The year 2021 is the twentieth anniversary of the beginning of the US war in Afghanistan and marks a critical juncture for the country. President Joe Biden entered the Oval Office on January 20, and less than 100 days remain before May 1, 2021, the deadline for the US troops’ withdrawal according to the Doha agreement signed in February 2020 between the US and the Taliban. The Biden/Harris administration has a short time to decide whether to adhere to, revoke or renegotiate the terms of that deal.
Joe Biden and Kamala Harris have defied a Republican-biased electoral system, coordinated attempts to sabotage the casting and the counting of Democratic votes, and a violent opposition to the transition of power, to take their place at the White House. In the meanwhile, Donald Trump and his supporters have done their best to leave behind a country in ruins: encouraging the spread of Covid-19 and deadly viral conspiracy theories, blocking economic relief to the most needy, allowing Russian hackers to breach key networks, inciting contempt for our democracy.
If the aim of those who stormed the U.S.
Of all the differences between the Biden and Trump approaches to foreign policy, alliance relations will represent one of the most dramatic. Donald Trump’s skepticism of American allies has been well-known: they are, in his mind, largely free-riding countries enriching themselves under U.S. protection, underinvesting in defense, insufficiently sharing the financial burden, and generally taking advantage of an overly-generous American people.
US President Donald Trump’s migration discourse has been put to a tough test, that of a global pandemic. But the “build-a-wall” rhetoric has emerged more resilient than one would have imagined. Even while the United States face a healthcare emergency, an economic crisis, and protests are sweeping across the country, Trump has managed to not put aside his focus on curbing migration; quite the contrary.
Unprecedented and unpredictable: this is how US President Donald Trump's administration has repeatedly been labelled. Beyond the frequent tweets and bombastic rhetoric, however, lie a more conventional four years, as the United States navigated an ever-evolving international reality, compounded by a global pandemic and one of the deepest economic recessions in over a century.
From the moment he first declared his candidacy for the presidency of the United States on a strongly nationalist platform promising to “make America great again,” Donald Trump has been dogged by accusations that he is too cozy with explicitly racist, fringe-right figures and movements. Periodically, critics have seized on phrases or images in Trump’s communications that they argue send subtle messages of encouragement or solidarity to Nazis and white supremacists.
“We will win this war”. In March of 2020, Donald Trump began referring to himself as a “wartime president”. After months of downplaying the threat of Covid-19 in the United States, he declared war against an invisible enemy: a so-called “China virus”.
Donald Trump’s decisions on May 30th regarding the G7 summit are remarkable. As a bundle of separate decisions, they do not reflect a strategy nor are they consistent or even coherent.
First, attempting to hold a live G7 summit with all the thousands of officials and media involved uncovers his attempt to use the summit as evidence of America open for business, which is premature at best, and highly manipulative, at worst.
The 2020 G7, the fourth of the Trump era, has been postponed to September. It is no coincidence: in the US, the novel coronavirus continues to take its toll (with over 110,000 deaths as of June 9th), unemployment has more than quadrupled from 3% to 13%, and George Floyd’s death two weeks ago has sparked racial and social protests that continue to this day. Hosting a G7 summit under these circumstances would have been extremely risky. Yet, paradoxically, Trump hoped to be able to pull it off until just a few days ago.