Riyadh| WTNS | June 01: And so it was proclaimed from the gold-plated megaphone of democracy that battered mouthpiece once used to shout freedom, now a sleek, billion-dollar PR tool that the United States of America, under the reincarnated tycoon-prophet Donald J. Trump, has secured a historic $600 billion investment from the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. Cue fireworks. Cue oil-slicked fanfare. Cue the ceremonial handshake between two men whose hands have never known calluses.

By Agha Syed Amin Musvi

And so it was proclaimed from the gold-plated megaphone of democracy that battered mouthpiece once used to shout freedom, now a sleek, billion-dollar PR tool that the United States of America, under the reincarnated tycoon-prophet Donald J. Trump, has secured a historic $600 billion investment from the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. Cue fireworks. Cue oil-slicked fanfare. Cue the ceremonial handshake between two men whose hands have never known calluses.

They called it a “new golden era of partnership.” But gold, as history reminds us, has always been melted from teeth pulled without anaesthetic.

The announcement arrived dressed in the language of prosperity, cloaked in the robes of patriotism, embroidered with words like jobs, security, and innovation. Behind it stood a man whose version of diplomacy resembles a casino deal more than a constitutional vision. But who are we to question? After all, he’s not just the President—he’s the Deal-Maker-in-Chief, the high priest of transactional love.

Let us pause to examine this celestial dowry: Saudi Arabia, that bastion of liberty and enlightenment, has pledged $600 billion to the land of the free, much of it to prop up the very institutions that profit from perpetual war, mass surveillance, and the great algorithmic colonization of consciousness.

DataVolt (which sounds suspiciously like a Bond villain’s front company) will invest $20 billion in AI data centers. Perhaps they’ll teach our machines how to mourn the loss of civil liberties. Google, Oracle, Uber—our benevolent tech overlords—will chip in $80 billion more, transforming dystopia into a service you can rate with five stars.

And what of defences? Ah yes. The holy sacrament. The true church of American foreign policy. $142 billion in weapons, warfighting equipment, and military medical services. Because nothing says peace like a guided missile. Because teaching a regime that dismembers journalists how to use next-gen air defense systems is called strategic partnership. Because war, like oil, must be refined and sold back to the very people it scorches.

But don’t worry. There’s also money for IV fluids.

And CubeSats.

And ancient Dadan artifacts.

And Arabian leopards, of course. Let’s not forget the leopards.

The narrative machine, ever loyal, spins this as economic rebirth. Trump, the resurrection man, lifting America by its bootstraps  bootstraps made in Chinese factories, polished by migrant hands, and cheered on by lobbyists who confuse patriotism with profit margins. This isn’t capitalism. This is necromancy.

Trump was greeted in the United Arab Emirates by traditional hair dance

They invoked Roosevelt and King Abdulaziz aboard the USS Quincy. Eighty years of alliance, they say. Eighty years of shared values. Eighty years of selling bullets and buying silence.

Now, Saudi Arabia can fly cargo to any third country without stopping in the U.S. A metaphor, perhaps, for where the real power lies. Saudi carriers will fly over a democracy that can no longer afford public education but can still sell a Hellfire missile with a bow on top.

The Smithsonian will house endangered Arabian cats while Yemeni children dig through rubble for bread crumbs. Somewhere in Michigan, a fluid factory will rise on land still haunted by the ghosts of poisoned water in Flint.

But the markets are thrilled. The charts ascend like prayers for the dead.

Let it be known, then, that in the year 2025, a deal was made. A grand, glorious, historic deal. One that secured jobs, missiles, memes, minerals, and maybe—just maybe—a few more years of empire wrapped in velvet slogans.

And what did the world get in return?

A stage-managed photo op. A promise of prosperity. And the quiet, choking scent of democracy’s last perfume.