M. A. Hossain,
In the high-stakes world of 21st-century geopolitics, even a lunch can tell a deeper story. That was certainly the case when the U.S. President Donald Trump recently hosted a seemingly low-profile summit with African leaders at the White House. Leaders from Gabon, Guinea-Bissau, Liberia, Mauritania, and Senegal—countries often relegated to the geopolitical periphery—sat down for handshakes, smiles, and awkward small talk. But beneath the veneer of goodwill was a clearer, more strategic subtext: America is racing to reassert its foothold on a continent whose mineral wealth has become the new gold standard in global competition.
On paper, this summit mimicked similar gatherings hosted by Russia and China in recent years. Both powers have successfully established forums with African nations to secure not only resources but also diplomatic and military influence. But unlike China’s Belt and Road charm or Russia’s security offerings in the Sahel, Trump’s summit was a paradox—an effort to court African leaders while simultaneously carrying the baggage of past insults, inconsistent policies, and a glaringly transactional tone.
The awkwardness of the summit was epitomized in a gaffe when Trump asked Liberian President Joseph Boakai where he learned to speak English so well—apparently unaware that English is Liberia’s official language and that the country itself was established in the early 19th century by freed African-American slaves with U.S. support. Liberia’s very identity is woven into the American legacy, yet this historical connection seemed lost in the room.
For many African observers, this was more than a slip—it was emblematic of a broader ignorance that has long defined Washington’s Africa policy. Whereas China sends seasoned diplomats and engineers to court African governments, the U.S. often arrives with lectures on governance or, worse, condescension.
And yet, Washington is pivoting. With the West losing ground across Africa, especially as former colonial powers like France are being shown the door in Mali, Burkina Faso, and Niger—the United States is awakening to the reality that its influence is waning.
At the heart of this diplomatic courtship lies a single powerful word: minerals. The five African nations represented at the summit may not wield geopolitical clout, but they sit atop deposits of cobalt, manganese, iron ore, and lithium—elements essential to the technological revolutions of our age. Electric vehicles, smartphones, solar panels—none function without them.
The problem? China got there first.
Beijing has built infrastructure and brokered mining deals across the continent for over two decades, using a model that African leaders often find more attractive: no strings attached, no political preaching. The Democratic Republic of Congo is a textbook case, home to the world’s largest cobalt reserves and a major hub for Chinese mining firms.
The Trump administration, by contrast, initially slashed aid and tightened immigration from Africa. Now it is a reversing course, but with a narrow focus. Guided by Trump’s son-in-law Masad Bulos, who has brokered deals in the region and also happens to be related by marriage to the Trump family, the U.S. is eyeing “virgin ground”—countries where China’s influence is still limited. The Bano-Patach mining project in Gabon, backed by the U.S. Development Finance Corporation, is being touted as a prototype for how America might play catch-up.
But it’s a long road. Decades of mistrust, combined with new security challenges, especially in the jihadist-infested Sahel—make any U.S. investment high-risk. Countries like Mali and Niger have already expelled Western forces and opted for Russian security partnerships. American firms, unlike their Chinese or Russian counterparts, are often averse to instability and corruption, preferring environments that offer legal clarity and security. In many parts of Africa, those are still in short supply.
There’s another undercurrent to this summit that received little media attention—migration. African migrants, especially from Mauritania and Senegal, have increasingly been reaching the U.S. via the southern border through Latin America. The Trump administration, true to its platform, is exploring deals with African nations to take back deportees or host third-country asylum processing centers.
It is a transactional dance. Invite a leader to Washington, offer some investment or military equipment, and secure a backroom deal on migration control. But this dual-track diplomacy—offering friendship while slapping travel bans—undermines whatever goodwill the U.S. hopes to build. Earlier this year, the Senegalese women’s basketball team was denied visas for a training event in the U.S. Just last month, visa denials for African business leaders and athletes drew criticism. The message is mixed: come to Washington to talk business, but don’t expect to enter the country freely.
Trump’s pivot to Africa is consistent with his oft-repeated mantra: “Trade, not aid.” While this slogan resonates with African leaders eager for investment over dependency, the U.S. has made this shift without a credible follow-through. Aid budgets have been slashed, causing panic among NGOs and public health officials. A Lancet study projected that these cuts could lead to over 14 million additional deaths by 2030 if essential healthcare initiatives are defunded.
This has created a paradox: Washington wants to win Africa’s trust, but is not willing to invest in the very institutions that foster long-term partnerships—schools, hospitals, civil society. China and Russia, on the other hand, offer infrastructure or security without attaching moral strings. This approach has helped them gain significant ground—both literally and figuratively—across Africa.
To many African leaders, this summit felt like smoke and mirrors—a last-minute bid to play catch-up as American influence erodes. The Liberian delegation reportedly left Washington humiliated. For all the talk of partnership, the lingering legacy of Trump’s infamous 2018 remark about African nations still stings. That kind of language—however it was intended—cannot be erased by a photo-op and promises of mineral deals.
To be sure, there are opportunities. If Washington can invest consistently, partner respectfully, and offer security cooperation without neo-colonial overtones, it can still be a formidable player in Africa. But that requires humility, historical awareness, and long-term vision—three things often missing in the transactional diplomacy that currently dominates U.S. foreign policy.
This Africa summit was not merely a lunch. It was a geopolitical inflection point—a sign that the U.S. recognizes it is no longer Africa’s default partner. China and Russia are not just knocking on the door—they’re already inside. If the United States hopes to regain influence, it must do more than chase minerals. It must rebuild trust, honor its words with action, and treat Africa not as a commodity, but as a continent of sovereign partners.
What happens next—whether new mining projects take off, whether migration deals hold, whether security cooperation flourishes—will determine if this was the beginning of a new American engagement, or just another awkward, half-hearted attempt to reclaim lost ground. The race for Africa is on. But it’s not about who arrives first. It’s about who stays the longest—and who listens best.
M A Hossain, political and defense analyst based in Bangladesh. He can be reached at: writetomahossain@gmail.com
This article published at :
1. Asian Age, BD : 15 July, 25
2. Eurasia Review, USA : 15 July, 25
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