In less than 3 weeks, President Trump secured a ceasefire in Gaza, spoke directly to Russian President Vladimir Putin and Ukrainian President Volodomyr Zelensky, and kickstarted diplomacy to end the Ukraine war. At the same time, he has also put forward some idiotic ideas, such as pushing Palestinians out of Gaza and making Canada the 51st state.
But it raises important questions: Why didn't the Biden administration choose to push for an end to the wars in Gaza and Ukraine? Why didn't the majority of the Democrats demand it? Instead, they went down the path of putting Liz Cheney on a pedestal and having Kamala Harris brag about having the most lethal military in the world while Trump positioned himself as a peace candidate — justifiably or not.
Undoubtedly, Trump's plans in Gaza may make matters worse and his diplomacy with Putin may fail. But that isn't the point.
The point is: Why did Trump choose to pursue diplomacy and seek an end to the wars, and why did the Democrats under Biden choose to transform the party into one that embraced war and glorified warmongers like Cheney, while protecting and enabling a genocide?
What happened that caused the party to vilify its own voices for peace — such as Reps. Ilhan Omar (D-Minn.) and Rashida Tlaib (D-Mich.) — while embracing some of the architects of the Iraq war?
And all of this, of course, in complete defiance of where the party base was (throughout the Gaza war, the base supported a ceasefire with 70% majority, for instance).
A profound reckoning is needed within the Democratic Party to save it from slipping into becoming neocon by default.
And with the pace at which Trump is moving, that reckoning needs to come fast. It will, for instance, be a severe mistake if the party positions itself to the right of Trump and reflexively opposes him on every foreign policy issue instead of basing the party's positions on solid principles, such as centering diplomacy, military restraint, and peace. Trump currently speaks more about peace than the Democrats do.
A senior Democratic lawmaker asked me rhetorically last week if I knew anyone who was happy with the foreign policy of Biden and voted for Harris on that basis.
I was happy to hear that the question was being asked. That's a good first step.
Trita Parsi is the co-founder and Executive Vice president of the Quincy Institute for Responsible Statecraft.
Top image credit: President Donald J. Trump greets Marc Fogel at the White House after his release from a Russian prison, Tuesday, February 11, 2025. (Official White House Photo by Daniel Torok)
Top image credit: Azerbaijan President Ilham Aliyev, left, and Armenia Nikol Pashinyan sign peace agreement in front of US President Donald Trump aimed at ending decades of conflict at the White House on Friday Aug 8, 2025. EYEPRESS via Reuters Connect
The recent diplomatic flurry between Armenia and Azerbaijan, culminating in an unveiling at the White House of a much-touted draft peace agreement, has been hailed as a breakthrough for peace in the South Caucasus.
But beneath the celebratory rhetoric lies a far more complicated reality — one where triumphalist narratives mask unresolved tensions and where military dominance rather than genuine compromise continues to dictate terms.
A day before hosting Armenian Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan and Azerbaijani President Ilham Aliyev for the August 8 summit, U.S. President Donald Trump announced on Truth Social that the leaders would convene for an "official Peace Signing Ceremony” Yet the actual event yielded only a "joint declaration" with seven points — just four of which substantively addressed the conflict, while the remainder offered generic platitudes about peace and effusive praise for Trump's mediation.
The declaration's first and most critical point revealed its provisional nature: the peace deal was merely initialed by foreign ministers, not signed by the heads of state. When the full text emerged days later, its substance proved strikingly familiar — a reheated version of the 1975 Helsinki Accords' principles (border inviolability, sovereignty, and territorial integrity) combined with nods to the 1991 Almaty Declaration that dissolved the USSR and established the Commonwealth of Independent States, which both Armenia and Azerbaijan joined. This deliberate vagueness signals that formidable obstacles remain before a final treaty can be signed by the countries’ leaders.
