From the climate to UNESCO: An empty seat at the table

Al-Ahram Weekly

20 hours ago

US President Donald Trump is turning his back on international cooperation, notably on the climate crisis and through the US withdrawal from UNESCO.
Once upon a time, the United States was the loudest voice in the room whenever the world gathered to solve its greatest problems. From building the UN after World War II to shaping the Paris Climate Agreement, Washington's presence was not just welcome, it was decisive.
Today, that same seat at the table is often left empty. US President Donald Trump's second term has made clear what his first already signalled: that the US is no longer interested in being the steward of global cooperation. From climate finance to cultural diplomacy, seen with the US decision to withdraw from the UN cultural organisation UNESCO, the US is walking away from the world's problems apparently unbothered by the consequences.
In the vast hall of the United Nations building in New York, where the flags of the different nations stand side by side as a symbol of unity, the seat of the United States has lately been conspicuously empty. For some, this has been nothing more than a minor absence. But for others, from seasoned diplomats to climate activists, and from communities in sinking island states to aid workers in conflict zones, that empty chair speaks volumes: the country that once defined the rules of global cooperation has been choosing to step away from the table.
Such a scene is not just a procedural detail. It tells a larger story of how the current president of the world's most powerful nation has redefined America's relationship with the international community — not through dialogue or reform, but through withdrawal and rejection. From climate to culture, and from global health to disarmament, Trump's decisions have begun to unravel the threads woven over decades to build a system of multilateral cooperation.
As the echoes of these withdrawals ripple through the corridors of global conferences, ordinary lives are quietly bearing the consequences: a farmer in Africa losing his livelihood to prolonged drought with no compensation in sight; a Syrian refugee waiting for humanitarian aid that has been cut; a young researcher in Southeast Asia watching her clean energy project collapse for lack of international funding. For them, Washington's retreat is not abstract geopolitics — it has led to more of a daily struggle for survival, dignity, and hope.
This is also about more than the policy choices of one US president. It is a defining moment that may redraw the future of the international order: will it collapse under the weight of mistrust and fragmentation, or will the world reorder itself to rise with a more inclusive and balanced system, even without the United States at its centre?
In a small coastal village on the Ganges Delta in Bangladesh, the sea creeps closer year after year. Salt stains the walls of mud-brick homes, while once-verdant rice fields lie barren beneath brackish water. A grandmother cradles her grandchild on her lap and recalls with sorrow that the tide never reached her doorstep before. Now, the ocean is an uninvited guest that refuses to leave.
For her, and for millions of others like her in fragile communities worldwide, the promises of international climate finance and global solidarity are a final thread of hope. But that thread frays each time the US withdraws from a treaty or organisation that was meant to protect it.
The reality is stark: decisions made in Washington ripple across continents. When Trump declares that America will no longer shoulder its share of collective responsibility, the consequences are not abstract. They are measured in flooded homes, empty stomachs, and shuttered schools.
WITHDRAWAL DOCTRINE: Throughout his two terms as US president, the first from 2017 to 2021 and now his current presidency beginning in 2025, Trump has transformed the US withdrawal from international commitments into a governing doctrine.
What might once have been seen as an occasional tactic has hardened into a worldview: global agreements are viewed as burdens, and 'America First' is interpreted as leaving everyone else to fend for themselves.
During his current term, Trump has already pulled the US out of the Loss and Damage Fund established at the UN COP28 climate conference to compensate climate-vulnerable nations, the Just Energy Transition Partnerships designed to finance renewable transitions in the Global South, the World Health Organisation (WHO) despite lingering scars from the Covid-19 pandemic, and UNESCO, the long-standing guardian of education, culture, and heritage.
This pattern echoes his first term, during which he withdrew the US from the Paris Climate Agreement in 2017, the Iran Nuclear Deal in 2018, the Trans-Pacific Partnership in 2017, the Intermediate-Range Nuclear Forces Treaty in 2019, and the Open Skies Treaty in 2020.
Together, these decisions represent far more than legal paperwork; they form a timeline of retreat and a map of America's deliberate disengagement from the very system it once helped to build. As Trump himself declared when announcing the US exit from the Paris Agreement, 'in order to fulfil my solemn duty… the US will withdraw from the Paris Climate Accord… The bottom line is that the Paris Accord is very unfair at the highest level to the United States.'
The White House at the time reinforced this framing, casting it as a defence of sovereignty and fairness. 'Your decision today… reflects your unflinching commitment to put America first. You have promised to put America first… and today you've put America first with regard to international agreements and the environment,' said Scott Pruitt, then the White House environmental adviser.
In the end, what has emerged is not just a record of policy shifts, but a redefinition of America's role in the world – one that replaces global stewardship with strategic retreat, leaving allies uncertain and adversaries emboldened.
For decades after World War II, the United States was the architect and anchor of the international order. From the United Nations to NATO, the World Bank, and global trade pacts, Washington designed a system that institutionalised its leadership. Even when America disagreed, such as its refusal to ratify the Kyoto Protocol in 1997, it stayed inside the system to preserve its influence. The unwritten rule was clear: remain in the room, and you shape the agenda. Leave the room, and you lose control.
