Last Friday I headed to Palma. It was for a mission: to bring the partner and hound to London by car, ferry and train. They had been there for several weeks, enjoying a very nice life while I scurried around to the likes of Jakarta for The Chiefs conference. Now, however, the band needed to be reunited and the dog had to see her oncologist (yes, all is OK).
That evening, ahead of the Saturday morning ferry, we drove out of the city and through the mountain tunnel to Sóller before weaving along the wriggly road that takes you up the valley’s side. This route eventually deposits you in the town of Deià. But just before you breach the brow of the hill, there’s the Hotel Corazón. This was our destination.
The hotel, run by fashion photographer Kate Bellm and her partner Edgar Lopez, attracts a crowd that’s a little hippy, a little arty, dresses easy cool and can still pay a decent bill. But I’ll write about this properly another time. The point of today’s story is more about that funny thing that sometimes happens – “the moment”. That odd, magical fusing of the elements that just sneaks up on you.
There were only a few occupied tables when we arrived unfashionably early – well, 20.00. A couple of hotel guests were still finishing off their novels in silence as the sun set. But we were oblivious to everyone as we had a spot on a cocooning curved sofa where the view was of the slowly blackening valley below, of the firefly-like flashes of car headlights blinking through the dusk-draped trees.
There was a warm wind racing up the valley side, rattling the piles of menus. It should have been annoying but it lent the evening a special quality – plus we were nicely sheltered by that enveloping upholstery. The food was delicious, the wine perfect. The waiter could have been cast as Jesus in a movie – his long hair frantically dancing in the wind like the tendrils of a sea anemone in a buffeting ocean current. Even the music added to the moment – there was something of a Shazam-fest taking place on my phone. And at our feet the dog dozed, occasionally opening an eye to clock the precise location of the resident cats.
As we drove back towards the city, I knew that we had had a perfect moment. But why? Of course, there’s the place and the food – but it wouldn’t have happened without the wind, without our Christ-like waiter, without Tom Paxton and Gram Parsons whispering from the sound system. You can plan fancy dinners to the nth degree and rehearse every second of an encounter but sometimes the perfect moment appears unexpectedly on the breeze.
Saturday was spent on a Baleària ferry heading to Barcelona. There were very few cars on board but a lot of trucks. It wasn’t Hotel Corazón but there was wi-fi. As the ferry came into the city, a thick mist wrapped around us and so the captain repeatedly blasted his foghorn to ensure our presence was known. A night then followed at the home of friends who have been in our lives for decades. The dog crazy to see them, howling with delight.
And then the road trip. I get to be DJ and I have a playlist of songs netted with the aid of Shazam that are all markers of moments, of places, of fleeting encounters. An audio scrapbook on my phone. There was “Dale Comba” by Canelita, harvested from a taxi ride in Palma, and Elvis Martínez with “Tu Secreto”, snatched from a bar in Barcelona on the drive down a few weeks before. A reminder of Milan and Salone came care of Ermal Meta and Giuliano Sangiorgi’s track, “Una Cosa Più Grande”. There was Michel Sardou from Paris. Clara Luciani from a party at D90 in Zürich.
But it was Tom Paxton’s “The Last Thing on My Mind” that was played repeatedly, its simple folk melody offering a return to the mountains – my other half becoming increasingly suspicious that I might be about to apply for a pot-washing job in a certain hotel.
An eight-legged visitor has returned to London’s South Bank to join the birthday celebrations for a rather special institution. Louise Bourgeois’ “Maman” first stalked Tate Modern’s Turbine Hall in 2000 and is one of the most memorable artworks commissioned for the space.
Tate Modern, which turns 25 this month, is regularly cited as the world’s most popular museum of modern and contemporary art. As well as bringing back renowned works like “Maman” for a new art trail, this week the museum is hosting a Birthday Weekender of art, music and performance. Amidst the preparation, Monocle sat down with the director of the London institution, Karin Hindsbo, to discuss how the museum has changed the city, her favourite places in the building and what’s in store for the next quarter century.
