Stream of Consciousness
Trump’s African Summit: A Modern Display of Colonial Power
Trump’s African Summit: A Modern Display of Colonial Power On July 9, 2025, the White House became the stage for a troubling diplomatic theatre, as United States President Donald Trump hosted a mini-summit with the leaders of Gabon, Guinea-Bissau, Liberia, Mauritania, and Senegal. What was billed as a friendly summit about economic cooperation quickly revealed itself as a spectacle of domination and submission, raising critical questions about modern-day power dynamics between Africa and the West. Diplomacy Disguised as Control Trump opened the summit with a brief speech, claiming the five visiting presidents were “representing the entire African continent.” This gross oversimplification ignored both the vast cultural, economic, and political diversity of Africa and the reality that these five nations play a relatively minor role in U.S.-Africa trade. Trump’s primary focus was not on partnership but on Africa’s riches: gold, oil, and rare minerals. His praise for these nations centered not on their people, culture, or innovation, but on the wealth buried beneath their soil. The meeting’s timing only sharpened the contradictions in Trump’s message. On the same day, his administration escalated its global trade war, imposing new tariffs on eight countries, including African nations Libya and Algeria. The contradiction was glaring: while the U.S. president spoke of “strengthening ties with Africa,” he was simultaneously penalizing African economies elsewhere. Critics argue that this is the true face of Trump’s Africa policy—where “partnership” means compliance and where rewards are conditional upon submission. A Scripted Performance of Deference The summit quickly turned into a carefully choreographed performance. Trump, playing the role of master of ceremonies, invited—though effectively instructed—his guests to speak to the media. Each African leader played their part, offering Trump glowing praise in a manner that seemed rehearsed and reluctant. Mauritania’s President Mohamed Ould Ghazouani, who had served as the African Union (AU) Chair in 2024, led this display of flattery. In a particularly surreal moment, he declared Trump a global peacemaker, bizarrely crediting him with stopping a war between Iran and Israel. This narrative ignored the U.S.'s ongoing military support for Israel’s devastating assault on Gaza—an act that the African Union itself had condemned. Ghazouani’s silence on Palestine, in exchange for possible economic favor, was a painful reminder of the compromises leaders sometimes make on the global stage. Senegal’s President Bassirou Diomaye Faye, once a symbol of anti-imperialist politics and youthful reform, was particularly disappointing. Having campaigned on breaking away from neocolonial structures, Faye instead requested that Trump build a golf course in Senegal—an ask that symbolized not independence, but submission to foreign leisure interests. Trump’s response was to compliment Faye on his youthful appearance, brushing aside the request like a schoolteacher humoring a child. Gabon’s President Brice Oligui Nguema tried to discuss “win-win partnerships,” only to be met with lukewarm interest. Liberia’s President Joseph Boakai impressed Trump, but not for his policy ideas. Instead, Trump marveled at his English fluency, asking in astonishment, “Where did you learn to speak so beautifully? Where? In Liberia?” The question betrayed not only ignorance of Liberia’s founding by freed American slaves in 1822 but also a racist surprise that an African leader could be articulate in English. Colonial Attitudes in the Modern Era Trump’s remarks and attitudes throughout the summit echoed a long history of colonial condescension. His surprise at Boakai’s language skills mirrored the colonial-era belief that Africans who adopted Western customs or languages were anomalies, curiosities to be admired for their proximity to whiteness rather than their own merits. Similarly, at a previous White House event, Trump reduced an Angolan journalist, Hariana Veras, to her looks, publicly calling her “beautiful” during a peace ceremony between the DRC and Rwanda—another deeply inappropriate and objectifying comment that continued the legacy of sexualizing and diminishing Black women. The summit was not an isolated incident but part of a broader pattern in Trump’s dealings with Africa: transactional, dismissive, and rooted in old imperial power dynamics. His foreign policy has repeatedly shown little regard for Africa’s agency, focusing instead on what the continent can offer in terms of natural resources and political compliance. Contrast with Biden’s Approach The contrast with President Joe Biden’s U.S.-Africa Leaders Summit in 2022 could not be starker. Biden welcomed over 40 African heads of state and representatives from the African Union, civil society, and the private sector. His summit emphasized peer-to-peer dialogue, respect for African development agendas like the AU’s Agenda 2063, and sought genuine partnership rather than subordination. Where Biden sought engagement, Trump sought obedience. The Real Cost of Compliance Perhaps the most painful aspect of the July 9 summit was the lost opportunity. In a moment when African leaders could have asserted their nations' sovereignty, challenged Trump’s condescending tone, and defended Africa’s dignity, they instead bowed—metaphorically and literally. Their compliance secured a fragile reward: Trump promised that their nations would not face new tariffs “because they are friends of mine now.” It was a transactional victory purchased at the cost of dignity. For the African leaders present, the choice was stark: protect their economies from Trump’s wrath or risk challenging a president who thrives on punitive diplomacy. But their silence and flattery only emboldened Trump’s imperial performance. A Reminder of Unfinished Decolonization The summit’s optics were impossible to ignore: a powerful Western leader extracting loyalty and resources from compliant African heads of state. It was a modern-day colonial tableau, reminiscent of 19th-century encounters where African kings were forced to bow before European emperors. Despite decades of political independence, economic and diplomatic relations between Africa and the West often remain shaped by uneven power dynamics. President Faye’s capitulation was especially disheartening. He had risen to power as a voice for African dignity, promising to reclaim sovereignty and reject neocolonialism. Yet, in Washington, he followed the script, failing to challenge Trump’s narrative and thus betraying the ideals that brought him to power. The Illusion of Partnership In the end, Trump didn’t build bridges; he built a stage. He didn’t engage with equals; he orchestrated a performance where he alone was the master. The African leaders, by participating in this spectacle without protest, helped perpetuate the very systems of control and exploitation they once promised to dismantle. If Africa is to break free from these cycles of dominance, its leaders must resist such public humiliations and redefine engagement on their own terms. Genuine partnership cannot be built on flattery and fear; it must rest on mutual respect, shared interests, and the courage to speak truth to power. Until that happens, summits like Trump’s will remain not forums for cooperation but stages of colonial theatre—where the master still holds the script, and Africa plays a supporting role.
