Trump and his Nobel pursuit

US President Donald Trump loves to play a larger-than-life role as a politician. It aligns well with his flair for drama, branding, and spectacle. He fancies himself a deus ex machina, claiming to have brokered peace between India and Pakistan, and between Israel and Iran. Theatrics are his lifeblood. While Trump has made no secret of his desire to win the Nobel Peace Prize for his self-styled peace initiatives, his quixotic streak raises the question: Is he deliberately crafting the persona of a global peacemaker to position himself as a Nobel contender? 

On the surface, it may seem absurd to link Trump—a polarising figure known for his brash rhetoric and “America First” isolationism—to the legacy of Nobel laureates like Martin Luther King Jr, Nelson Mandela, or Malala Yousafzai. Yet since his second presidency, Trump has repeatedly floated the idea that he deserves the Nobel Peace Prize — so he must have been tickled pink when oleaginous Pakistan Army Chief Asim Munir recommended him for it, citing his role in averting a nuclear war between India and Pakistan. While the US did play a quiet behind-the-scenes role, there’s no conclusive evidence that Trump himself brokered any ceasefire. 

The claim regarding Iran and Israel is even more tenuous. The fate of the Israel-Iran ceasefire hinges on diplomatic follow-up. A ceasefire marks a temporary pause in conflict. As of now, there is no direct negotiation between the two nations that can be credibly attributed to Trump. These pronouncements seem more like perception management than genuine diplomacy.

It is this aspect—perception—that may hold the key to understanding Trump’s manoeuvring. The Nobel Peace Prize is not merely a trophy for good deeds; it is a powerful symbol of moral authority. Trump, as is known, is facing widespread criticism and intense media scrutiny over his attack on academic freedom, particularly by defunding renowned universities such as Harvard, Cornell, and Columbia. A much-coveted Nobel Peace Prize would shield him from sweeping verbal attacks and allow him to rewrite his legacy and rebrand his public persona.

This strategy is not entirely unprecedented. Leaders have often sought the Nobel as a legitimising force. Former President Barack Obama received the award early in his presidency, prompting criticism about whether it was given for aspirations rather than achievements. In 2020, a Norwegian member of parliament nominated Trump for the Nobel Peace Prize for a peace agreement between the UAE and Israel. Trump was quick to amplify the nomination, treating it almost as a victory itself.

Unlike past Nobel recipients driven by reconciliation, humanitarian values, or grassroots activism, Trump’s peace narrative is rooted in deal-making, optics, and narcissism. The Nobel Prize, in this context, becomes less a symbol of selfless endeavour and more a badge of superiority to hang above political rivals.

But there’s also a darker current running through this campaign. By projecting himself as an apostle of peace — a contender, even, in the Nobel Peace Prize sweepstakes — Trump gains the rhetorical high ground, one that fuels his Manichean impulse to cast critics and global institutions as either ungrateful or biased. It provides a shield—however thin—against allegations of warmongering or destabilising rhetoric. It reframes his polarising tenure as one of misunderstood statesmanship. It is a clever ruse, if not a carefully orchestrated one: make exaggerated peace claims, bait the media, and then paint yourself as a victim of liberal or globalist bias when the claims are challenged.

In the age of media spectacle, visibility often trumps veracity. Trump’s Nobel Peace Prize rhetoric is less about the prize itself and more about the image it evokes. Even if he never wins it, he can continue to position himself as someone unjustly denied recognition—fuelling grievance, which has always been his political engine. This positioning complicates global diplomacy. Peace is delicate, incremental, and usually quiet. Trump’s bombastic style can destabilise rather than stabilise. His insistence on spotlighting himself in complex geopolitical matters risks reducing diplomacy to showmanship, where the appearance of resolution matters more than its substance.

Finally, Trump’s claims about brokering peace between nuclear rivals or hostile regional powers are, at best, speculative. But they are not necessarily naïve. They are part of a broader narrative he is crafting—a narrative where he is not merely a political figure but a global statesman, denied his due by a biased establishment. Whether this gambit leads to Oslo or fizzles out in the realm of political theatre, it reveals a deeper truth: Trump understands that in the battle for legacy, perception can be more enduring than fact.

(The writer is an independent journalist)