You were formerly the director of the National Museum of Art, Architecture and Design in Oslo and joined as director here in 2023. What was your perception of Tate Modern before?
Tate Modern has always been a majestic space for celebrating art and artists — and incredibly public. It’s always been a role model of how to transform millions of people into art lovers.
Nothing like Tate Modern existed in London before 2000. How do you think it’s changed the city?
It’s very hard to imagine London without Tate Modern. Obviously, the museum has transformed the city physically. Just look at the South Bank now and at pictures from 25-years ago. Moreover, before the museum opened, there were a significant number of art shows that, out of all European cities, would only show in Paris. That’s certainly not the case anymore. Tate Modern made London a global art capital.
Before Tate Modern existed, modern and contemporary art in London mostly involved the commercial world. Is it fair to say that Tate Modern has allowed different people to be part of that world?
I think it’s more than fair to say that it has made modern art more accessible. The museum is profoundly public – I think it is one of the most public spaces in the world and especially within the art sector. The Turbine Hall is a ramp that takes you down from the entrance into an exhibition space, where children are free to run around. I can’t think of many other museums that also have that.
Are there particular parts of the space you like to spend time in?
I love the Tanks because they’re just so unique. We have an amazing Giacometti exhibition showing in one of the spaces right now. If I need to take a breather, I will go down to the Turbine Hall, 10 minutes before we open. It’s complete silence. No one is there because everyone is being briefed. Once the staff arrive, the doors will open and visitors will begin to stream in. If I’m having a hard week, I do this and think “this is why we do it.”
The Turbine Hall is a pretty unique place to commission for – is there something about the space that makes people think differently?
The space certainly is unique. The hall is very large so it can be a challenge to work with. Nevertheless, when artists take it on and succeed, it’s transformative. Think of Olafur Eliasson’s “The Weather Project” – it was an immersive work in a vast space that created a meditative vibe. People were lying down! You think of that as an art project now, but back then, there was no such thing. It was completely new and radical – both as an artwork, but also as an experience.
What do you think about the future of Tate Modern?
First and foremost, we will always be here to celebrate art and artists – that is what we do. It needs to be the most important thing we do. And then secondly, it’s about the people who visit; our friends. Those two things are still very central and they will be in the future too.
As the doors to the Venice Architecture Biennale swing open this weekend, Monocle offers a glimpse inside the national pavilions set within the historic Biennale Gardens. Also known as the Giardini della Biennale, these gardens house permanent pavilions in which countries from across the globe present architectural innovations and ideas that respond to pressing industry concerns. Here, we preview some of the must-see contributions for 2025.
‘Build of Site’, Denmark
One means of addressing carbon emissions from new construction projects is by reusing existing resources. It’s an appropriate notion for the Danish Pavilion to explore, given that it is currently undergoing renovation. The Scandinavian nation’s curators have jumped on the opportunity with Build of Site, an exhibition that mimics a paused construction site, making use of materials that have been sourced from the scene itself to provide temporary walls, furniture and flooring. “Everything you see was in the building already,” says curator Søren Pihlmann. “I want people to understand that this is a method that you can use universally. There’s a huge potential with reuse that we aren’t exploring.”
‘Home’, Australia
The Australian Pavilion draws inspiration from the storytelling traditions of its Aboriginal people, known as “yarning”. Featuring a curved earth-and-plaster wall and bench – a physical form that encourages dialogue – the space invites visitors to look at ways in which an Indigenous understanding of landscape can be shared with Western approaches to architecture. “It’s about coming together and telling stories about who you are and what’s important to you,” says Michael Mossman, one of the exhibition’s seven First Nation co-curators. “And then it’s about listening very deeply and carefully to what the people around you are saying.”