The draft agreement's emphasis on "non-interference in internal affairs" rings hollow against Azerbaijan's uncompromising demand that Armenia must purge its constitution of all references to Nagorno-Karabakh — the disputed territory that sparked two devastating wars (1990s, 2020) and culminated in Azerbaijan's military victory, the region's forcible reintegration, and the ethnic cleansing of over 100,000 indigenous Armenians in 2023. By omitting this existential sticking point, the document exposes the chasm between diplomatic theater and on-the-ground realities.
The demand for constitutional reform is politically fraught for Pashinyan, who already faces a fierce backlash from Armenians over what many view as a humiliating capitulation to Baku’s demands. As a deeply polarizing figure — locked in conflict with both the influential Armenian diaspora and the Armenian Apostolic Church — Pashinyan must tread carefully ahead of the 2026 parliamentary elections. Pushing through constitutional amendments before then would risk further eroding his hold on power, especially since the changes would require ratification via a contentious referendum.
Yet Azerbaijan’s Aliyev, eager to cement his military victories, may not tolerate indefinite delays.
Other unresolved hurdles loom large. While mutual recognition of territorial integrity should theoretically protect enclaves on each other’s soil, Armenia is far more vulnerable in practice. Three Azerbaijani exclaves — Kerki, Yuhary Askipara, and Sofulu — occupy strategic positions along or near critical roads within Armenia, including the vital Yerevan-Tbilisi highway. Should Baku regain control, it could jeopardize Armenia’s land link with Georgia.
Land swaps might offer a solution, but Yerevan lacks equivalent leverage: unlike Azerbaijan, it holds no strategic Armenian enclaves in Azerbaijani territory to trade. This asymmetry gives Baku little incentive to relinquish its tactical advantages, ensuring it retains territorial leverage in addition to its military superiority against future hostilities.
This reveals the fundamental flaw in the so-called “peace deal” — it reflects Azerbaijan's military triumph rather than a balanced compromise addressing both sides' core interests. With its battlefield objectives achieved, Baku feels little need to make meaningful concessions.
Yet history cautions against mistaking military victory for enduring peace. Armenia's own short-lived 1994 victory demonstrates how quickly fortunes can change. While Azerbaijan enjoys structural advantages — greater size, population, and natural resources — its current dominance isn't guaranteed. Shifting regional alliances or internal dynamics could alter the equation. The real danger lies in how this agreement institutionalizes a victor's peace, embedding unresolved grievances that may fuel future conflict rather than fostering genuine reconciliation.
These dynamics explain Aliyev's maximalist position — he seeks to leverage Azerbaijan's current dominance to eliminate any future possibility of what Baku terms "Armenian revanchism." This strategy is made clear by the peace agreement's broad clause (Article 8) mandating opposition to "separatism” in all its forms. That phrase serves dual purposes: it permanently extinguishes Armenia’s territorial claims to Karabakh while simultaneously denying the right of return to its Armenian population. The 2023 forced exodus thus represented not just a military solution, but the deliberate creation of irreversible facts on the ground.
Yet these local tensions unfold against an increasingly complex geopolitical situation, where great power rivalries threaten to exacerbate rather than resolve the region's conflicts.
Washington's mediation has undeniably weakened Russia's regional standing, but, by so doing, the U.S. has inherited the same complex balancing act between Baku and Yerevan that bedeviled Moscow for decades. The U.S. has secured Armenian and Azerbaijani agreement for the TRIPP corridor (Trump Route for International Peace and Prosperity) — a U.S.-backed transit route linking Azerbaijan to Nakhchivan and Turkey through Armenia. Though billed as an economic lifeline and ostensibly subject to Armenian law, critical questions remain unanswered: who controls security? (Will U.S. or private contractors operate checkpoints?) What guarantees Armenia’s sovereignty? (Baku insists on unimpeded transit — a potential loophole for extraterritoriality).
The Kremlin's muted reaction to this U.S.-brokered deal reflects strategic calculation rather than acceptance. This stems from Moscow's desire to remain in Trump's good graces. But more significantly, it demonstrates Russia's recognition that by assuming leadership in the South Caucasus, Washington now owns both its potential rewards and risks.
