In South Africa, Saudi Arabia and Turkey, discussions about the United States today rarely reduce to abstract “anti-Americanism” or unconditional admiration for the “West.” America in these three countries is, above all, a very concrete set of coercive, economic and diplomatic practices that directly touch on their own vulnerabilities: security and wars, conflicts over Israel and Palestine, trade regimes and sanctions, the struggle for influence with China, the role of Islam and migration.
On the surface it may seem that the agendas differ: in South Africa — Gaza, trade regimes and sanctions; in Saudi Arabia — Iran, energy and the future of American security guarantees; in Turkey — Syria, the Kurdish question and the status of a NATO ally. But stepping back reveals a common thread: all three countries are increasingly viewing the US not as a “natural leader” but as a powerful yet unpredictable actor whose influence should be balanced, used and limited rather than simply accepted.
One of the main nerves is how Washington behaves around Israel and the war in Gaza. For South Africa this is no longer only a moral question but also a legal and political one: it was Pretoria that brought a case against Israel to the International Court of Justice, accusing it of possible genocide in the Gaza Strip. The American line — an almost automatic defense of Israel and sharp criticism of the South African initiative — is perceived as a sign that the US is not prepared for universal application of international law. Secretary of State Antony Blinken publicly called the genocide allegations “baseless,” which in South African discourse is presented as an example of the “politicization” of law by the strongest and another episode in which Washington places itself above common norms when it comes to its main Middle Eastern ally. Against this backdrop South African diplomacy is constructing an image of a country ready to use instruments of global law against a US ally, positioning itself against Washington’s “selective morality.” South African commentary carries a long memory of apartheid and of the American reluctance to impose sanctions on Pretoria in the 20th century: today that historical dossier is being rewritten in favor of present arguments — if the US long turned a blind eye to apartheid, why should its moral stance on Gaza be considered unimpeachable now.
In Saudi Arabia the Palestine and Gaza issue is closely intertwined with the question of what role the kingdom wants the US to play in the future Middle Eastern order. In Al-Riyadh, in a recent analytical piece about the “American war on Iran and Riyadh’s strategy of strategic patience,” the author — a Saudi political scientist specializing in the kingdom’s transformation and the book on Vision 2030 — describes a model in which Saudi Arabia relies on American security guarantees while simultaneously building an increasingly autonomous foreign policy, deepening ties with China and Russia and avoiding entanglement in uncontrolled escalation. He compares the kingdom’s approach to “managed tension,” which is preferable to “adventurism,” since any large war that Washington might draw the region into is perceived as an existential threat to the kingdom’s broad modernization plans. The American line of “deterring” Iran and the traditional pressure on Saudis over human rights in these texts appears as an important but no longer exclusive factor — the key question becomes: how many more years will Washington be willing to pay the price of being the “regional policeman,” and should Saudi Arabia bet everything on that card?
At the same time, harsher interpretations of American intentions circulate in the Arab sphere. In one recently widely reposted column in the Arab blogosphere and Saudi discussions, the author claims that the current American strategy allegedly aims to “push Saudi Arabia toward open rapprochement with Israel,” thereby weakening domestic social consensus and creating the risk of “managed chaos.” In the author’s logic this is part of an old concept of “creative destruction,” where the US attempts to reconfigure the regional architecture so that the center of gravity of Arab policy shifts toward recognizing Israel in exchange for military and technological bonuses. American criticism of the human rights situation and episodes like the Jamal Khashoggi affair in these narratives fit into a scheme of political pressure rather than universal values.
An interesting counterpoint to these suspicions comes from more institutional, near-official Saudi media pieces that, conversely, emphasize the long-term interdependence of the two countries. In one overview article in Al-Riyadh on counterterrorism cooperation, British historian Robert Lacey is quoted as calling the American-Saudi alliance “deeper and firmer than its opponents would like.” Authors of such texts remind readers of the main line: regardless of changes in the White House, the fight against terrorism, energy security and the stability of sea lanes have made the US and the kingdom mutually indispensable pillars of Middle Eastern order. They also stress that modern programs sending Saudi youth to study in the US serve not only educational goals but also as a “human bridge” between societies — an idea that Washington traditionally values, but in Saudi discussions is now complemented by the question: isn’t this bridge becoming a one-way street where American expectations grow faster than the kingdom’s readiness to change at external instruction?
The Turkish debate about the US is much more openly conflictual and emotional, although economic and military interdependence remains a continuous backdrop there as well. A persistent motif in Ankara’s political discourse has become accusing Washington of “playing a double game” and being an “inconsistent ally.” In earlier years, commenting on US support for Syrian Kurdish formations, official Ankara repeatedly said that “the US, under the cover of fighting ISIS, is creating ground for another terrorist formation.” This formula is regularly reproduced to this day in the Turkish press, framed by examples from new stages of cooperation between American forces and Kurdish groups. In officials’ statements and pro-government expert commentary, the US is often presented as an ally “playing on two fronts”: on the one hand a NATO member, on the other a state that, in the Turkish version, undermines Turkey’s territorial integrity through the Kurdish issue.