‘GBR – Geology of Britannic Repair’, UK
The British Pavilion has been radically reimagined by a UK-Kenyan curatorial team consisting of British writer Owen Hopkins, professor Kathryn Yusoff and Nairobi-based Cave Bureau’s co-founders Karanja and Stella Mutegi. Under the title GBR – Geology of Britannic Repair, the exhibition looks to reconcile the pavilion’s colonial past. To do so, it presents architecture as an “earth practice” that has the potential to rebuild connections between people, ecology and land. Inside, visitors encounter six installations, including a woven rattan structure, which is a life-size replica of a section within Kenya’s Shimoni Slave Caves.
‘STRESSTEST’, Germany
The German Pavilion tackles urban climate change head-on with contrasting “stress” and “de-stress” rooms. In the “stress” room, a sweaty, claustrophobic atmosphere is created by artificially heated, ceiling-mounted mats, replicating the unpleasant nature of an urban heat wave. Directly across from this, the curators offer respite in a bright “de-stress” room with three common hornbeam trees standing in large white pots as a reminder of simple strategies that are available for urban cooling. “We wanted to create an uncomfortable atmosphere to remind people that there is a real threat,” says co-curator Nicola Borgmann. “But we don’t want them to just be shocked. They should be motivated and inspired because we also show the solutions too.”
‘Little Toad, Little Toad: Unbuilding Pavilion’, South Korea
“Little Toad, Little Toad” is both the name of a Korean folk song for children and the title of the exhibition at South Korea’s national pavilion. Commemorating 30 years since the building’s construction, the curation takes a self-reflective approach and looks at the structure’s footing in the Biennale Gardens. With the “toad” as an unseen guide of the space, visitors walk through several small displays celebrating the pavilion and nature. Highlights include a large bed dedicated to its resident cat and an installation that casts shadows on the floor, mimicking the dappled light that comes through the trees surrounding the building.
You can visit the Venice Biennale’s 19th International Architecture Exhibition at the Giardini della Biennale, Calle Giazzo, Venice. The showcase opens to the public on Saturday 10 May and runs until 23 November 2025.
Carla Hayden, librarian of Congress, was dismissed by the Trump administration on Thursday. No reason has been given. Appointed in 2016 by Barack Obama, she was the first woman and first African-American to hold the position as head of the world’s largest library. During her tenure, the Library of Congress had been seeking to further open its doors to the public, launching a major expansion of its welcome space, and inviting non-academics into the library’s beautiful “Main Reading Room” for the first time.
Monocle’s Chris Cermak met with Carla Hayden when tours of the Main Reading Room were being launched in 2023. Below is the article that featured in Monocle’s June 2023 issue. You can also listen to the Big Interview with Hayden on Monocle Radio, below.
It is probably the grandest space in Washington but at any given moment, you would only find about 20 researchers in the Main Reading Room of the US capital’s Library of Congress, the world’s largest library. Without a research pass, its nearly two million annual visitors could only shuffle into a glass-enclosed mezzanine space and peer down at the room below. It has been that way for decades but such opaqueness isn’t really the style of Carla Hayden, the librarian of Congress. “It’s such an inspirational room. We want people to be able to walk in there,” she says, as streams of visitors line up for the unexpected pleasure of wandering into the heart of the library’s 125-year-old Thomas Jefferson Building. Since April, the public has been getting two one-hour slots each day to visit the Main Reading Room.
The Thomas Jefferson Building, built in Italian renaissance style by architects John L Smithmeyer and Paul J Pelz, was the country’s first public building with electricity and was kept broadly accessible. Nowadays, visitors “walk away thinking, ‘Beautiful building’ but you see that they still don’t have that connection”, says Hayden. A $60m (€45m) overhaul of the building is designed to change that. An orientation centre directly below the Main Reading Room will offer a glimpse of the 1,349km of shelving, include interactive exhibits and a rotating gallery of its most prized possessions. Hayden has also been expanding public events in other spaces. “Live! At the Library” keeps the building’s Great Hall open for concerts, exhibits and drinks every Thursday evening.
