The Real Story: Unpacking Trump’s Peace Deals and Their Lasting Impact
Ever wondered about the true impact of Trump’s peace deals beyond the headlines? President Donald Trump often talked up his administration’s knack for ending wars and achieving peace where others couldn’t. But when we take a closer look at these much-talked-about agreements, especially those with the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) and Rwanda, and Armenia and Azerbaijan, a pattern emerges: a “resources-for-peace” strategy. This approach seemed to put American economic interests and quick fixes ahead of lasting peace, sparking serious questions about how effective and ethical these international peace agreements truly were in the long run. Let’s unpack the specifics, exploring their motivations, immediate effects, and the big questions they raise for global diplomacy and how we solve conflicts for real. Understanding Trump’s foreign policy choices here is super important for anyone trying to grasp where global peace efforts are headed.
- Trump’s peace deals often prioritized quick economic gains, especially access to resources, over deeper, sustainable conflict resolution.
- Agreements like those involving the DRC-Rwanda and Armenia-Azerbaijan demonstrated a consistent “resources-for-peace” model, raising concerns about ethical implications and long-term effectiveness.
- These deals frequently overlooked the complex root causes of conflict, leading to fragile outcomes and, in some cases, worsening existing tensions.
- True peacebuilding demands addressing underlying grievances, ensuring local participation, and establishing strong accountability mechanisms, rather than solely transactional exchanges.
What was the Washington Agreement, and how did it connect Congo’s minerals to US interests?
The Washington Agreement, mediated by the Trump administration between the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) and Rwanda, aimed to secure U.S. access to the DRC’s vast mineral resources, but it largely failed to bring sustainable peace to the region. Trump claimed this intervention “stopped” the conflict in the DRC. However, the fighting continued, showing a big difference between the claims and the reality. The “Washington agreement,” signed in June, had more to do with securing U.S. access to the DRC’s valuable mineral resources, which are super important for modern technology, rather than truly fostering durable peace.
The eastern parts of the DRC are unfortunately a hotspot of conflict, with over a hundred armed groups fighting for control over land, resources, and political influence. Neighboring countries like Rwanda, Uganda, and Burundi have often made things worse by supporting rival groups to advance their own strategic and economic goals. All this instability makes it easier for illegal mineral smuggling, generating billions that fund militias and enrich corrupt officials and foreign players. The deep-seated reasons for this long-lasting conflict—like ethnic marginalization, land disputes, weak governance, and massive displacement—were notably absent from the Washington agreement’s focus. This narrow scope made these international peace agreements pretty ineffective in tackling the real problems.
A big part of the Washington deal was supposed to be a regional economic framework. This framework was designed to fight illegal trafficking, make mineral supply chains less risky, and open doors for U.S. investors. Trump’s vision was that American involvement would bring in money while also challenging China’s growing presence in Congolese mining. But for many Congolese, this kind of American involvement feels like a painful echo of past exploitation that has haunted their mining sector for ages. Critics worry this latest version of the extraction model means foreign powers offering flimsy security promises in exchange for resource access, which inevitably chips away at the sovereignty and bargaining power of resource-rich nations like the DRC. Focusing heavily on Congo minerals, while driven by economics, didn’t seem to account for the human cost.
It’s practically impossible to meet the terms of this regional economic framework if the widespread fighting doesn’t stop. Sadly, the Washington agreement didn’t offer a solid path to sustainable peace. For example, Kinshasa refused to move forward with the economic agreement until 90 percent of Rwandan troops left eastern DRC. Rwanda, a major supporter of the M23, the most powerful rebel group in eastern DRC, managed to include a significant loophole in the de-escalation clauses. Both countries are forbidden from supporting non-state armed groups “except as necessary” to implement the agreement—a vague phrase that’s easy to twist for self-serving reasons, undeniably weakening its power and hurting efforts to resolve the ongoing DRC conflict.
Plus, the deal called for disarming the Democratic Forces for the Liberation of Rwanda (FDLR), a militia with historical ties to the 1994 Rwandan genocide. While Rwanda claims this is vital for its national security, critics suggest this claim might be overblown to justify its intervention, highlighting the delicate balance of power and deeply rooted historical grievances at play. The lack of enforcement mechanisms further crippled the Washington deal. A lot of the FDLR operates in M23-controlled areas, and the Congolese army isn’t very strong, often relying on local militias called Wazalendo for security. This created a stalemate, with Rwanda saying its withdrawal depends on the DRC first neutralizing the FDLR, and neither side appearing ready to make the first move.
Crucially, important regional players like Burundi and Uganda, who have troops in the area, weren’t even at the negotiation table. Even more concerning, none of the active armed groups in the DRC were part of the peace deal, and Qatari-led talks between the Congolese government and M23 have stalled. This narrow focus unintentionally allowed other armed groups to step in, leading to increased violence since the agreement was signed. The results are terrible: brutal attacks on civilians have continued, and the M23 has expanded its territory, underscoring just how fragile these Trump administration peace efforts truly were.
