What was intended to be a defining moment in modern Middle Eastern diplomacy quickly unraveled into an unpredictable blend of awkwardness, unscripted remarks, and subtle — and not-so-subtle — diplomatic jabs, largely due to the presence and performance of former U.S. President Donald Trump. The global peace summit held in Sharm el-Sheikh, Egypt, was meant to serve as a serious, collaborative platform where international leaders could hash out a framework for a long-overdue ceasefire between Israel and Hamas. Instead, it became yet another instance where Trump’s commanding — and often chaotic — style overshadowed the substance.
This wasn’t just any diplomatic gathering. Billed for weeks in the media as a “historic meeting,” the summit brought together an impressive roster of world leaders and high-level envoys. From Europe to the Middle East to North America, the event was a magnet for international attention. Security was tight. Journalists lined up in droves. Cameras clicked constantly, capturing every handshake, every frown, every sideways glance. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation. But the tone shifted almost immediately after Trump arrived — and, as is often the case, all eyes turned to him.
The first eyebrow-raising moment occurred within minutes. While moving down a line of dignitaries, Trump made what many initially considered a minor slip — introducing Canadian Prime Minister Mark Carney as “President Carney.” It drew a ripple of awkward laughter from those nearby. To Carney’s credit, he played along with an easy-going smile, quipping, “I’m glad you upgraded me to president.” Trump, without missing a beat, shot back, “At least I didn’t say governor,” and patted Carney on the arm with a half-chuckle. A seemingly harmless exchange — but one that instantly set the tone for what was to follow: a day marked by Trump’s signature mix of bravado, unpredictability, and disregard for standard diplomatic decorum.
Soon after, Trump pivoted his attention to Italian Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni. What followed was a moment that would soon light up social media feeds across the world. Standing before a crowd of reporters and fellow leaders, Trump leaned into the microphone and said, “I’m not allowed to say it because usually it’s the end of your political career if you do,” pausing for dramatic effect. “But she’s a beautiful young woman.”
He continued, clearly enjoying the shock value. “If you use the word ‘beautiful’ in the United States about a woman, that’s the end of your political career,” he added, grinning as the room shifted uncomfortably. “But I’ll take my chances.” He then turned toward Meloni and asked, “You don’t mind being called beautiful, right? Because you are.”
There was a moment of silence before a mix of polite chuckles and murmured discomfort echoed through the hall. Some diplomats looked to each other as if seeking a cue — should they laugh, ignore it, or wince? Meloni, known for her stoicism in the face of controversy, gave a measured smile and a subtle nod, her body language neutral, her expression unreadable.
That interaction, while headline-grabbing, was not the summit’s most awkward — that distinction would soon belong to British Prime Minister Keir Starmer, who found himself entangled in a moment that quickly turned into a viral sensation, and not in a flattering way.
The central purpose of the summit was to introduce and rally support around Trump’s so-called “Gaza Peace Initiative,” an ambitious — and, to some, unrealistic — plan to secure a lasting ceasefire and broader regional stability. The U.S. delegation touted it as a culmination of months of secret negotiations. Leaders such as French President Emmanuel Macron, German Chancellor Olaf Scholz, Egyptian President Abdel Fattah el-Sisi, and several others had gathered to either endorse the framework or, at the very least, express diplomatic interest. Keir Starmer was there as the UK’s representative, hoping to reinforce Britain’s image as a committed partner in global peace efforts.
But even before Trump took the stage, the mood had already started to shift. Reports circulated that he had made an unplanned stop in Israel to meet with recently freed Hamas hostages, delaying his arrival by several hours. When he did finally enter the main summit chamber, the atmosphere was both anticipatory and tense. The cameras, of course, followed his every step.
As part of the proceedings, Trump began calling up leaders one by one — using the alphabetical order of countries to invite them for brief handshakes in front of the press. It was meant to be ceremonial. But when he arrived at “United Kingdom,” he paused, looked theatrically from side to side, and declared, “Where is the United Kingdom? Come here.”
Starmer stepped forward with a diplomatic smile, offering a light-hearted remark: “Behind you, as usual.” It was meant as a show of solidarity — a reference to the so-called “special relationship” between the U.S. and the UK. Trump extended his hand. “Everything going good?” he asked.
“Very good,” Starmer responded politely. But before the British Prime Minister could elaborate, Trump had already turned his back and resumed addressing the audience. Starmer stood frozen for a heartbeat, then quietly retreated to his place. The cameras captured every second. By the time the footage hit social media, it had already been sliced, captioned, and analyzed.
“Trump just ghosted Starmer on live TV,” one user posted on X. “He gave him the handshake, the photo op, and then flat-out ignored him.”
Another joked, “Starmer thought he was getting a seat at the table. Turns out he was the table decoration.”
By the end of the summit, clips of Starmer’s forced smile and abrupt dismissal had gone viral. Political commentators pounced, interpreting it as a deliberate slight — a subtle but unmistakable way of sidelining the UK and undermining Starmer’s authority on the world stage. Despite efforts to control the narrative, including a carefully worded social media post by Starmer thanking Trump for his efforts and reiterating the UK’s support for the peace deal, the damage had already been done.
Meanwhile, other world leaders didn’t escape unscathed either. French President Emmanuel Macron, known for his assertive style, had his own unsettling interaction with Trump during what should have been a simple handshake. But in true Trump fashion, the handshake became a silent contest of dominance. Video footage showed the two men locked in a long, visibly tense grip. Macron’s knuckles whitened. Trump’s expression darkened.
Lip-reading expert Nicola Hickling later claimed the following exchange occurred:
Trump: “Nice to see you. So, you agreed?”
Macron: “Of course.”
Trump: “Are you being genuine?”
Macron: “Yes.”
Trump: “Okay, so now I want to know why. You hurt me. I already know.”
The unsettling tone of the exchange, paired with the physical intensity of the handshake, quickly sparked headlines and speculation. Was it a joke? A warning? A power move? Regardless of intent, the moment served as yet another example of Trump’s unpredictable and confrontational approach to international diplomacy.
In the official closing statements, the summit organizers emphasized unity and optimism. Trump declared the peace initiative a success and hailed the gathering as a turning point for the region. But the global media coverage told a different story. It focused not on policy details or collaborative breakthroughs but on moments of tension, personal dynamics, and the sheer unpredictability of Trump’s presence.
International reaction was predictably polarized. Supporters framed the summit as another showcase of Trump’s fearless leadership — unfiltered, bold, and unafraid to ruffle feathers. “He commands the room like no one else,” one conservative commentator wrote. “He doesn’t do politics — he does results.”
Critics, however, painted a darker picture. “This was not diplomacy,” a European political analyst noted. “It was reality television masquerading as statecraft. And everyone else was reduced to supporting characters in Trump’s show.”
In the UK, political insiders were split. Some brushed off the Starmer incident as overblown. But others were more candid. “He looked like a kid at school trying not to embarrass himself,” one senior adviser said. “And Trump didn’t even let him speak.”
As Air Force One departed Egypt and motorcades carried world leaders away from the Red Sea resort, the summit’s legacy was already taking shape. The peace agreement would dominate headlines for days — but not because of its content. Instead, it would be remembered for the awkward silences, the viral moments, the clashing egos, and one man’s ability to make every international stage feel like a one-man show.
Once again, Donald Trump had taken the spotlight — whether the world wanted him to or not.