Hayden’s approach and the renovations haven’t been without controversy: preservationists have been up in arms about aspects of the plan that would have tampered with the room’s central reception desk. Those interventions were eventually abandoned but Hayden argues that they still provided a great opportunity for people to think what libraries should be about.
Getting such attention is essential as libraries have taken on central roles in US cities in recent years. Here they can provide anything from community spaces and social safety nets to vaccines, mental health care, education and internet access in rural communities. Hayden chuckles at the thought of one library she visited that loans out sewing machines and traffic cones for learning drivers.
The Library of Congress has been busy digitising its own collection (61 million items available for download and counting) and creating lesson plans for teachers and librarians around the country. “There are a lot of common issues with libraries,” she says. “And there’s a feeling that the national library, which is the Library of Congress, should be more involved.”
Opening to the public tomorrow, the Venice Biennale’s 19th International Architecture Exhibition is the world’s most significant showcase dedicated to the discipline. Monocle had an early look at how its 750 participants – presenting their work in pavilions in the Biennale Gardens and inside the grand halls of the Arsenale building – are engaging with curator Carlo Ratti’s brief. The Italian architect and engineer’s ambition is to present architecture that embraces a combination of artificial, natural and human intelligence. “It’s about hybridising different types of knowledge,” he tells The Monocle Minute.
Bettering conversations about architecture emerged as a golden thread running through many of the works. There are straightforward examples: the interior of the Australia Pavilion features a curving earth-and-plaster wall, a physical form that encourages dialogue. “It’s about coming together and telling stories about who you are and what’s important to you,” says Michael Mossman, one of the Australian exhibition’s curators. “And then it’s about listening deeply and carefully to what the people around you are saying.”
There have also been more abstract takes. Switzerland created a conversation between two architectural styles by tactfully (and tastefully) inserting a radial structure into its boxy national pavilion; Japan, meanwhile, examined the history of its own pavilion as it prepares for a grand renovation of the building, which dates to 1956. A strong theme of listening to local cultures has also been on display: a joint UK-Kenyan effort focuses on traditional architectural forms from former British colonies, while Qatar has built a structure that delves into how hospitality and inclusivity shape architectural spaces across the Middle East and South Asia.
These diverse responses highlight a move towards an architecture that is more attuned to human and community needs through dialogue at all scales – be they at an interpersonal or a societal level. While architects must remain discerning when it comes to collaborative processes (as the adage goes, “A camel is a horse designed by committee”), this biennale serves as a reminder that their discipline thrives not in isolation but by tapping into the collective intelligence of those it serves. Conversation is the first and most fundamental building block in any design project.
Monisse is Monocle’s design editor. For more opinion, analysis and insight, subscribe to Monocle today.
Directed by Ísold Uggadóttir and filmed live at Lisbon’s Altice Arena, Cornucopia is not simply a tour document – it’s a defiant act of orchestral storytelling. The film captures Björk’s performance from start to finish without behind-the-scenes interviews, which would have been fascinating but would have likely disturbed the flow. This is not a look backstage but rather an immersion into Björk’s theatrical subconscious. The visuals, which were designed by long-time collaborators Tobias Gremmler, come directly from the projections that were shown during the live performance, lending the film a hallucinatory coherence. Think of this less as documentation and more as a dreamscape: a multisensory, modern lanterna magica with a set list spanning from “Isobel” to “Fossora”.
In Björk’s cosmic universe, fashion functions as a narrative layer. For much of the show she floats in a tulle dress by Noir Kei Ninomiya that resembles an Arctic crustacean layered over a lace bodysuit by Sarah Regensburger. The musical ensemble wore Balmain couture with detours into pieces by Richard Malone and Kiko Kostadinov. The otherworldly masks are by James Merry. “All looks are always chosen by Björk,” says her long-time stylist, Edda Gudmundsdottir. “They have to resonate with her as they present the visual parts of her music.”