What did the Armenia-Azerbaijan Joint Declaration mean for the Caucasus, and why were there so many unanswered questions?
The Armenia-Azerbaijan Joint Declaration, framed as a “peace treaty” by the Trump administration, was actually a non-binding political statement primarily focused on an investment deal for a transit corridor, leaving crucial issues like security and justice unaddressed. This “Joint Declaration,” signed at the White House on August 8, wasn’t a legally binding treaty or a clear path to peace. It was simply a political statement committing both sides to “continue further actions” toward a stalled peace agreement that had been drafted six months earlier. The sticking point remains: Azerbaijan insists Armenia adopt a new constitution before signing any actual peace treaty, a process that could take years. While the U.S. administration’s brief interest might have temporarily prevented direct conflict, the deal lacked key security guarantees, local buy-in, and justice mechanisms vital for long-term stability in the highly volatile Caucasus region. This complex Armenia Azerbaijan peace deal was definitely full of historical tension and unresolved issues.
The main attraction of this Joint Declaration was an investment initiative called the “Trump Route for International Peace and Prosperity” (TRIPP). This plan would give Washington exclusive development rights to an Armenian transit corridor, connecting Azerbaijan to its Nakhchivan exclave. This route fits perfectly with Azerbaijan’s long-held dreams of connecting the Turkic world, completing a Middle Corridor between China and Europe, and securing an outlet for Azeri oil and gas. For Armenia, the hope was that U.S. investment would offer some temporary security in an otherwise hostile neighborhood. This hope, however, was built on shaky ground.
Since the 2020 ceasefire, Azerbaijan has occupied about 215km of Armenian territory and terrorized border communities. President Ilham Aliyev has often called Armenia “Western Azerbaijan” and threatened to seize the TRIPP corridor (which Azerbaijan calls the “Zangezur” corridor) by force. With a modernized military backed by Israel and Türkiye, and a proven disregard for international law, Azerbaijan is in a strong position to pursue its territorial ambitions, casting a long shadow over any promises of peace. Any discussion about geopolitics Caucasus would be incomplete without acknowledging these strong dynamics.
Armenia, on the other hand, had very little power in these negotiations. The United States and Europe have historically been hesitant to step in, and Russia, busy with its full-scale invasion of Ukraine, has mostly abandoned its traditional peacekeeping role in the Caucasus. The EU border monitoring mission, which tracks ceasefire violations, remains the only external presence, yet Azerbaijan forced a clause in the peace agreement that would require its withdrawal. Without international accountability, the risk of renewed aggression stays incredibly high. The Joint Declaration conspicuously lacked security guarantees from the United States or other global players. In fact, American investment interests—along with policy calculations concerning Russia and Iran—could potentially lead the Trump administration to overlook future Azeri provocations. For the TRIPP corridor to truly live up to its name, the United States would need to make credible promises to defend Armenia’s sovereign control over both the transit route and the broader Syunik region, which the current agreement simply didn’t do enough. The ongoing Nagorno-Karabakh conflict really shows these failures.
Perhaps the most glaring omission of the deal was what would happen to Nagorno-Karabakh, a disputed region that has been central to conflict for three decades. In 2023, Azerbaijan violently forced the entire ethnic Armenian population of Nagorno-Karabakh to leave through a brutal 10-month blockade and a military campaign. Trump himself criticized the Biden administration for doing “NOTHING as 120,000 Armenian Christians were horrifically persecuted and forcibly displaced.” Through a clause in the peace deal, Azerbaijan successfully pressured Armenia to drop its international legal cases, denying justice to Nagorno-Karabakh’s 150,000 victims. While Azerbaijan would also drop its counter-suits, these were much weaker and unlikely to succeed on their own merits. The deal also ignored efforts by displaced Armenians to return safely to Nagorno-Karabakh, which was mandated by the International Court of Justice but effectively blocked by Azeri policies. Since 2023, Azerbaijan has rushed to resettle the region while continuing to demolish Armenian monasteries and cultural sites, and 23 Armenian political prisoners remain unlawfully held in Azeri detention. These huge omissions essentially legitimized Azerbaijan’s military aggression and human rights abuses, pushing long-term reconciliation even further out of reach. These factors truly highlight the problematic nature of some US foreign policy decisions.
How did Trump’s transactional diplomacy impact global peacebuilding efforts?
Trump’s approach to peace deals often treated complex conflicts as transactional opportunities for resources and real estate, fundamentally misunderstanding what true peace requires and leading to fragile, short-term outcomes. The agreements involving the DRC-Rwanda and Armenia-Azerbaijan clearly showed a consistent pattern in Trump’s peace deals: a basic misunderstanding of peace itself. Instead of encouraging comprehensive and lasting solutions, the administration’s strategy saw peace deals as chances to secure resources and real estate. It put American economic interests and quick fixes ahead of real reconciliation and justice. This “resources-for-peace” idea is pretty flawed because it simplifies complex, deep-seated conflicts into mere bargaining chips for material gains.