Trump has upended this logic. To him, international organisations are not platforms of power but drains on sovereignty. Withdrawal is not failure; it is strategy. And that marks a historic break with US foreign policy tradition.
Perhaps no sector feels the US exit more acutely than climate, where the withdrawal from global commitments is not symbolic but a matter of life and death for millions. The Loss and Damage Fund, celebrated at the COP28 as a breakthrough for climate justice, now struggles for survival.
According to UN Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC) data, the United States had been expected to contribute $17 million in its initial phase, but with Washington's withdrawal, pledges fell by nearly 25 per cent in 2024. Similarly, under the Obama administration the US pledged $3 billion to the Green Climate Fund but delivered only $1 billion before Trump froze all payments, leaving projects to build sea walls, resettle displaced communities, and finance renewable transitions underfunded or stalled.
For low‑lying nations like the Maldives or drought‑stricken regions in the Sahel in Africa, America's absence translates into existential vulnerability: a political choice in Washington means a submerged village in Dhaka or a failed harvest in Niger. Defending the retreat, Trump has framed climate action as an economic burden, insisting that 'the Paris Accord would have been shutting down American producers with excessive regulatory restrictions… What we won't do is punish the American people while enriching foreign polluters… I'm proud to say it, it's called America First.'
Yet, climate scientists have been among the many to have voiced their alarm. Piers Forster of the University of Leeds in the UK lamented that 'it is a sad day for evidence‑based policy,' while Antonio Busalacchi of University Corporation for Atmospheric Research (UCAR) in Colorado in the US, warned that 'this decision poses a substantial threat to our communities, businesses, and military.'
What Trump casts as sovereignty, others see as surrender — not merely of treaties but of time itself, the most precious resource in the fight against climate collapse. With every withdrawal, the hourglass empties faster, and the world is left gasping for breath as rising seas and broken harvests whisper the price of America's retreat.
UNESCO RETREAT: The UNESCO is far more than just a cultural forum; it safeguards World Heritage Sites, develops education in conflict zones, and sets ethical standards for emerging technologies like artificial intelligence.
By walking away from it, the United States has not only abandoned its financial responsibilities, having once contributed over 20 per cent of UNESCO's budget, roughly $80 million annually, but has also left behind a political void that weakens the organisation's leverage in disputes over curricula in conflict areas, as well as symbolic losses that suggest knowledge and culture no longer matter in Washington's worldview.
The consequences have been profound: official UNESCO reports confirm that more than 50 educational and cultural programmes across Africa and the Middle East have been scaled back or suspended due to financial shortfalls. This retreat comes at a critical moment when UNESCO is striving to protect ancient heritage in Iraq and Syria, advance digital learning in Africa, and build global consensus on AI governance.
The US State Department has defended the withdrawal on ideological grounds, stating that 'the decision to withdraw reflects concern that UNESCO continues to promote divisive social and cultural causes, pursuing an ideological agenda inconsistent with America First.'
In contrast, UNESCO Director‑General Audrey Azoulay voiced her deep regret, declaring that 'I deeply regret President Donald Trump's decision… this decision contradicts the fundamental principles of multilateralism. UNESCO has undertaken major reforms since 2018 and continues its mission undiminished.'
In the end, America's retreat from UNESCO is more than a budget cut or a diplomatic rift. It is a symbolic fracture, a retreat from history itself, and to many it feels like a betrayal of humanity's shared memory and the fragile bridges of culture that hold civilisations together.
In a similar way, the Covid-19 pandemic revealed the indispensable role of the WHO as the only body linking 194 countries in real time. It was an imperfect but essential hub for data-sharing, vaccine strategies, and public health guidelines.
By withdrawing from the WHO, Washington signals that even global pandemics are insufficient justification for multilateralism.
The message is chilling: in the next health crisis, cooperation will be fragmented, hostage to geopolitics rather than guided by solidarity.
A DESTRUCTIVE GAP: The United States has long stood as the single largest donor to humanitarian aid, and when it retreats, the consequences are devastating.
US foreign aid data shows that in 2019 alone Washington provided more than $9.5 billion in humanitarian assistance worldwide. Following Trump's funding freeze, the UN World Food Programme (WFP) was forced to announce ration cuts that affected more than eight million refugees, while the UN Palestinian refugee agency UNRWA lost $360 million annually, plunging it into its worst financial crisis in decades.
The UN Development Programme (UNDP), too, reported that at least 120 projects in Africa and Asia were delayed or cancelled between 2018 and 2023 as a direct result of US budget withdrawals. The impact of this retreat is neither abstract nor distant: in Jordan's Zaatari refugee camp, five children now share a single textbook; in South Sudan, clinics shut their doors two days a week for lack of basic supplies.