Ankara–Washington relations are often described in Turkish analytical texts as a drawn-out marriage in which the parties are tired of each other but not yet ready for divorce. The delivery of Russian S-400 air defense systems, Turkey’s removal from the F-35 program, sanctionary pressure and ongoing disputes around the eastern Mediterranean are presented as examples of how the US, according to the Turkish side, uses its position in the alliance to “discipline” Ankara. In response Turkish commentators emphasize the growing independence of the country’s foreign policy: from active engagement in the South Caucasus to closer relations with Moscow and Beijing. At the same time the American factor will long remain key in Turkish economic discussions: questions about access to Western financing, the role of the dollar and sanction risks repeatedly surface when discussing the soft spots of the Turkish economy, for which any decisions by the Fed or the US Treasury can have direct consequences.
In South Africa the economic aspect often appears through the prism of trade relations and sanction regimes. South African analysts closely monitor how Washington uses tariffs and sanctions in Africa, from the DR Congo–Rwanda conflict to its own disputes with Pretoria. Regional analysis notes that the US acts simultaneously as arbiter and participant: it imposes sanctions on Rwandan officials and field commanders from the M23 movement, while South African forces take part in a peacekeeping mission in the DR Congo. For part of the South African elite this illustrates the “switchability” of American policy: today Washington plays the role of a global judge, tomorrow — an economic competitor demanding that South Africa revise internal rules for favorable bilateral deals. The echo of this “stick-and-carrot” policy resonates with old memories of how long the US hesitated to sanction the apartheid regime and with the current South African desire to position itself as the voice of the Global South at the UN.
The China question is an important backdrop in all three countries, but it is interpreted differently. In Arab analysis of the recent Arab summit in Jeddah, Chinese presence is presented as an alternative to the American legacy of “chaos.” One Egyptian political scientist, commenting on the strengthening of China–Arab ties, drew a vivid comparison: “China brings silk, and the US brings chaos; any sensible person will choose silk.” This phrase was actively cited in Middle Eastern materials discussing Syria’s return to the Arab League and Beijing’s role in normalization between Saudi Arabia and Iran. For a Saudi audience this is no longer a marginal thesis: against the backdrop of China’s real role as mediator between Riyadh and Tehran, it becomes a political option — to continue relying on the American “umbrella” while diversifying strategic partners so as not to be hostage to a single power.
In South Africa the China factor in discussions about the US most often appears in connection with the idea of multipolarity and BRICS. South African commentators see American sanctions and military interventions as an argument for strengthening alternative institutions where the Global South can resist Washington’s “unilateral” decisions. In this discourse the US becomes not only a country but a symbol of an old hierarchical architecture that Pretoria hopes can be corrected with the help of Beijing, Delhi, Brasília and Moscow.
In Turkey China is less often discussed as a security-level alternative to the US but increasingly appears as an economic partner and source of investment in infrastructure and technology. In analyses by Turkish institutes on discrimination against Turkish migrants in North America and Europe, the US figures as part of a broader Western system where Muslims and people of Turkish origin face systemic barriers and rising Islamophobic sentiments, while the East (from Qatar to China) is often portrayed as a more flexible and pragmatic partner. This image of the US as a society where the Turkish diaspora must live under “structural suspicion” complements political narratives about America’s “double game” and betrayal of an ally.
Across all three countries another common motif is noticeable — fatigue with American military hyper-presence and, at the same time, recognition that a complete exit from the “American world” is impossible. Saudi authors, analyzing the prospects of a possible new Donald Trump term, on the one hand recall episodes of “maximum pressure” on Iran, the killing of Qassem Soleimani and increased arms sales to the kingdom, and on the other point out that Trump sharply criticized prolonged military engagement in the region and is unlikely to willingly be drawn into a full-scale war with Iran — therefore relying on unconditional American military backing is also risky. Turkish analysts, for their part, look at American “red lines” on Ukraine and Taiwan and wonder how far Washington is prepared to go for Ankara if clashes of interest with Moscow over Syria or the Black Sea region flare up again.
The South African experience of interacting with the US in Africa — through sanctions, trade and human rights issues — adds another facet to this skepticism. On the one hand, the US remains an important investor and partner; on the other, South African experts increasingly say relations with Washington should be built not as with a “teacher of democracy” but as with one of many global players whose interests do not always align with international law or the needs of the Global South.
Summed up, the image of the US in South Africa, Saudi Arabia and Turkey today is that of a still-necessary but no longer unconditional partner. It is a country whose military and financial might remain key, but whose moral claims and right to define the “correct” order are increasingly questioned. For South Africans this debate passes through The Hague and memory of apartheid; for Saudis — through the balance between the American umbrella, relations with Israel and China’s “silk”; for Turks — through the experience of the Syrian war, the dispute over the Kurds and the daily reality of Turkish migrants in North America.
The common denominator is simple and worrying for Washington: the less the world believes in the exclusivity of the American moral voice, the more the US becomes “one of the powers” among others — mighty, but not unique. That is precisely how they are increasingly seen today in Pretoria, Riyadh and Ankara.