True peacebuilding means tackling the many different things that drive conflict—like ethnic tensions, land disputes, weak governance, historical grievances, and human rights—rather than just focusing on taking natural assets or securing strategic routes. This short-sighted view, often motivated by the desire for quick political wins, frequently forgets the human side and the long-term stability of the regions involved. The lack of involvement from crucial groups, such as local armed organizations and displaced communities, meant these deals didn’t have the necessary support and legitimacy to actually work. The absence of strong security guarantees, international accountability measures, and ways to ensure justice for victims further undercut their potential for lasting impact. When peace is “bought” with mineral and real estate deals, it becomes a very fragile thing, easily broken by even small changes in power or economic motivations. Such an approach often rewards those who exploit others and keeps cycles of exploitation and conflict going, instead of breaking them. The strong focus on resource exploitation Africa, without addressing governance and human rights, just made existing problems worse. These were definitely not sustainable peace initiatives.
Could Trump’s “resources-for-peace” model be applied to conflicts in Gaza and Ukraine?
Looking at potential future scenarios, there are concerns that a similar “resources-for-peace” approach might be proposed for highly sensitive regions like Gaza and Ukraine, raising significant ethical and practical questions about their effectiveness and humanitarian impact. It looks like Trump might try to use this “resources-for-peace” method again in other very sensitive places, specifically Gaza and Ukraine. Back in February, Trump suggested a plan for the United States to “take over” and “level” the Gaza Strip, turning it into a “Riviera of the Middle East.” Experts quickly slammed this idea as a “straightforward crime against humanity,” pointing out how extreme and dehumanizing such a concept was. While a ceasefire in Gaza seemed to be developing as of October 9, the broader proposed 20-point peace plan includes a “Trump economic development plan” based on the idea of “thriving modern miracle cities in the Middle East” (point 10), and “a special economic zone . . . with preferred tariff and access rates” (point 11). This pretty clearly signals a continuation of the resource-driven strategy, even in a region marked by a severe humanitarian crisis and deeply entrenched political and religious conflicts. The idea of a Gaza Strip development Trump style really brings up some serious ethical questions.
Similarly, finding a solution for the war in Ukraine remains incredibly difficult. Recent summits haven’t made any progress towards an agreement, and Russia has ramped up its drone and missile attacks on civilian areas. In this situation, the Trump administration might revisit earlier ideas to link continued U.S. military support to access to Ukrainian minerals. Such a deal would undoubtedly feel more like extortion than a commitment to an ally, potentially eroding trust and prolonging the conflict for economic benefit. This highlights a troubling pattern of putting transactional gains above principles of alliance and humanitarian support, further questioning how legitimate and effective these proposed Ukraine war Trump proposal strategies truly are. These are clear examples of potentially fragile peace deals in the making.
What lessons can we learn about peacebuilding from the outcomes of Trump’s diplomatic efforts?
The experiences with Trump’s peace deals in the DRC-Rwanda and Armenia-Azerbaijan highlight a crucial lesson: lasting peace can’t be “bought” with resource and real estate deals, but instead requires comprehensive engagement with local actors, robust accountability, and a focus on underlying injustices. While aiming to negotiate and build peace is definitely a good goal, the Trump administration’s efforts, largely defined by a “resources-for-peace” approach, fell short in both substance and durability. There’s no easy answer for solving long-standing conflicts; you simply can’t “buy” peace with mineral and real estate agreements. The outcomes in the DRC, Rwanda, Armenia, and Azerbaijan repeatedly drive this fundamental truth home.
Moving forward, genuine peacebuilding initiatives absolutely need to include several key elements:
- Local Participation: We need strong involvement from local actors. This makes sure solutions fit the specific context, respect cultural sensitivities, and get the necessary buy-in from the communities most affected by the conflict.
- Verification Mechanisms: Effective peace deals must have solid third-party verification to ensure everyone follows through and to build trust between warring groups.
- Comprehensive Solutions: Solutions must tackle the complex, many-sided causes of conflict. This means addressing not just the immediate fighting but also the deeper grievances, inequalities, and historical injustices.
- Accountability: Predatory actors should be held responsible for past wrongs, instead of being rewarded through resource-driven peace deals.
These aren’t simple or easy tasks—if they were, peace would have arrived ages ago. But they are absolutely necessary. The “peace theater” we saw under Trump did little to advance these goals. True, lasting peace calls for a commitment to justice, fairness, and real human security, far beyond just economic transactions. The legacy of Trump’s peace deals serves as a powerful reminder and a cautionary tale for future diplomatic efforts.
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