Middle Eastern monarchs to president Obama’s cautious disengagement from Syria, the American administration has often toggled between interventionist zeal and strategic withdrawal. But Trump’s approach is distinguished by its overt candour: US foreign policy, under his stewardship, is a business transaction, not a moral crusade.
Perhaps, the most jarring manifestation of this doctrine was the rehabilitation of Syria. With the stroke of a pen, sanctions imposed for nearly half a century were lifted, just as Ahmed al-Shara — a man previously branded a terrorist by the US state department — was ushered into a polite diplomatic company. Al-Shara’s return to legitimacy underscores the essential logic of Trump’s Middle East calculus: if engagement can buy cooperation, ostracism is counterproductive. This is not without justification. The Syrian civil war has caused an estimated 400,000 death and displaced millions. Continued isolation has done little to dislodge the regime or alleviate suffering. Re-engagement, in this light, becomes a tool not of endorsement, but of strategic necessity.
Historical analogies bolster this line of thinking. When Richard Nixon visited Beijing in 1972, he defied decades of bipartisan orthodoxy. Mao’s China had been complicit in the death of millions, yet Nixon recognised that ignoring a geopolitical reality was neither wise nor sustainable. Similarly, Ronald Reagan’s negotiation with Mikhail Gorbachev did not rest on shared values but on mutual interest. Trump’s outreach to Syria, and even his flirtation with Iran, fits within this pattern, without the institutional discipline or coherent doctrine that guided his predecessors though.
This improvisational diplomacy, however, raises uncomfortable questions. Trump’s Middle East tour secured massive investment commitments — over $1 trillion in arms purchase, infrastructure partnership and energy deals. On its face, this appears as a strategic victory. But the lines separating personal fortune and national interest blurred disturbingly. The now-infamous $400 million private jet reportedly gifted to Trump by Qatar, while not illegal, adds to a troubling pattern. His family’s business ventures, an 80-story Trump Tower in Dubai, golf courses in Oman and LIV Golf events at Trump-branded resorts, paint a picture of a presidency that dovetailed seamlessly with profiteering.
The constitutional boundaries between private enrichment and public service are deliberately stringent in the United States. The emoluments clause of the US constitution was crafted precisely to prevent foreign influence over public officials through gifts or titles. Alhough Trump’s defenders argue that he divested operational control of his businesses, critics contend that the ethical firewalls were porous at best. This fusion of diplomacy and commerce invites comparisons not to Nixon or Reagan, but to kleptocratic regimes where statecraft is routinely leveraged for private enrichment.
The Trump doctrine’s treatment of Iran is equally emblematic. Long vilified as the ‘world’s leading state sponsor of terrorism’, Tehran was the centrepiece of Trump’s maximum pressure campaign during his first term. Yet now, whispers of reviving nuclear talks suggest a willingness to engage so long as the price is right. While some hail this as an echo of past breakthroughs like the 2015 Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action, the current approach lacks a clear framework. Is the objective to contain Iran’s nuclear ambitions, integrate it into the global economy or simply manage its aggression through economic incentives? The ambiguity is strategic but also dangerous. Without a clear endgame, engagement risks legitimising bad actors without securing meaningful concessions.
What makes Trump’s foreign policy both revolutionary and disquieting is the normalisation of moral ambiguity. The Abraham accords, which normalised relations between Israel and several Arab states, demonstrated that the Palestinian issue is no longer a prerequisite for regional diplomacy. Syria’s reintegration now hints at a broader principle: today’s enemies can be tomorrow’s clients. The traditional American playbook, where diplomacy is constrained by values, alliances and precedent, is being rewritten in real-time.
There is, of course, an argument to be made for such pragmatism. The post-cold war era has shown the limitations of idealistic foreign policy. From Iraq to Libya, well-intentioned interventions have yielded chaos. The financial and human costs have been staggering. In this context, Trump’s doctrine of restraint of avoiding quagmires and focusing on bilateral gains offers a seductive simplicity. Why policing the world when you can profit from its stability? Why impose values when you can negotiate interests?
Yet, this is a dangerous oversimplification. Great powers are not merely hedge funds with armies. Their influence stems not just from their economic and military might, but from the legitimacy of their ideals. The Marshall Plan, NATO and even the flawed post-9/11 strategies were animated by a belief that values matter. Abandoning this moral compass entirely risks transforming American diplomacy into a bidding war in which allies can be discarded and adversaries can buy redemption.
Moreover, the geopolitical consequences of this shift may not be immediate, but they are inevitable. If the United States is perceived as a power for hire, its influence will be transactional, not trusted. China and Russia, already adept at leveraging economic tools for influence, will fill the moral vacuum. And, the very order America helped to build — rooted in norms, alliances, and institutions — may erode under the weight of its own contradictions.
George Washington’s farewell address warned against ‘entangling alliances’, but he also urged the young republic to act with honour and consistency. Trump has redefined engagement not as an alliance, but as a contract. His foreign policy is not about promoting liberty, but about leveraging leverage. It is muscular, bold and, at times, effective. But it also raises a troubling question: if everything is for sale, what becomes of American credibility?
In the end, the Trump doctrine may bring a quieter Middle East, punctuated by high rises and arms deals rather than missile strikes. But peace built on commerce is fragile if not undergirded by principle. The test of this approach will not be in quarterly profits or diplomatic photo-ops, but in whether it creates a sustainable order or merely an auction block for influence.
America may, indeed, be richer for Trump’s manoeuvres. But whether it is safer, stronger or more respected remains deeply uncertain. In the calculus of diplomacy, profit may count, but it cannot be the only metric that matters.
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MA Hossain is a political and defence analyst.
