In the age of Trump, diplomacy has ceased to be the art of persuasion. It has become the art of surviving the performance, writes Vince Hooper.
IT'S NOT EVERY DAY an ambassador gets told to his face by the President of the United States:
“I don’t like you, and I probably never will."
And in front of his own Prime Minister and the global press corps. But then again, it's not every day that Donald J Trump and former Australian Prime Minister Kevin Rudd star in the same episode of America’s Next Top Ally.
The recent White House meeting between President Trump, Prime Minister Anthony Albanese, and Australia’s ambassador to Washington wasn’t diplomacy — it was theatre. Picture less “summit of statesmen” and more “season finale of a geopolitical reality show.” The dialogue was unscripted, the lighting unpredictable, and the stakes – about $1.5 trillion of Australian retirement savings – remarkably high.
Because while Trump was telling Rudd he disliked him, he was also telling Australia he loved its money. The President reportedly floated the idea that Australian superannuation funds – the $1.5 trillion pool of disciplined, quietly compounding savings – might be better deployed “investing in America’s future.” Translation: send the cash, skip the criticism.
A tour of power and disrepair
Before discussions turned to defence and dollars, Trump reportedly offered the Australian contingent a quick detour through the East Wing — the part of the White House that, according to one aide, “looks like it’s been hit by a Tomahawk missile, mate!” Half-finished corridors, exposed wiring, and a faint smell of wet orange paint. Trump, however, described it as “undergoing a tremendous transformation.”
It was, in its own way, the perfect metaphor for Trumpian diplomacy: in ruins on the surface, but loudly rebranded as a renovation.
The revenge of the receipts
Rudd, the Mandarin-speaking scholar of order and balance, found himself cast opposite Trump, the improvisational artist of chaos. The president’s opening line wasn’t spontaneous — it was karmic. Trump’s aides had done their homework. They knew Rudd’s greatest hits: calling Trump “the most destructive president in history,” “a narcissist unfit for public office,” and “a walking repudiation of decency.” Or at least words to that effect.
That Rudd deleted those posts after Trump’s 2024 comeback only made the scene richer in irony. For Trump, who measures revenge in retweets and applause lines, this was personal diplomacy at its purest — and most entertaining. His blunt “I don’t like you” was less an insult than a declaration of authorship: a reminder that, in Trump’s world, every narrative must end with him as the headline.
You could almost hear Machiavelli scribbling an update: The Prince — Director’s Cut.
Diplomacy meets performance art
The irony, of course, is that behind the spectacle, real policy trudged on. Agreements were inked on critical minerals, AUKUS reaffirmed, and joint statements issued with the usual promises of “shared values.” Beneath the bluster, the machinery of alliance rolled forward — proof that under Trump, diplomacy operates on two levels: policy in the basement, performance on the roof.
The Albanese balancing act
Prime Minister Albanese deserves special recognition for his supporting role. Trapped between a visibly unimpressed ambassador and an exuberant American host, Albanese perfected that uniquely Australian diplomatic technique by laughing the loudest in the room — the thousand-yard stare of polite endurance. It’s the look you give a customs officer when your connecting flight is about to leave.
Back home, critics have asked whether Rudd remains the right man in Washington. But really, who else would want the job? The next ambassador may need fewer degrees and more emotional armour — perhaps someone fluent in both geopolitics and golf metaphors.
Geopolitics in the age of improv
Beyond the theatrics lies a serious subplot. With China wooing Pacific nations and AUKUS struggling to deliver submarines before 2040, Canberra can’t afford to fall out with Washington — no matter how bruising the banter. The Trump–Rudd clash reminded smaller powers of an eternal truth: great-power friendship often comes with a reality check, and occasionally, a reality show.
Meanwhile, Rudd’s composure like that of a stunned mullet – his decision not to clap back – may prove his greatest diplomatic skill. He knows that in Trump’s Washington, silence isn’t weakness; it’s strategy. Let the showman have the spotlight; the policy wins often happen in the wings.
From Confucius to chaos
It’s hard not to fault Rudd’s adaptability. A man who once wrote essays on Confucian harmony now finds himself navigating the philosophy of Trumpian chaos theory. Having once called Trump “the most destructive president in history,” he has since learned the modern rule of diplomacy: delete tweets, not treaties.
The final act
If nothing else, the Trump–Rudd encounter captures the collision of two archetypes: the reality-show populist and the think-tank technocrat. Each fluent in a different dialect — Trump speaks television; Rudd, geopolitics. Somewhere between them stands Albanese, clutching the AUKUS paperwork and pretending the subtitles still make sense.
In the age of Trump, diplomacy has ceased to be the art of persuasion. It has become the art of surviving the performance — with one’s dignity, alliances, and superannuation intact.
And as this is the new model of international relations, we might as well start nominating ambassadors for Emmys.
Vince Hooper is a proud Australian/British citizen and professor of finance and discipline head at SP Jain School of Global Management with campuses in London, Dubai, Mumbai, Singapore and Sydney.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Australia License
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