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Letting Go Didn’t Break Me — Holding On Did
I used to think that letting go was the ultimate form of defeat. That if I walked away—from a person, a situation, or a version of myself—I was somehow giving up. That strength looked like staying. That love meant holding on, even if my hands were bleeding from the grip. I was wrong. What I’ve learned, the hard way, is this: Letting go didn’t break me. Holding on did. --- The Myth of Endurance We live in a world that glorifies endurance. Push through. Stay strong. Don’t quit. We’re taught that if we just hang on a little longer, things will change. They’ll get better. They'll become what we dreamed they could be. So I held on. I held on when the relationship turned toxic. I held on when the job drained every ounce of joy from me. I held on when I no longer recognized myself in the mirror because I didn’t want to admit that what I was holding onto was hurting me. I mistook suffering for strength. I thought if I let go, I’d fall apart. But I was already falling. --- The Cost of Clinging There’s a price to holding on too tightly. You pay in sleepless nights, in anxiety attacks that hit you out of nowhere, in the deep ache in your chest that won’t go away no matter how many distractions you pile on top of it. You lose yourself trying to save something that’s not meant to be saved. You silence your needs. You downplay your pain. You put others first again and again, telling yourself it’s love, when really—it’s fear. Fear of being alone. Fear of failure. Fear of starting over. I was so afraid to lose what I had that I didn’t see what I was losing in the process: my peace, my identity, my sense of worth. --- The Breaking Point My breaking point didn’t look dramatic. It wasn’t a slammed door or a screaming match or a middle-of-the-night exit. It was quiet. Still. Almost unnoticeable. I woke up one morning and realized I didn’t want to feel like this anymore. That’s all. No epiphany. No fireworks. Just a tired soul whispering, “You can’t live like this.” And that whisper was louder than all the noise I’d been drowning in. So I let go. I let go of the relationship that kept me questioning my value. I let go of the job that felt like a cage. I let go of the idea that I had to be everything for everyone. And yes, it hurt. Yes, it was messy. Yes, I cried more than I’d like to admit. But with every tear, a little more weight lifted. --- The Freedom in the Fall People think letting go means losing control. But sometimes, it’s the most powerful choice you can make. When I let go, I found space. Space to breathe. To feel. To heal. I stopped trying to fix things that weren’t mine to fix. I stopped bending myself into pieces to make others comfortable. I started asking myself what I needed, not what would make everyone else happy. And in that space, I discovered something I hadn’t felt in years: freedom. The kind of freedom that comes when you no longer carry what was never meant for you. When you stop swimming against the current and learn to float. --- Rebuilding From the Rubble Letting go didn’t magically fix my life. But it gave me the clarity to start over. I built new routines. I set boundaries. I reconnected with people who saw me for who I was, not who I tried to be. Most importantly, I got honest—with myself. I stopped romanticizing the past. I stopped chasing closure from people who had no intention of giving it. I started giving myself the love and grace I’d been so willing to give others. And day by day, I realized: I wasn’t broken. Just bruised. Just tired. Just human. --- To Anyone Struggling to Let Go I know it feels impossible. I know you’re scared. I know you’re hoping that if you hold on just a little longer, things will change. But ask yourself this: Has holding on brought you peace—or pain? Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is walk away. Not because you’re weak. But because you’re finally strong enough to choose yourself. Letting go isn’t the end. It’s the beginning. It’s the moment you stop surviving and start living. So if you’re at that edge—if your heart is whispering, “You can’t live like this”—listen. You’re not breaking. You’re becoming. --- Closing Thoughts Letting go didn’t destroy me. It saved me. It gave me back the parts of myself I thought I’d lost forever. It taught me that healing doesn’t always come wrapped in beauty. Sometimes, it’s born out of surrender. If you’re in a place where letting go feels like the end of the world, let me remind you: It might just be the beginning of your freedom.
