Donald Trump’s “Board of Peace” is the kind of geopolitical fever dream you get when a man who can’t stay awake through his own photo‑ops decides he’s ready to redesign the entire world order. Watching him nod off during the inaugural meeting — head drooping, eyes fluttering, the whole “grandpa at Thanksgiving after too much turkey” routine — was the perfect visual metaphor for a project that exists solely to keep the spotlight on him. The man can barely stay conscious long enough to bang the gavel, but sure, let’s put him in charge of global peace.
This whole spectacle is the culmination of years of Trumplethinskin fantasizing about bulldozing the institutions that have kept the world from setting itself on fire since 1945. The United Nations? He’s spent years calling it useless, whining about dues, and treating it like a landlord he’s been avoiding. The United States currently owes the UN nearly $4 billion in unpaid dues — a number so large it should come with its own zip code — and yet he strutted into the Board of Peace launch like a man unveiling a superior product. He tossed in a token $160 million payment this month, which the UN acknowledged with the diplomatic equivalent of “that’s adorable, sweetie.” Meanwhile, the remaining $3.84 billion sits unpaid, because nothing says “global leadership” like stiffing the actual peacekeeping body while launching your own knockoff version.
And oh, the invitations. Trump sent out around 60 of them, hoping to assemble a coalition of the willing, the desperate, and the terminally polite. Some countries said yes — not because they believed in the mission, but because they understood the basic survival mechanics of Trumpworld: you either kneel or you get kneecapped. Nations dependent on U.S. military aid or trade access signed on with the enthusiasm of hostages reading scripted statements. They don’t have ambitions for this body; they have ambitions to avoid being screamed at on Truth Social.
But the “no” column? That’s where the fun begins. The Vatican — yes, the Vatican, the world’s reigning champion of politely enduring centuries of nonsense — said absolutely not. Pope Leo XIV’s government made it clear they weren’t about to ditch the actual United Nations for a Trump‑branded alternative. When the Holy See looks at your proposal and says “we’ll pass,” that’s not diplomacy, that’s divine intervention.
Denmark and France also declined, joining a growing European bloc that saw the Board of Peace for what it was: a vanity project with delusions of replacing the UN. These are countries that have spent decades building multilateral institutions, and they weren’t about to trade them in for a geopolitical timeshare presentation.
And then there’s Mexico, which didn’t just decline — it explained why. President Claudia Sheinbaum said no because Palestine wasn’t included in the inaugural session. Imagine being invited to a meeting about Gaza reconstruction where Palestinians aren’t allowed in the room. Mexico recognized the absurdity instantly and opted out. That’s not diplomacy; that’s basic common sense.
But the pièce de résistance — the moment that perfectly encapsulates the Prince of Petty — was the unnamed country whose invitation was rescinded after they declined. They said no, and Trump yanked the invite like a middle‑schooler screaming “YOU CAN’T QUIT, YOU’RE FIRED.” Their offense? Daring to reject him. That’s it. That’s the whole crime. In Trump’s world, declining an invitation is a punishable act of treason.
Meanwhile, the list of countries refusing to participate kept growing, with Newsweek and TIME both noting the expanding roster of governments opting out. Some were worried about legitimizing a parallel institution designed to undermine the UN. Others simply didn’t want to be part of a body that looked suspiciously like a geopolitical loyalty test. And a few, no doubt, just didn’t want to spend their diplomatic bandwidth pretending Trump’s gavel‑waving nap‑fest was a serious international forum.
And then there’s the “New Gaza” fantasy — Trump’s fever‑dream of turning a war‑torn region into a resort destination, complete with the kind of gaudy, gold‑trimmed aesthetic that bankrupted half his casinos. He talks about reconstruction like he’s pitching a new wing of the Taj Mahal, as if peace can be negotiated with a buffet voucher and a loyalty card. The Board of Peace, he insists, will oversee this transformation, which is rich coming from a man who can’t oversee his own eyelids staying open.
This isn’t diplomacy. It’s branding. It’s legacy‑hunting. It’s the geopolitical equivalent of slapping your name on a steak line, a university, a bottled water company, and a line of cologne that smells like bankruptcy court. Trump doesn’t want to fix the world; he wants to autograph it.
And through it all, the actual United Nations — the one with legal authority, global legitimacy, and functioning peacekeeping missions — is still waiting for the United States to pay its damn bill. Trump is out here building a shadow‑UN while owing the real one billions, like a guy who refuses to pay rent but insists he’s starting a luxury real‑estate empire any day now.
The Board of Peace isn’t a peacekeeping body. It’s a mirror. A giant, gold‑framed, self‑flattering mirror for a man who can’t stand the idea of a world that doesn’t revolve around him. And the fact that he couldn’t even stay awake during his own coronation ceremony tells you everything you need to know about how seriously he takes it.
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