The deal between Israel and Hamas to end two years of war is a triumph for U.S. President Donald Trump. Trump thrust himself to the center of one of the world’s bloodiest conflicts and brokered a cease-fire at a moment of great geopolitical uncertainty. Although Trump’s startling bombast often evokes head-shaking from diplomats and policy wonks trained to eschew self-aggrandizement, the deal shows that his flair for high-wire, personality-driven diplomacy can be remarkably potent.
Trump understands that politics is in large part about performance. In his second term, unconstrained by more traditional and cautious advisors, he has turned diplomacy into must-see reality TV that lets viewers tune into unscripted Oval Office meetings, rambling speeches, and off-the-cuff Truth Social posts. Like Larry David or Jerry Seinfeld, he plays an exaggerated version of himself in public, mugging to a crowd that revels in his antics. He is auteur, leading man, and screenwriter all in one.
The deal between Israel and Hamas to end two years of war is a triumph for U.S. President Donald Trump. Trump thrust himself to the center of one of the world’s bloodiest conflicts and brokered a cease-fire at a moment of great geopolitical uncertainty. Although Trump’s startling bombast often evokes head-shaking from diplomats and policy wonks trained to eschew self-aggrandizement, the deal shows that his flair for high-wire, personality-driven diplomacy can be remarkably potent.
Trump understands that politics is in large part about performance. In his second term, unconstrained by more traditional and cautious advisors, he has turned diplomacy into must-see reality TV that lets viewers tune into unscripted Oval Office meetings, rambling speeches, and off-the-cuff Truth Social posts. Like Larry David or Jerry Seinfeld, he plays an exaggerated version of himself in public, mugging to a crowd that revels in his antics. He is auteur, leading man, and screenwriter all in one.
To be clear, Trump’s improvisational approach is high-risk, and not all his gambles pay off. Jetting to Alaska on short notice for an August summit with Vladimir Putin, for instance, failed to sway the Russian president. But practitioners of foreign policy should closely observe Trump’s technique. In an age when attention may be the most valuable commodity of all, Trump has shown the value of dominating the headlines and filling the screen.
This approach enabled a deal in the Gaza conflict that eluded former President Joe Biden’s administration. Although timing mattered in Trump’s success, as a desperately weakened Hamas was newly susceptible to pressure, the breakthrough was unmistakably a product of his coercive theatrics.
Trump’s decision to announce the 20-point peace plan from the White House on Sept. 29—which he proclaimed as “potentially one of the greatest days ever in civilization”—was a high-stakes gambit, especially since neither party had formally assented yet. Unlike many other politicians, Trump is not afraid to raise expectations. The upside of his shamelessness is a willingness to take public risks without fear of embarrassment if they do not pan out. (And because Trump boasts so much, his gasconades are often not taken seriously, which lowers the stakes if they go awry.) Diplomats often eschew negotiating in public. But, for the intrepid wheeler-dealer, it can work. The spectacle raised hopes in Gaza, Israel, and around the world, putting overwhelming pressure on the parties to go along with Trump’s plan.
The same day, Trump forced Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu to use an Oval Office phone to apologize to the Qatari prime minister for Israel’s bombing raid earlier in the month. This was astonishingly brash behavior toward another proud head of government. It proved that Trump is willing to push Netanyahu, blunting concerns that the deal was overly favorable to the Israeli leader, and signaled to Netanyahu’s right-wing coalition that Israel would have no wiggle room to back out.
Trump has also lashed his outsized ego to the fate of the deal by pledging to chair Gaza’s “Board of Peace.” For now, this has allowed him to dodge concerns that the agreement might disintegrate after the initial hostage-for-prisoner swap. Critics rightly question whether the adrenaline-fueled Trump will remain invested in the deal during its painstaking next phases that seek to rebuild Gaza and achieve a permanent resolution to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. The best hope for this may be Trump’s brazen craving for a Nobel Peace Prize, a unique form of limelight that will only come if this month’s deal paves a way past decades of deadlock.
The deal is not the only example of Trump’s foreign-policy flair. His proclamation of “liberation day” to inaugurate sweeping new tariffs first looked like a hapless stunt, particularly since he promptly backed off many of the measures. But Trump then secured major concessions from Europe, the stock market rebounded, and business leaders began to calm. Through the settling dust emerged a remaking of global tariff systems and an unexpected set of compromises by U.S. trading partners. While far from a clear success, Trump’s tariff policy defied predictions of outright failure and, at least for now, has positioned the United States to dictate new terms for global trade.
None of this erases or excuses the many defects of Trump’s foreign policy. Critics rightly fault Trump for undoing traditional instruments of U.S. soft power, including foreign aid and global broadcasting capabilities. His politicization of the military, denial of climate change, fickleness toward allies, and sheer volatility needlessly imperil the United States. And, as his recent digression criticizing Biden during his victory lap speech at the Israeli Knesset underscored, Trump is fundamentally petty and craven—a rising authoritarian who wields no moral authority. Yet that many of his policies are dangerous and abhorrent should not cause us to ignore the reality that his style is often effective.