But beyond the visuals lies something more urgent. Instead of endless costume changes, Cornucopia is punctuated by a stark spoken-word interlude on climate change, – underscoring Björk’s deep-rooted social consciousness and environmental urgency. This isn’t spectacle for spectacle’s sake but rather a poetic plea.
The weight of it all was not lost on Uggadóttir. “Translating such a large work of art into film was daunting and, at times, quite humbling,” says the filmmaker. “But I was constantly moved and surprised by how exhilarating it was to make something so alive and singular.”
Sonically, Cornucopia is a platform for Björk’s high-concept musicality and avant-garde vision. On stage, she orchestrates a rare convergence of classical rigour and experimental flair – pairing Viibra, a septet of ethereal flautists with the 50-strong Hamrahlíð Choir, an Icelandic institution she once belonged to. Add to that Grammy-nominated percussionist Manu Delago, who conjures rhythm from bowls and a tank of water during “Blissing Me”, and the result is as ambitious as it is transportive. “She wanted the audience to feel held,” says musical director Bergur Þórisson. “The sound had to be spacious, emotional and womb-like.” Translated from a 360-degree format into Dolby Atmos, the result is enveloping; each aluphone chime and flute phrase hangs in the air like fog.
Visually, her collaborators deliver maximalist theatre. “It was about recapturing complexity without flattening it and keeping moments of intimacy too,” says James Merry, who serves as the artist’s co-creative director. “I was thinking about the fans who didn’t see the show in person and my hope was to give them as close an experience to the live audience as possible. To feel surrounded by the visuals and occasionally overwhelmed by them too,” he says. “Hopefully we did it justice.”
The film quietly centres Björk’s lyrical brilliance. Often eclipsed by her aesthetic largesse, the singer’s songwriting finally takes the spotlight. Lines bloom across the screen in her own handwritten font. Standout missives include: “deadly demonic divorces demolished the idea”, “without love I feel the abyss”, and “hope is a muscle that allows us to connect”. To put it bluntly: Björk’s got bars.
Despite our era’s fragmented attention spans, Cornucopia requires full immersion. It asks the audience to look closer and listen with their whole self. And, in doing so, the film serves as a reminder that some art is too expansive to be trimmed into clips – it demands to be experienced in its entirety. Does Cornucopia belong in a feed? No. But it just might reset your sense of what belongs on a screen.
UK prime minister Keir Starmer and US president Donald Trump have announced a “breakthrough” trade deal, the first since the latter leader triggered a global trade war.
To the extent that US president Donald Trump’s decision to launch a tariff war with the world made any sense – and the consensus among economists is that it did not – it was as a massive standover: to bully the world’s nations into seeking individual arrangements on terms more favourable to the US. This was certainly what Trump insinuated, repeatedly and coarsely boasting of grovelling entreaties from other countries. At one point he even claimed to have struck 200 trade deals. This would have been a remarkable accomplishment, given that the United Nations recognises a mere 195 countries, though perhaps Trump believed himself to be negotiating furiously with Ruritania, Freedonia, Lilliput, Legoland and the Duchy of Grand Fenwick.
We now know that at least one of Trump’s deals has been done – with the United Kingdom. Trump declared the agreement as “full and comprehensive” and “big and exciting”, though such claims do need to be adjusted for the president’s lifelong tendency towards the oversell. The agreement might prove little more than yet another iteration of a recurring motif of Trump’s life in politics: create problem, cease creating problem, claim credit as a problem solver.
For this is not really a trade deal, at least certainly not a “full and comprehensive” one. It is a reduction for some items of the 10 per cent tariff that was slapped on most UK imports on “Liberation Day” – and scales back the 25 per cent tariffs imposed on UK car and steel manufacturers. Possibly grasping for a British brand of which Americans will have heard, US secretary of commerce Howard Lutnick beamed that Rolls-Royce aeroplane engines will now be tariff-free. Somewhat ominously, Trump, who has a formidable record for changing his mind and/or abnegating agreements, stressed that the final details of the deal are as yet unwritten.
This being said, the optics are significant for the UK. Trump could have chosen any country or leader to be the first recipient of his munificent generosity and abundant reasonableness: president Xi Jinping of China, prime minister Shigeru Ishiba of Japan and the chief penguin of the Heard and MacDonald Islands are still languishing beneath a 10 per cent tariff. That Trump chose the UK is, at the very least, a solid diplomatic result; a reinforcement of the UK’s cherished idea that its relationship with the US is the “special” one.
For UK prime minister Keir Starmer, it is the second big trade-related deal in a week, after an agreement was concluded with India. Tariffs on certain goods were lowered in both directions. It’s excellent news for Indian enthusiasts of Scotch whisky, UK wearers of Indian textiles and, hopefully, for the companies that supply both. The UK government’s line is that the deal will eventually increase UK GDP by £4.8bn (€5.6bn). Whether or not this proves accurate, it seems mildly preposterous that India and the UK, respectively Earth’s fourth and sixth-biggest economies, with deep historical, cultural and familial ties, were doing such a small amount of business: India presently accounts for less than two per cent of the UK’s exports and imports.
The UK-India deal could be added to Trump’s list of inadvertent triumphs, along with his recent crucial contributions in helping to re-elect the Liberal Party in Canada and the Labor Party in Australia. The UK-India deal had been sputtering for three years: they would not be the only two countries who have recently been figuring out ways to help each other compensate for the US’s possible retreat into protectionist autarky. Starmer is also looking forward to signing a new “strategic partnership” with the EU in London on 19 May, with commitments to defence and trade. The diplomatic narrowing of an English Channel widened by Brexit has been another unintended consequence of Trump’s caprices.
Joseph S Nye, who popularised the term “soft power”, on what it means in an ever-hardening global landscape.
The death of Joseph S Nye, the professor who coined the phrase ‘soft power’, was announced on Wednesday. He was 88. Nye’s humility and expertise have been lauded in the hours since by many who knew him and many who did not. It makes perfect sense that the originator of a phrase whose meaning rests on the idea that peace and collaboration between nations are a good thing was a peaceful and collaborative man himself. Nye worked tirelessly for many decades in positions at the White House and Harvard University to promote his concept. At a time when hard power and coercion as means of statecraft are making a comeback, his compassion and intellectual rigour will be greatly missed by the world. Here is an article that Nye wrote two weeks ago. It will feature in Monocle’s June issue.
In a world marked by wars in Ukraine and Gaza – and the leadership of Trump, Putin and Xi – has soft power as a form of statecraft ceased to be effective or even desirable? Some 30 years ago, many believed that the age of hard power was diminishing and that the world was entering a new, softer era. Clearly that turned out to be wrong but it was never my view. I formulated the concept of soft power during the Cold War and argued that it could be relevant to conflict as well as peace. Soft power is the ability to affect others through attraction rather than coercion. Its consequences are often slow and indirect, and it is not the most important source of power for foreign policy – but to neglect it is a strategic and analytical mistake. The Roman Empire rested on its legions but also on the allure of Roman culture and citizenship. As a Norwegian analyst described it, the US presence in Western Europe after the Second World War was “an empire by invitation”. At the end of the Cold War, the Berlin Wall collapsed not under a barrage of artillery but from hammers wielded by people whose minds had been affected by Western soft power.
Smart political leaders have long understood the power that can come from values. If I can persuade you to want to do what I want you to do, then I do not have to force you to do what you do not want to do. If a country represents values that others find attractive, it can economise on sticks and carrots. Attraction can be used to increase hard power. Volodymyr Zelensky used his talents as an actor to attract sympathy from Western media and parliaments, which could be transformed into weapons to increase Ukraine’s hard power in its war with Russia.
