Trump is "daddy": Global diplomacy and the politics of power

By Meghana Pappu

Out of all the squares I had filled in my 2025 World Politics bingo, Trump getting called “daddy” at a major world summit, was most certainly not on it. In my very many years of being online, never have I imagined the reality in which a fan-fiction tag is used as a descriptor for one President Donald J. Trump (inaccurately, might I add).

And yet, at this year’s NATO summit in The Hague, the Secretary-General Mark Rutte—former Dutch Prime Minister—reportedly referred to Trump as “daddy.” Not metaphorically. Not offhandedly. Not ironically.

To the untrained eye, this might seem like a slip of the tongue, but to those of us who have spent time on Tumblr, or even the murkier depths of Reddit, it reads as deliberate: a signal of submission, of desire for approval, of recognition that in the fanfic of international diplomacy, Trump has inexplicably been cast as the emotionally unavailable, dangerously charismatic alpha male we all can’t seem to get enough of. Let’s not forget: this came on the heels of Trump himself leaking other fawning texts from European leaders, as if NATO were less a military alliance and more a group chat desperately trying to win “daddy’s” heart.

When the summit actually arrived, European member states responded not with restraint or dignity, but by agreeing to raise their defense spending up to 5% of GDP—the international equivalent of showing up in a lace dress and begging Trump to pick them, choose them, love them!

It would be easy to dismiss the “daddy” incident as a diplomatic Freudian slip—a one-off verbal tumble into the internet’s worst language. But it wasn’t just a joke, it was a symptom. Trump has somehow managed to shift the gravitational center of international diplomacy away from treaties, structures, or norms—and toward himself. Negotiating with the US today is not merely about policy alignment, it's about stoking a felon’s ego, about whether you flatter Trump publicly, whether your military budget sings enough to keep him entertained, and whether your Prime Minister brings good lighting to the Oval Office.

This reconfiguration of diplomacy has forced allies into an uncomfortable choice: adapt to Trump’s personality-driven playbook, or risk alienation from the most powerful member of the alliance.

The NATO-Rutte moment—and the state visit that the UK is now reportedly scrambling to move to September—aren’t isolated miscalculations; they’re performances that are part of a diplomatic Hunger Games where survival depends on proving yourself as Trump’s most obedient tribute.

The rules of the game are simple and operate on three basic principles:

1. Only loyalty matters; Military alliances, economic logic, or human rights? Cute. But

unless you’re a loyal cisgender, heterosexual, white Christian male? No one cares.

2. Never outshine Daddy; Ask Zelensky, who made the mistake of trying to talk about a war during Trump’s camera time. Or Ramaphosa, who arrived at the Oval Office expecting a diplomatic meeting and was instead cast as a side character in a MAGA campaign video.

3. You’re only as safe as your last compliment; Hence, the UK’s latest move: reportedly

bringing forward Trump’s state visit to September, in the hopes that tea with The King

and crumpets with Starmer will prevent a sudden withdrawal from NATO or, worse,

another unsolicited Truth Social post comparing Macron to a baguette.

But what happens if you don’t play the game? Just ask President Zelensky—In 2019, he approached Trump expecting policy dialogue, and instead got entangled in an impeachment saga, only left with the U.S. equivalent of “seen 4 days ago.” Or Cyril Ramaphosa, who, earlier this year, found himself summoned to the Oval Office only to realise that it was an ambush designed to film campaign B-roll of Trump vaguely scolding him in front of an American flag. Their crime–both men had the audacity to behave like sovereign leaders. Their mistake was assuming that diplomacy under Trump still operated according to diplomatic norms, according to the Geneva Conventions—and not those of the 2014 Tumblr DashCon.

This reconfiguration of diplomacy has forced allies into an uncomfortable choice: adapt to Trump’s personality-driven playbook, or risk alienation from the most powerful member of the alliance. Rutte’s comment, and the broader flurry of deference on display, signals that many have chosen the former.

Donald Trump doesn’t do diplomacy, he does dominance displays, loyalty tests, and shirtless chest-beating in front of a gold mirror. Think of it this way: If Obama was the aloof intellectual ex you still occasionally text, and Biden the tired stepdad who just wants peace and a sandwich, then Trump is the ex who set your house on fire but still makes you nervous in a bad way.

Some commentators argue that increasing European defense budgets is long overdue, and on paper, that’s true. Europe should take more responsibility for its own security. But context matters—and this context reeks of desperation. European leaders aren’t suddenly awakening to the need for resilience, they’re trying to pre-empt the fallout of a potential Trump return. They’re building a fortress—yes—but they’re doing it with hearts carved into the bricks and “Daddy’s Approval = Survival” etched in Latin on the cornerstone. It’s not just strategic autonomy, it’s a submissive panic attack, funded by billions.

So, should Europe Stop Calling Him Daddy? Stop playing this game? The answer, academically and strategically, is yes. Immediately. With urgency. Possibly with therapy.

Short-term appeasement may preserve some U.S. engagement, but it undermines the credibility and dignity of European diplomacy. It also feeds the very instincts: vanity, grievance, and performative dominance, that make Trump such an unstable global actor—one who transforms diplomacy into theater, where loyalty is proven through budget hikes and public flattery, not shared principles or strategic alignment. Where humiliation is part of the ritual, and where institutions that once championed collective defense are reduced to casting calls for the approval of one man, perhaps something has gone wrong.

There is, of course, a practical logic to hedging bets, but submission is not strategy.

NATO was built on the principle of collective security, and if Trump’s potential return forces a reckoning, then that reckoning should involve strengthening institutional resilience. There is a cost to this kind of submission—not just financial, but institutional. A NATO alliance shaped around Trump’s ego is not a NATO that can stand long-term—it may survive his tantrums, but it will not survive its own loss of self-respect. The world doesn’t need more military spending to win Trump’s affection, it needs a spine.

If NATO is to endure—truly endure—it must remember its purpose: not to perform, but to protect; not to flatter, but to function. And certainly not to audition for the next season of America’s Next Top Geopolitical Servant. So, yes, Trump was called “daddy” at a major world summit, and no, it wasn’t on anyone’s bingo card (I hope), and if we keep going down this path, I won’t be surprised if next year’s summit includes matching NATO friendship bracelets and a compulsory talent show titled “Make NATO Great Again.”

Until then, Europe: put the fanfic down, get up off the floor. And kindly, for the love of

democracy—stop calling him that. So, where does this leave us? Europe has a choice: continue LARPing as Trump’s emotionally needy ex, or reclaim some agency, and as amusing as the Daddy discourse may be, I think it belies a more dangerous truth: democracies cannot survive on submission, flattery, and text leaks alone. NATO wasn’t founded to orbit one man’s ego. It was meant to stand against tyranny—not retweet it. And if your national security strategy involves whispering “Daddy, please don’t go” while drafting a £300 billion defence budget—well, it might be time to log off.

Image: Flickr