The absence of American funding is not a matter of diplomatic paperwork but of human survival, felt in the empty classrooms, the shuttered clinics, and the silent plates of millions whose lives depend on aid. In this vacuum, the world is left to grapple with the collapse of safety nets that once bore the unmistakable stamp of American generosity, turning Washington's retreat into a global humanitarian shockwave.
Perhaps the most consequential withdrawals are financial. Without American contributions, global initiatives lose not only resources but legitimacy. A climate treaty without US support is weakened; a development pact without Washington's buy-in lacks credibility. The symbolic weight of America's absence can be even more crippling than the financial shortfall.
Supporters of Trump's foreign policy argue that the series of withdrawals is not reckless abandonment but rather a deliberate recalibration of America's global role. From their perspective, decades of international commitments have drained US resources while delivering limited benefits at home, and the 'America First' doctrine rests on the conviction that global organisations exploit American contributions without offering fair reciprocity, while treaties constrain US sovereignty more than they protect it.
This rationale has been repeatedly voiced during Trump's second term, with White House Spokesperson Anna Kelly defending the July 2025 withdrawal from UNESCO by declaring that 'President Trump has decided to withdraw the United States from UNESCO, which supports woke, divisive cultural and social causes that are totally out‑of‑step with the commonsense policies that Americans voted for.'
Israeli Foreign Minister Gideon Saar applauded the move as a stand against bias, insisting that 'this is a necessary step, designed to promote justice and Israel's right for fair treatment in the UN system.'
At home, Republican Party leaders have framed the exits in economic and sovereignty terms: during Trump's first term then vice president Mike Pence praised Trump's strategy as 'real leadership' that protected American jobs and prevented 'a transfer of wealth from the most powerful economy in the world to other countries around the planet,' while Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell hailed the decisions as 'another significant blow to the Obama administration's assault on domestic energy production and jobs.'
For supporters, these withdrawals are not markers of retreat but demonstrations of courage and evidence that the United States will no longer underwrite what they perceive as an inefficient, politicised, and unfair international system. To them, withdrawal is not weakness but liberation: a dramatic severing of chains that, in their eyes, had bound America's power to the agendas of others.
Another question that emerges is who will replace the United States in the vacuum left by its retreat. China has advanced aggressively through its Belt and Road Initiative, offering infrastructure and loans in exchange for geopolitical influence. Europe has sought to take the mantle of leadership in climate policy through its Green Deal, even as it continues to struggle with internal fractures that weaken its collective voice.
Meanwhile, the Global South has experimented with new blocs such as the BRICS+, signalling an ambition to shape a more equitable order, but it still lacks the financial weight to substitute for Washington's dominance. What emerges is a multipolar system, but one that is less coherent, less stable, and not necessarily more just. Instead of balance, the world finds itself in flux, where the absence of American leadership does not usher in a fairer order but rather exposes the fragility of global governance itself.
America's retreat accelerates a regression towards raw power politics. Nuclear treaties collapse. Arms races resume. Regional conflicts, from Ukraine to the Middle East, become arenas where international law is weakened, and might trumps right. Without America's stabilising presence, the architecture of rules gives way to the architecture of force.
FROM THE RUBBLE: History reminds us that the absence of a great power does not end the story but often begins a new chapter.
The international system, born out of the ashes of World War II, endured the bitter divisions of the Cold War and reshaped itself after the collapse of the Soviet Union in the early 1990s. Today, in the wake of America's retreat, the story is repeating itself with new protagonists.
In the halls of the European Union in Brussels, diplomats insist that 'Europe can no longer afford to wait.' The European Green Deal is not merely an environmental programme but also a declaration that the continent is ready to take the lead in the climate fight. In Beijing, planners are doubling down on clean energy investments not only to curb domestic pollution but also to cast China as a responsible global actor. In New Delhi and Brasilia, the calls are growing louder: emerging economies must be full partners in rewriting the rules of global cooperation.
But healing does not happen only in major capitals. In Addis Ababa, African ministers have gathered to design a regional climate adaptation fund, reflecting a spirit of self-reliance rather than dependence on absent donors. In the Caribbean, small island governments are moving as a united bloc, demanding justice mechanisms to address the hurricanes that batter them each year.
The international system may be mending itself through a horizontal distribution of power, rather than its old vertical monopoly. The question is no longer who leads but how do we lead together.
The repeated withdrawals of the US are not isolated acts but part of a fundamental shift in how it sees its role in the world, leaving a void in the leadership and moral responsibility that have anchored the global order since World War II. The consequences ripple far beyond Washington to villages in Bangladesh, farms in Africa, and schools in refugee camps, yet this retreat is also a test: can the world stand on its own two feet without leaning on a single power?
In an age of climate change and inequality, true strength lies not in retreat but in solidarity, and the future will be written not by the speeches of leaders but at the hands of those who understand that survival depends on unity.
*The writer is an environmental and climate change expert who works with local and international bodies and has represented Egypt at conferences on the environment and climate abroad.
* A version of this article appears in print in the 7 August, 2025 edition of Al-Ahram Weekly
Follow us on:
Facebook
Instagram
Whatsapp
Short link: