As Donald Trump seeks to redefine American global leadership in his second presidential term, he is deploying a new diplomatic currency: critical minerals. In an era marked by digital competition, clean energy transitions, and rising geopolitical rivalries, Trump’s administration has made it clear that whoever controls the world’s rare earths, lithium, cobalt, and graphite — controls the future. But behind the headlines of billion-dollar deals lies a deeper story of transactional diplomacy, national security ambition, and fragile foreign partnerships.
In March 2025, President Trump signed an executive order aimed at scaling up domestic mineral production, slashing red tape for mining permits, and allocating billions through a new critical minerals fund housed under the U.S. International Development Finance Corporation. His administration presents this as a bold step toward reducing American reliance on China and other geopolitical competitors for key raw materials — materials essential for defense systems, electric vehicles, and high-tech manufacturing. But while domestic mining is part of the strategy, it’s the international mineral grabs that signal the real shift in foreign policy. One of the most visible — and controversial — moves has been in Ukraine, where the Trump administration is pushing for a deal to gain privileged access to the country’s vast mineral deposits, especially rare earths and titanium. The proposed arrangement — involving U.S. government support and private investment in exchange for mining rights — was initially met with hesitation by Kyiv, wary of losing control over strategic national assets during wartime. But as The New York Times reported, mounting pressure from Washington and the lure of capital infusion have brought the two sides back to the negotiating table. A Ukrainian delegation is expected in Washington to hammer out a revised framework. Trump’s team frames this as a winwin: securing critical inputs for U.S. industry while boosting Ukraine’s war-ravaged economy. Critics, however, fear the deal risks reducing a sovereign ally to a resource provider at a moment of extreme vulnerability. In the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), the Trump administration is pursuing what it describes as a transformative minerals-for-security pact. The U.S. would gain access to Congo’s coveted cobalt, copper, and gold reserves, while in exchange, it would help stabilize the conflictridden east through intelligence support, counterinsurgency collaboration, and infrastructure investments. Congolese President Félix Tshisekedi has signaled interest, hoping U.S. involvement could pressure Rwanda to pull back support for M23 rebels and end the cycle of cross-border destabilization. But while the promise of American security assistance is appealing, skepticism is warranted. The DRC has long been a graveyard of international peacekeeping ambitions — and the U.S. has limited leverage over regional spoilers like Rwanda and Uganda. Trump’s approach raises the question: can security be outsourced like supply chains? Or will the deal simply entrench another chapter of resource extraction without lasting peace?
Meanwhile, in Australia, a long-standing ally, the mineral card is being played more defensively. As the U.S. tariffs escalate — with Trump imposing a 10% blanket import duty and higher rates on specific countries — Australia is exploring how its critical minerals reserves can be used as leverage to soften the blow. Talks are underway to secure exemptions by highlighting the importance of Australia’s lithium, rare earths, and nickel exports to U.S. defense and tech firms. This is diplomacy by resource calculus — a dynamic where even allies must negotiate their way around America’s new transactional trade framework. Trump’s mineral diplomacy reflects a broader ideological shift: a belief that America’s geopolitical power lies not in multilateralism or soft power, but in the hard assets of the earth — and the deals made to control them. This is a worldview in which strategic advantage is secured not through global institutions, but through exclusive contracts, bilateral leverage, and a reassertion of economic nationalism. But this approach comes with real risks. It may alienate allies, deepen North South imbalances, and bind the U.S. to unstable regimes in pursuit of short-term access. In places like the DRC or Ukraine, the imbalance of power in these deals could leave behind resentment — or worse, renewed dependence. In the name of autonomy, the U.S. may inadvertently recreate the very global dependencies it seeks to escape.
As the world’s mineral map is redrawn, Trump’s strategy signals not just a shift in supply chains, but in the architecture of diplomacy itself. For Balkan states and other small economies navigating between major powers, these deals are a warning: geoeconomics is no longer theoretical. It is policy. And in this new order, resources speak louder than rules.