Dramatic flair has always been a tool of U.S. statecraft, especially since the early days of mass media. Theodore Roosevelt, who coined the term “bully pulpit,” sent a fleet of ships on a 43,000-mile world tour to strut U.S. naval prowess. In 1940, Franklin D. Roosevelt announced a destroyer-for-bases deal with Britain in a radio address. He bypassed Congress, reassured allies, startled adversaries, and projected decisiveness in the run-up to war. Word of Henry Kissinger’s secret trip to Beijing in 1971 electrified the world and laid the groundwork for a breakthrough in U.S.-China relations. Both John F. Kennedy and Ronald Reagan used Berlin as the stage for high-drama, career-defining performances in the Cold War—the former with his 1963 “Ich bin ein Berliner” speech, and the latter with his entreaty to Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev to “tear down this wall.”
There are striking examples of foreign leaders turning to theatrics as a force multiplier in recent years. Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky rose to fame as an actor. His military chic costume and selfie-style videos helped him rally the world to Kyiv’s side against Russia. Salvadoran President Nayib Bukele has styled himself as a kind of influencer authoritarian, with a TikTok following that is roughly double his country’s population. Even Chinese President Xi Jinping has gotten into the act. September’s Shanghai Cooperation Organization meeting and a subsequent military commemoration offered a theatrical spectacle, including Xi’s first-ever appearance alongside both Putin and North Korean leader Kim Jong Un, eye-grabbing photos of world leaders holding hands, and a parade featuring robot dogs.
Yet recent Democratic presidents have ventured only the occasional commanding gesture. Barack Obama began his presidency with an ambitious speech in Cairo aiming to reset relations with the Muslim world, and his White House released dramatic stills taken inside the Situation Room as the raid to kill Osama bin Laden was underway. Biden’s secret train trip to Kyiv shortly after Russia invaded and in-person condolence call to Israel after Oct. 7, 2023, were riveting. But neither man basked under the hot lights.
Obama’s cultivated “no drama” mode centered on cool reserve to the point of detachment. Ruing what it called his “maddeningly bland demeanor,” the New York Times editorialized in 2014 that “the world sometimes seems as if it is flying apart, with Mr. Obama unable to fix it.” His administration did not warm to showier diplomats, such as Afghanistan-Pakistan envoy Richard Holbrooke and the lowkey but media-savvy Middle East envoy George Mitchell. Instead, a tight-knit group of like-minded, unpretentious, and prudent aides called the shots. Biden, for his part, was a telegenic and often jovial presence during his Senate career. But by the time he became president, his political prowess was declining. Even when he had a powerful message to deliver, he struggled to project from the stage into the public consciousness.
Obama and Biden’s approaches seemed fitting for the times. Following George W. Bush’s reputation for “swagger” and the disastrous invasion of Iraq, Obama and Biden assumed that a president occupying center stage would be typecast as the ugly American and thus resented and prone to downfall. Both presidents operated on the premise that Washington’s dominance was waning, warranting a measure of humility (or “leading from behind”). But in so doing, they stepped back from the fight to shape global perceptions of U.S. preeminence—a battle that Trump is renewing with gusto.
Yet a clear grasp of the limits of U.S. power today should not require self-effacement. Charisma and magnetism are natural strengths of U.S. leaders. Other than perhaps doomed reformer Gorbachev, no modern Chinese or Russian ruler has charmed the world. While Trump’s amorality, disloyalty, and self-interest may repel allies, his flamboyant style also draws them in. When European leaders descended on the White House for an impromptu visit to signal support for Ukraine just after the Trump-Putin summit in August, what might have been a testy demarche turned into an image of common resolve. Perhaps in spite of themselves, the leaders wanted to be seen with Trump, posing for photos. Trump’s fake-it-till-you-make-it approach—behaving as if everyone believes that he and the United States are capable of miracles—may do more to attract and influence others than Obama or Biden’s modesty.
Democrats tend to associate personal bravado with undue hawkishness. Former military leaders argued during Trump’s presidential campaigns that his demeanor was inherently escalatory. In the Cold War, the hot personalities of figures such as Barry Goldwater, Curtis LeMay, and Reagan were associated with an intemperance or even recklessness when it came to war and weaponry, including nuclear arms. But over time, Trump has proved himself to be more bark than bite. Whereas “peace through strength” has traditionally referred to military buildups, Trump’s version of the motto also refers to his overbearing persona, bordering on bullying, which has a way of bringing others into line.
Trump’s presidency is a reminder that waging international affairs is a matter of not just substance, but style—or, more precisely, that substance and style can never be fully separated. The concept of “storytelling” has taken over corporate advertising and politics as a way to create emotional bonds, cut through the noise, and imprint a memorable message on audiences. Likewise, narrative and drama have become necessary to break through in foreign policy.
Diplomacy still requires a mix of skills and teamwork, but increasingly, leaders must also bring to their work force of personality, an appetite for risk, and the ability to communicate extemporaneously. Stagecraft cannot be an afterthought in statecraft. Setting scenes, building up characters, using the element of surprise, designing memorable visuals, and delivering great performances have turned out to be critical to international affairs. Diplomatic communications need to move well beyond the traditional podium speech, press release, and periodic tweet.
Given Trump’s assault on democracy at home and disrespect for norms abroad, critics will be tempted to reject his vainglorious approach to foreign policy as a byproduct of autocratic tendencies. That would be a mistake. U.S. presidents from Roosevelt to Reagan have understood that advancing the country’s interests means using every lever in the arsenal, including the unique American penchant to captivate the world.