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What If Social Media Disappeared Overnight?
A Silent Night, a Disconnected World Imagine waking up tomorrow to find your phone buzzing—but there are no Instagram stories, no TikTok videos, and no Facebook updates. Just silence. No notifications. No hashtags trending. Social media has vanished. Sounds impossible? Maybe. But what if, just overnight, every major platform shut down forever? What would that mean for our lives, our emotions, our businesses, and even our identities? --- 💔 The Emotional Whiplash For many, social media is more than entertainment—it's validation, routine, and identity. Suddenly losing that could trigger a wave of emotional confusion. Young people, especially Gen Z, might feel lost without the constant feedback loop of likes and comments. Anxiety and withdrawal symptoms—similar to quitting a drug—could affect millions. A large chunk of people might experience a deep fear of missing out (FOMO), even though there’s nothing to miss. Ironically, in the silence, we might begin to hear our own thoughts again. --- 📈 Businesses Would Panic Social media has become the lifeline of marketing. Small businesses thrive on Instagram. Content creators earn full-time incomes on TikTok. Without these platforms: Influencers would lose income overnight. Brands would have to go back to email marketing, websites, and physical ads. Customer engagement would become much harder, especially for startups. It would feel like traveling back to the early 2000s—but without the preparation. --- 👥 A Generation Disconnected Entire generations have grown up online. Without memes, viral trends, or online challenges, a major part of youth culture would be erased. Events like political protests and social movements that gained power through online momentum (like Black Lives Matter or MeToo) would slow down or vanish. Friendships formed through DMs or comments might fade. We’d return to face-to-face communication, but would we even remember how? --- 🌞 The Unexpected Positives Strangely, there’s beauty in disconnection too. Mental health might improve as comparisons with filtered lives disappear. Sleep cycles could return to normal. Productivity at work and school would likely go up. People might reconnect with hobbies, reading, or spending time in nature. And imagine going to dinner with someone—without checking your phone once. Bliss, right? But beyond the personal benefits, society as a whole could also undergo a subtle revolution. Imagine a world where people are no longer forming opinions based on viral outrage, where public discourse isn't driven by a trending hashtag or a controversial influencer. We might finally begin to value real-life conversations, in-depth journalism, and long-form thinking once again. In schools, students might spend more time engaging in creative writing, critical thinking, and hands-on learning instead of scrolling through social platforms during breaks. Teachers could regain students' full attention, and learning environments might become more focused. Families could also become closer. Instead of sitting in the same room, each person glued to their own screen, they might actually talk to one another. Mealtimes would be about sharing stories, not selfies. Relationships might become more genuine, based on time spent and memories made, rather than emojis and story reactions. Even government systems and democracy could change—for the better. Politicians would need to communicate directly with the people through real-world platforms, town halls, and community radio rather than 280-character tweets. The disappearance of social media might force us to reimagine how we build awareness, unity, and collective action in a more grounded, meaningful way. In this disconnected world, art could flourish again in physical spaces—murals, performances, handwritten letters, community storytelling. Instead of sharing our creativity with algorithms, we’d be sharing it with neighbors. So while the silence might be scary at first, it might become the very breath of fresh air that society needs to find itself again. ⚠️ But Not All is Sunny Not everyone benefits. For those who work online, this change is devastating. Millions in developing countries use Facebook as their only internet—to read news, stay updated, and find jobs. Freelancers and content creators might lose years of hard work and content, with no way to recover their audience. The world might feel quieter, but also lonelier for many. --- 🕵️ Information Would Become Scarce Social media is now our primary news source. In its absence: People would need to rely on TV or newspapers again Fake news might become harder to detect—or easier, depending on your perspective Local businesses and communities might struggle to reach audiences Ironically, less information might actually lead to more confusion. --- 🔄 Would We Ever Go Back? If social media vanished once, would we build it again? History says yes. Humans crave connection. Platforms like Friendster, MySpace, Facebook—all rose and fell. Something new would rise. Maybe it would be simpler, healthier, or maybe even more addictive. But for a brief moment, we’d have a chance to pause, reset, and rethink. --- 💭 Conclusion: Who’s In Control? In the end, the question isn’t what would happen if social media disappeared. The real question is: “Are we using social media — or is it using us?” Sometimes, losing something helps us understand its grip on our lives. A world without social media might be scary, silent, and confusing—but also honest, peaceful, and free.
By Abid Ali Khanabout a year ago in Confessions