It remains unclear how much Washington is truly willing to invest in stabilizing a region 6,000 miles away — and one of marginal strategic importance where regional powers like Russia, Turkey, and Iran have far more at stake.
Despite talk of withdrawal, Russia maintains deep economic and infrastructure links in Armenia and will likely seek to influence the country’s 2026 parliamentary elections to favor Moscow-friendly factions. The continued presence of Russian border guards along Armenia's frontier with Iran presents another complicating factor — the U.S.-backed TRIPP corridor will need to accommodate this enduring reality.
Among regional actors, Iran has offered the most pointed criticism of TRIPP. While President Pezeshkian struck a conciliatory tone, he explicitly warned that the U.S. presence along Iran's border would be "problematic." The Supreme Leader’s foreign policy adviser, Ali Akbar Velayati, adopted a harder line, vowing opposition to the "Trump route" regardless of Russian involvement. Against the backdrop of possible renewed Israel-Iran conflict — the last round of which featured the U.S. bombing of Iranian nuclear facilities — Tehran will likely see any American encroachment so close to its border as a serious provocation. Iran could emerge as a major spoiler.
The South Caucasus has seen many "historic" agreements unravel. For this one to endure, it must move beyond symbolism and confront the unresolved issues that still divide Armenia and Azerbaijan. Without addressing core grievances — territorial disputes, constitutional demands, and the rights of displaced populations — this deal risks becoming another fleeting truce in a conflict that has defied resolution for decades.
True peace requires more than diplomatic theater; it demands difficult compromises that have so far been absent. Until then, the promise of stability remains a mirage.
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Top photo credit: Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskiy (2R) is welcomed by German Chancellor Friedrich Merz (R) upon arrival in the garden of the chancellery in Berlin to join a video conference of European leaders with the US President on the Ukraine war ahead of the summit between the US and Russian leaders, on August 13, 2025. JOHN MACDOUGALL/Pool via REUTERS
Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky huddled with European leaders yesterday in advance of Donald Trump’s highly touted meeting with Vladimir Putin in Alaska. The call, which Trump joined as well, was viewed as Europe and Ukraine’s final chance to influence the American president’s thinking ahead of the U.S.-Russia summit in Anchorage.
With Ukraine’s position on the battlefield progressively worsening and Trump renewing his push for a ceasefire, European leaders have begun to make concessions to reality. Most strikingly, German Chancellor Friedrich Merz said yesterday that the frontline should be the starting point for territorial negotiations, echoing NATO Secretary General Mark Rutte’s recent comment that there may be a need for de facto recognition of Russian occupation of Ukrainian land.
Moreover, in response to Putin’s proposal last week to agree to a ceasefire in exchange for Ukraine’s withdrawal from the rest of Donetsk region, Europe and Ukraine have insisted that any land swaps must be reciprocal. While European leaders remain firm that the norm of territorial integrity must be upheld in principle, these moves clearly embody a shift from the more uncompromising stance they embraced through the first three years of the war.
That said, some aspects of Europe’s stance remain delusional.
Prior to their meeting with Trump yesterday, Ukraine and its European partners agreed on a series of principles for negotiations with Russia. Among these remains the long outdated notion that Russia cannot have a veto over Ukraine’s NATO accession, even though the Trump administration has already ruled this prospect out. Even Trump’s much more transatlantically friendly predecessor Joe Biden was not prepared to take any tangible steps to make Ukrainian membership in NATO a reality.
In an increasingly multipolar world — one in which the United States has limited resources to respond to multiple contingencies across several theatres — Washington cannot afford to take on an additional ironclad security commitment to a country where, unlike in Western Europe, its vital interests are not at stake. Europeans advocating that the defense of Ukraine should ultimately fall on America’s shoulders is not only morally suspect but strategically unwise, as it telegraphs that Europe remains a vassal vulnerable to American shakedowns such as the recent capitulation to Trump on trade.
