A Critical Point: How Trump’s Foreign Policy Reshapes Diplomacy Into a Tool for Profit
Over the past decade, the eastern regions of the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC) have remained a hotspot for violence, with clashes primarily between the Armed Forces of the Democratic Republic of the Congo (FARDC) and Rwandan-backed rebel groups. That is, until June 2025, when the United States brokered a peace deal between the DRC and Rwanda. Donald Trump called the accord a foreign policy win, celebrating America gaining “a lot of mineral rights from the Congo.” The full plan includes a commitment to a regional economic integration framework that will be folded into what Trump calls the Washington Accord. However, this flaccid peace deal does little to actually solve the root causes of the conflict, instead handing out monetary benefits to Trump allies in America. Using US diplomacy to monetize conflict resolution is now a familiar pattern of the current administration.
The deal Trump brokered arrives following a resurgence of instability in North Kivu, a province in eastern DRC. Since 2022, Rwandan-backed M23 rebels have clashed repeatedly with Congolese forces and seized territory, culminating in the capture of Goma earlier this year. With a population of more than two million, Goma is the largest city in the eastern DRC. The capture caused thousands to flee the city, adding to one of the world’s worst humanitarian crises, with a third of North Kivu’s population already displaced.
The presence of Democratic Forces for the Liberation of Rwanda (FDLR), an ethnically Hutu rebel group allegedly backed by the DRC and linked to the Rwandan Genocide, further complicates the conflict. Rwanda has used the FDLR’s presence in the eastern DRC as justification for increased involvement in the DRC, recently sending 3,000 to 4,000 Rwandan soldiers across the border to help M23 capture Goma.
While the peace agreement signed in Washington is portrayed by the US as a path to stability, its content raises questions about whether this can actually be achieved. The agreement references the FDLR over 40 times, but mentions M23 only twice. The almost total exclusion of M23 from the agreement effectively absolves Rwanda of any wrongdoing and minimizes its role in the conflict.
On the other hand, the emphasis on the FDLR frames them, and by extension, the DRC, as the aggressors in the conflict. This narrative is reflected in the accompanying mineral deal, in which the DRC relinquished its natural resources rights, despite Rwanda’s involvement in the invasion and capture of Goma.
Taken together, this reflects a larger, troubling pattern in the Trump administration’s recent diplomacy: the US pressuring non-aggressor countries, such as Ukraine and the DRC, into making natural resource concessions in exchange for peace.
This practice may reflect the personalities of the leaders involved and Trump’s inclination to work with authoritarians. Rwanda’s president, Paul Kagame, seems to be the kind of figure Trump has historically respected, like Vladimir Putin.
During the 2016 election, Trump refused to criticize Putin, instead remarking that he’d “get along very well” with the Russian leader. This likely stems from the business and political ties Trump and his associates have maintained with Kremlin-linked figures. After the 2022 invasion of Ukraine, Trump even praised Putin, saying, “How smart is that? He’s going to go in and be a peacekeeper.”
Kagame fits this pattern. In office since 2000, he has changed Rwanda’s term limits to potentially remain president until 2034. His government has also been criticized for political assassinations abroad aimed at silencing dissent. Despite these concerns, Trump continues to work with Kagame, raising questions about whether he is interested in securing justice or democracy in the Great Lakes region, or simply turning a profit.
The types of deals that Trump has pushed, in both Ukraine and the DRC, create a dangerous precedent in which strongman leaders, like Putin and Kagame, see no repercussions for undermining international law and starting wars of aggression. In this scenario, authoritarian leaders could pursue their territorial ambitions unchecked, assuming they give a cut to Trump. Over time, this disregard of international law and national sovereignty can lead to a degradation of the international system, leaving power concentrated in the hands of a few authoritarian powers.
Trump has framed the Congo peace deal as an economic win and personal accomplishment that will lead to stability in the region. However, on-the-ground improvements may be minimal.
While the agreement includes a provision for peace enforcement, creating a Joint Oversight Committee composed of the US, Qatar, and the African Union, its role is strictly advisory, with no mechanism to hold violators accountable. The negotiations also did not involve M23, with the group refusing disarmament, raising questions about the durability of the agreement. Under Trump’s deal, the DRC has traded away access to its minerals for an incomplete peace agreement and an oversight committee without any actual enforcement power.
The White House employed a similar playbook with Ukraine earlier this year, advancing a mineral deal giving US firms access to Ukrainian mineral reserves like lithium and titanium without any explicit security guarantees for Ukraine. This deal came after Trump’s repeated attacks against Ukraine and President Zelenskyy, as well as a pause in military aid and intelligence sharing this March, a not-so-subtle reminder to Kyiv that Trump’s backing is necessary but never free. The Ukraine deal, like the DRC agreement, mirrors the same transactional logic: deliver diplomatic support in exchange for resources. In an interview on the day aid to Ukraine was paused, Vice President JD Vance made this clear, saying, “the very best security guarantee is to give Americans economic upside in the future of Ukraine.”
Vance may have framed the administration’s foreign policy as benefiting the average American, but it is actually the Trump-connected billionaires who stand to gain the most. Elon Musk’s Tesla empire and other major tech companies rely heavily on cobalt for lithium-ion batteries, 70 per cent of which is sourced from the DRC. Musk, provided his feud with Trump doesn’t worsen, stands to gain significantly from stable, secure, and cheap mineral access—a benefit Trump’s deal facilitates. Gentry Beach, a longtime Trump associate, leads a consortium actively pursuing stakes in the Rubaya coltan mine located just outside of Goma and currently under M23 control.
A similar phenomenon has emerged in Ukraine, where Ronald Lauder, a billionaire ally of Trump, is pursuing stakes in Ukraine’s lithium industry. The Trump administration’s foreign policy is redistributing wealth and resources from destabilized regions into the hands of Trump-linked elites, sitting comfortably in corporate boardrooms far from the conflict zones they exploit.
The peace deals of Trump’s second term signal a broader reimagining of American diplomacy as a tool to benefit the elite rather than resolve violence. Instead of addressing instability, these deals capitalize on it. Whether it’s cobalt from the DRC or lithium from Ukraine, Trump’s foreign policy uses negotiation as a means of extraction. The danger lies not just in resource exploitation but in normalizing a model where peace is transactional, selective, and ultimately designed to enrich the elite. If the White House continues to pursue this type of foreign policy, it risks reshaping American power into something less democratic and more corporate. When diplomacy becomes a business strategy, then justice, accountability, and long-term peace no longer take priority.
Edited by Abraham Caplan
Featured image: “Artisanal cobalt mining by definition relies on basic tools and hard labour, with little if any health and safety measures” by The International Institute for Environment and Development is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0