A country’s soft power comes primarily from three sources: its culture, when it’s attractive to others; its political values, such as democracy and human rights, when it lives up to them; and its policies, when they are seen as legitimate. How a government behaves at home (for example, protecting a free press and the right to protest), in international institutions (consulting others and multilateralism) and in foreign policy (promoting development and human rights) can affect others by the influence of example.
Many soft-power resources originate in civil society. Hollywood movies that showcase the US’s diversity and personal liberty can attract others. So too does the charitable work of foundations and the freedom of inquiry at US universities. Firms, churches and protest movements develop soft power of their own, which might reinforce or be at odds with a country’s official foreign-policy goals.
As I describe in my memoir, A Life in the American Century, the US lost soft power during the Vietnam War. Yet within a decade, reforms passed by Congress, the honesty of Gerald Ford, the human rights policies of Jimmy Carter and the optimism of Ronald Reagan helped to restore American attractiveness. Even when crowds around the world protested US policies in Vietnam, they sang “We Shall Overcome”. An anthem from the civil rights movement illustrated that the US’s power to attract rested not on our government’s policies but on our civil society and capacity to be self-critical and reform.
Donald Trump clearly does not understand soft power and undercuts it by actions such as abolishing USAID, silencing the Voice of America, threatening allies and belittling climate change. China values soft power – and stands ready to fill the vacuum that Trump is creating.
Nye was professor emeritus at Harvard University and author of several books including ‘A Life in the American Century’.
The sabre-rattling has never been louder as Donald Trump plots the first foreign tour of his second administration, which begins on Monday with a three-day jaunt in the Middle East. The US president is expected to visit Saudi Arabia, the United Arab Emirates (UAE) and Qatar while in the region, conjuring up memories of a similar itinerary in 2017. This time, however, Trump will not be including a stop in Israel, which has used the tour as a pretext to demand yet another Gaza ceasefire and hostage deal. Israel’s security cabinet has announced a plan to “capture” Gaza and displace its population if a truce fails to be finalised before Air Force One’s departure back to the US.
Despite Washington’s bombardment of the Houthis in Yemen this spring, Trump has clearly tired of war. Indeed, just hours after Israel bombed Sanaa’s main airport in retaliation for a Houthi attack on Tel Aviv’s Ben Gurion Airport, he announced that the US and Houthis had reached a truce. The deal, which doesn’t include Israel, clearly took Jerusalem by surprise. The US has also scheduled yet another round of negotiations with Iran to end its nuclear programme this weekend (likely in Oman) – another red flag for Israel’s prime minister, Benjamin Netanyahu, and his hawkish cabinet.
One highlight of Trump’s upcoming Saudi visit will be a summit with leaders of the Gulf Co-operation Council aimed at boosting investment between the sheikhdoms and the US. Such talks, beyond their favourable photo ops, further reinforce the White House’s commitment to co-operation over conflict, at least in the Gulf. Even as Trump continues to talk tough on Tehran and Hamas – including threats of a direct attack on Iran if diplomacy fails – his real objective appears to be peace.
Trump’s most lasting foreign-policy legacy from his first term are the Abraham Accords, a success that established relations between Israel and various Arab nations. The deal, which has miraculously survived the war in Gaza, serves as a bulwark against Iran while furthering regional economic integration. Trade between Israel and the UAE actually grew by 11 per cent in 2024, the year following the Hamas attack on Israel.
But without Riyadh in the mix the Accords remain incomplete — and so does Trump’s foreign-policy legacy. This month’s Gulf visit aims to remedy this, even if US negotiations with Iran fall flat. As with his approach to everything from tariffs to foreign aid, Trump’s true motivations with Iran are as fluid as they are elusive. The president has promised a “very, very big announcement” before he heads to the Gulf. At this point, the world should expect nothing less.