Even worse, Europeans risk squandering an opportunity to focus their heft on negotiating more realistic security guarantees for Ukraine. These could include pushing for Kyiv’s right to retain a peacetime military large enough to defend itself and deter Moscow, negotiating legal commitments to maintain stockpiles of specific weapons that would be automatically released to Ukraine in case Russia invades again, and pushing Moscow to accept a regulated European military presence on Ukrainian soil that is limited to activities such as training and maintenance of weapons systems.
Europe cannot claim to be a “geopolitical actor” if, on top-table matters of war and peace, it continues to fixate on presenting principles to its superpower patron rather than negotiate difficult security issues with its neighbors and adversaries. Insisting on Kyiv’s right to join NATO as a matter of principle reflects an “end of history” mentality — one that privileges lecturing over genuine diplomacy. And doing so while simultaneously claiming the mantle of “geopolitical actorness” has, ironically, only served to damage the European Union’s reputation as a sincere and consistent normative actor.
European leaders’ concessions to reality when it comes to borders mean little when one considers that the war in Ukraine is not primarily about territory. Rather, its origins lay in Russia’s perception that it has been denied a meaningful say over the contours of Europe’s post-Cold War security order, including the geopolitical alignment of states on its border.
Failure to reckon with this issue ensures that the wider European space will remain fractured, fostering a continued sense of insecurity for both Russia and the rest of Europe. The resulting increase in military budgets, coming at the expense of social spending, will in turn fuel the ongoing rise of populism across Europe. With the far right already in power or leading in the polls in the four largest European economies, this is not a prospect that liberal-minded Europeans should welcome.
Russia’s growing shift toward illiberalism at home and assertiveness abroad in the leadup to its full-scale invasion of Ukraine convinced many Europeans that Russia was “leaving” Europe. Such views confuse the European Union with Europe writ large. The fact that the return of war to the heart of the European continent has strengthened those forces that question the value of the European project shows precisely that Mikhail Gorbachev’s vision of a “common European home” remains on the historical agenda.
European leaders are naturally seeking security guarantees for Ukraine in exchange for any territory that Kyiv agrees to give up, especially since such guarantees will underwrite the stability necessary for Ukraine’s reconstruction and E.U. accession processes to move forward. At the same time, although the road ahead remains filled with obstacles, in the weeks following the Alaska meeting Putin and Trump may prove able to agree on a broad vision for conflict resolution and ceasefire implementation that Zelensky can also be persuaded to accept, since what Kyiv risks losing outright on the battlefield it may be able to concede in exchange for something at the negotiating table.
If a sense of forward momentum does emerge from the Anchorage summit, European leaders would be foolish to retain their hardline normative posture on what the continent’s security order should look like. To do so would not only sideline them in any negotiations over that order’s future, but also damage their reputation in the eyes of the world by making it seem as though they remain the only party opposed to peace after more than three years of costly war.
Because its resources must be carefully husbanded in a multipolar world, Washington needs to craft a more pragmatic relationship with Russia, while simultaneously encouraging the rest of Europe to become a more autonomous and responsible pillar of the continental security order. The former task depends on a settlement of the war in Ukraine.
The latter requires the United States to persuade its European allies to back down from an approach that risks hollowing out the E.U., fracturing European societies, and derailing a delicate diplomatic process that is now beginning in earnest in Alaska.
In early August, Israeli energy company NewMed announced a record-breaking $35 billion deal to supply natural gas to Egypt, nearly tripling its current imports and binding Cairo’s energy future to its neighbor until at least 2040.
Though Egyptian officials were quick to frame this not as a new agreement but as an “amendment” to a 2019 deal, the sheer scale of the deal — the largest in Israel’s export history — is indicative of a deepening and dangerous dependence on its neighbor for its energy needs.
The pact is driven by the mutual, if asymmetric, political needs of two deeply entangled governments. For Egypt's President Abdel Fattah el-Sisi, the deal provides the energy needed to prevent domestic unrest. For Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s government, the benefits are especially outsized. The $35 billion pact provides a massive, long-term revenue stream and solidifies Israel’s status as a critical energy player in the Eastern Mediterranean. Furthermore, it delivers a strategic victory by binding the most populous Arab state into deep and lasting economic dependency.
But if the deal is a win for Israel, it is a product of desperation for Egypt. Cairo’s moves are driven by a non-negotiable domestic imperative: keeping the lights on. For the past several years, Egypt has been haunted by the specter of its own declining energy capacity. Once a net exporter of liquefied natural gas (LNG), the nation has seen its production steadily fall while domestic demand, fueled by a population of over 110 million, continues to soar.
The consequences have been severe, prompting the government to make difficult political choices. Searing summer heatwaves have led to rolling blackouts, crippling businesses and fueling widespread public discontent — a dangerous echo of the grievances that preceded the 2011 uprising.
President el-Sisi's government understands that political stability is directly wired to the electrical grid, and, as Prime Minister Mostafa Madbouly admitted last year, avoiding blackouts is a core imperative.
The numbers, as reported by Bloomberg and the Joint Organisations Data Initiative, paint a grim picture for Egypt: a daily gas deficit of billions of cubic feet and an energy import bill projected to climb towards $3 billion a month. Importing LNG is prohibitively expensive, and, as Egyptian officials noted, Israeli gas delivered via pipeline remains the cheapest and most reliable alternative, even with a 14.8% price hike from the previous deal.
This logic has forced the government's hand: as recently as May, a planned maintenance shutdown at Israel’s Leviathan field led to supply cuts for Egypt's vital fertilizer and petrochemical industries. The government opted to risk industrial disruption rather than face public backlash over residential power outages, a clear sign of its priorities.
This deepening energy dependency complicates Egypt’s historical role as the key Arab interlocutor on the Palestinian issue. Cairo’s ability to apply meaningful pressure on Israel is fundamentally constrained by the fact that Israel can, and has, turned off the gas tap for security and operational reasons.
This awkward dynamic was thrust into the limelight in late July. Egypt joined Saudi Arabia and Qatar in endorsing the New York Declaration, a major international framework for the "day after" in Gaza that called for Hamas to disarm and for the Palestinian Authority (PA) to assume governance. Just this week, Netanyahu publicly torpedoed this very plan, flatly rejecting any role for the PA. The move leaves Egypt, a key mediator in now-stalled talks, with minimal leverage to compel a change in policy from the nation that controls its energy supply.
As ceasefire negotiations falter, and lacking the leverage to sway either Israel or Hamas, Cairo is reduced to managing the conflict’s fallout — a task that increasingly demands a heavy-handed campaign of narrative control and political suppression at home. This was made clear in its response to a recent televised appeal by senior Hamas leader Khalil al-Hayya. Bypassing the government, al-Hayya addressed the Egyptian people directly. His plea for them to ensure "Gaza doesn't die of hunger" was widely interpreted as a thinly veiled accusation of state complicity — a calculated attempt to ignite public pressure against a regime hypersensitive to such challenges.
Cairo’s response was stern, it immediately unleashed a media counter-offensive. Diaa Rashwan, the head of Egypt’s State Information Service, condemned al-Hayya's rhetoric, calling it "a big mistake." Pro-government television hosts and newspaper columnists mobilized to denounce Hamas for its “betrayal.”
Even more telling was the state’s intervention with Al-Azhar, the world’s foremost seat of Sunni Islamic learning, based in Cairo. When its Grand Imam issued a statement condemning the “genocidal starvation” in Gaza and the “complicit” actions of states enabling it, the presidency reportedly forced its retraction.
The move exposes a deep-seated fear of any narrative remotely implicating Egypt in Gaza's suffering through its partial control of the Rafah border. Cairo officially insists it cannot act unilaterally at the crossing due to security agreements with Israel, but as the humanitarian crisis deepens, calls for Cairo to defy those protocols and rush humanitarian aid into the besieged strip grow louder.
International frustration is now spilling onto the streets globally, with protests targeting Egyptian embassies from the Hague to Tel Aviv. These demonstrations are potent symbols of the immense pressure building on Cairo, which is caught between an international public demanding it confront Israel and the reality that its own lights are kept on by that very same state.
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