Kaufman is an editor and columnist at the ‘New York Post’. For more opinion, analysis and insight, subscribe to Monocle today.
US president Donald Trump is often regarded as a divisive disruptor whose principal political skill is pitting people against each other. Twice in the last fortnight, however, Trump has revealed another side to his character: a remarkable unifier, who has persuaded the diverse peoples of somewhat discontented countries to rally together as one.
Trump should not clear space on the Oval Office mantlepiece for that long-coveted Nobel Peace Prize yet, however. He didn’t bring people together on purpose – indeed, quite the opposite. In Canada and Australia, Trump accidentally helped floundering centre-left governments return to office and just as inadvertently damned his fellow conservatives in both countries to the kind of sensational defeat in which the party leader loses not only the election but also their seat. As recently as Trump’s inauguration on 20 January, Pierre Poilievre and Peter Dutton had every reason to believe that, by now, they would have congratulated each other on becoming prime minister of Canada and Australia respectively. Instead, both are unemployed.
The two situations are not precisely analogous. Trump has not, at least as of this writing, threatened to annex Australia – though he has imposed punitive tariffs on several Australian territories, including the Heard and McDonald Islands, which are inhabited only by seals and penguins, and are holders of no known trade surplus with the US. But just as Trump’s musings on Canada becoming America’s 51st state and his deriding of Mark Carney’s predecessor as “Governor Trudeau” galvanised Canadians to deliver the result that would vex him most, Australia’s incumbent Labor party won partly by tagging their conservative opponents as Trump surrogates.
Australia’s conservatives – the confusingly named Liberal Party – did not help themselves. Their leader, Peter Dutton, who is a doughty culture warrior, spoke highly of Trump. Dutton endowed the Liberals’ shadow indigenous affairs minister, senator Jacinta Nampijinpa Price, with an unsubtly foreshadowed portfolio for “government efficiency”; she spoke of wanting to “make Australia great again.”
It was foolish on a couple of levels. Recent polls show Australia’s enthusiasm for the US ebbing since Trump’s return – and Australia enforces a compulsory vote. It’s tough to win elections pandering to a base of seething weirdos marinated in social-media conspiracy theories. Australia has its own rumbustious billionaire with political aspirations: Clive Palmer, whose Trumpet of Patriots party spent a fortune in this election, did not win a single seat.
Tellingly, Peter Dutton’s concession speech was notably un-Trumpian. He was graceful, humble and generous, telling the re-elected prime minister, Anthony Albanese, that his single mother who raised him in public housing would be proud. In Australia, this was received with bemusement akin to that which might be prompted in Maga-land if Trump posted an image of himself enjoying the latest book by Hillary Clinton or indeed the latest book by anybody.
Centre-left parties across the Western world will be wondering whether invoking Trump might also work for them. In the UK, this month’s local elections were a triumph for Reform UK, the latest flag of convenience for inextinguishable Brexiter populist Nigel Farage. It would be surprising if the UK’s governing Labour Party has not pencilled in an early election for 2028 while Trump still occupies the White House, with a view to upholstering the country with pictures of Farage leering in Trump Tower’s gold elevator.
In the meantime, such parties have to find a way to govern in a world that is dominated by Trump. Mark Carney visited the White House this week – one hopes that he took flowers, much as Alice Cooper thanked the British moral campaigner Mary Whitehouse in the early 1970s for her efforts to get “School’s Out” banned from the BBC (it topped UK charts). Carney was firm but courteous, and hailed Trump as a “transformational president”. Perhaps during his stint as governor of the Bank of England, Carney acquired a taste for passive-aggressive British obituary euphemisms, in which an infamous crook will be recalled as an “enterprising businessman”, a pestilential lecher a “ladies’ man” and an illiterate yobbo a “man of simple tastes”.
Trump shortly faces two further foreign electoral tests. In presidential elections in Poland and Romania, Trumpism is on the ballot in some shape or form. Opponents of those candidates should not be shy about saying so.
