In early May 2026, the image of the United States abroad looks much less monolithic than Washington is used to believing. Donald Trump’s return to the White House, a protracted war with Iran, trade and tariff decisions, and competition with China — all of this is provoking not only anxiety in other countries but also a push for greater distance and autonomy. In English-speaking Australia, in the multi-layered politics of South Africa, and in cautious, pragmatic Saudi Arabia, the United States appears in the news and opinion columns in different ways. But drawing a line through these three points leads to a common theme: the world is increasingly unwilling to tolerate American unpredictability and more often treats the US as one, albeit powerful, actor in a much more multipolar game.
The loudest backdrop is the war involving the US and Israel against Iran and the broader crisis in US–Iran relations. Expert reviews emphasize that the two-month campaign produced neither military nor political dividends for Washington: in Russian and Middle Eastern analytical pieces the results are described as “dismal” for Trump — with no obvious exit strategy and chaos in the Middle East for which the Pentagon chief must justify himself to Congress. This tone demonstrates how foreign media are shaping an image of the US as “fighting without winning,” while strategic gains are attributed to China, “winning without fighting,” as one European adviser colorfully described the situation in an interview with CNN, quoted in analysis for Al Jazeera Arabic. In an Arabic article published by Al Jazeera, expert Jörg Wuttke describes the balance like this: America is bogged down in conflicts, while China is expanding its economic influence and looks like the “adult in the room” against the backdrop of emotional and episodic American policy. This idea resonates especially in Asian and Middle Eastern contexts, where partners’ reliability is judged primarily by their ability to provide long-term stability rather than by loud declarations.
Through the prism of the Iranian crisis, Saudi Arabia is conspicuously distancing itself from Washington. According to Arab media reports, Riyadh has made it clear it will not allow its bases and airspace to be used for a possible US operation to “forcibly open” the Strait of Hormuz. Egyptian commentator Mustafa Bakri, on the Sada Elbalad channel, citing Saudi sources, said the kingdom, while remaining a historical US ally, now “does not want to be dragged into any war against a regional state,” preferring a line of de-escalation and mediation. Another Al Jazeera piece emphasizes that Saudi diplomacy publicly warns against further military escalation, insisting on support for mediation efforts including those by Pakistan, and effectively signaling that the US can no longer automatically count on Arab allies in forceful scenarios. For the Gulf states, which depend on stable oil exports, an American bet on pressure and threats toward Iran looks less like a security guarantee than a factor of market unpredictability and domestic risk.
In Australia the same war with Iran and the broader question about Trump produce a different but no less notably cautious reaction. In an analytical piece by ABC News on Canberra’s response to Trump’s escalating rhetoric on Iran, the author describes a characteristic “Australian style of diplomatic understatement”: the government avoids direct judgments about the legality of US actions, referring questions of international law “to the American side,” while simultaneously stressing the importance of deterrence and honoring alliance commitments. Foreign Minister Penny Wong limits herself to saying that “the US has become much more unpredictable” under Trump — a phrase that in Australian political language reads as a fairly strong warning. At the same time Australia formally ranks among the countries that supported the US and Israel at the initial stage of the campaign, making the duality of its position particularly noticeable: at the alliance level — solidarity; in expert discourse — growing unease.
This unease is most clearly reflected in recent polls and commentary around the US–Australian alliance. As The New Daily reports, citing a recent study, 59% of Australians now believe the country’s interests are better protected by a more independent foreign policy than by a close alliance with the United States. In an article with the pointedly emotional headline “Not me, you: Australians ready to ‘break up’ with Trump’s America,” it is emphasized that Trump’s return, a series of military crises, and the US’s abandonment of international commitments — from withdrawing from various organizations to a tough, often unilateral approach to trade — are undermining trust in the US as the “anchor of the liberal order.” The piece quotes British political analyst Rory Stewart, who, comparing chaos in American and British politics with Australia’s relative stability, draws the paradoxical conclusion: “If liberal democracy has a future, it oddly looks Australian” — in other words, Canberra’s example as a more responsible, restrained actor is used as a contrast to Trump and Washington. This perspective is less anti-American than post-American: the US is ceasing to be the only model.
However, criticism in Australia is not limited to security; it concerns the economy as well. The Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade website publishes updates on the latest US steps in tariff policy: after a February 2026 Supreme Court decision, Washington repealed a whole block of reciprocal tariffs introduced in 2025 under emergency powers, but retained and redistributed higher duties for a number of countries. Australian exporters are explicitly warned that changes in US tariffs on third countries can indirectly harm companies when their products are manufactured or assembled outside Australia. The official language is extremely dry, but behind it is the typical line many partners take: Washington conducts unilateral trade maneuvers, and allies are forced to adapt in real time. Against a backdrop of already existing distrust of Trump in security matters, such economic “nervousness” increases the desire to diversify ties, primarily toward Asia.
South Africa, with its complicated history of relations with the West and a simultaneous pull toward the Global South and the West, views the United States even more pragmatically and skeptically. In the student newspaper Wits Vuvuzela, which covered a visit by US Ambassador Leo Brent Bozell III to the University of the Witwatersrand in Johannesburg, a journalist draws a straight line between rhetoric and reality. The ambassador in his speech spoke of the “titanic potential of South Africa” and the importance of “strengthening the US–South Africa partnership,” but the author summed up: “the promise of partnership is far from reality,” pointing to a dissonance between handsome formulations and how Washington actually behaves in international institutions, including on sanctions, trade, and visa policy. For a South African audience, the United States long ago ceased to be a moral arbiter; it is an important investor and political player, but one of many, and increasingly suspected of double standards, especially against the background of US policy toward Gaza, Iran, and relations with Russia.
At the level of broader African discussion, this criticism sometimes takes the form of reproach that Washington still thinks in terms of “spheres of influence,” while African elites and societies want “rational multi-vector choice.” At panel discussions cited, for example, by the Council on Foreign Relations, African participants simultaneously acknowledge the value of American attention and investment and express dislike for the habit of tying cooperation to backing US political positions — from votes at the UN to policies on China. For South Africa, a BRICS member balancing between West and East, this American approach seems anachronistic, especially given that China and regional players increasingly offer “unconditional” economic interaction.
In Saudi Arabia the perception of the US is also being actively reassessed through the lens of multipolarity. Saudi and regional commentators cited by Al Jazeera and other Arab outlets note that the US and Israel’s war with Iran, as well as Washington’s unilateral actions in Venezuela and international organizations, have reinforced the sense that America operates with short-term pressure tactics rather than building durable coalitions. In commentary about the upcoming summit between Trump and Xi Jinping in Beijing, columnists point to an interesting “role reversal”: the US, which not long ago dictated the rules of the game, is now forced to seek from China a formula for exiting the Iranian conflict and the energy shock, while Beijing, relying on growing exports of green technologies and rising influence in Eurasia, acts as a kind of coordinator of an “anti-crisis agenda.” For a Saudi audience accustomed to the US role as security guarantor in the Gulf, this shift in the center of gravity looks alarming but also opens space for its own maneuver — strengthening ties with China while at the same time maintaining, but no longer unconditionally, the alliance with Washington.
A throughline in all three countries is fatigue with US inconsistency in foreign policy and with the mismatch between value rhetoric and practice. The administration’s decision to withdraw from dozens of international organizations and agreements in January 2026, reported by both Western and Russian sources, is recorded as a turn toward isolationism and the instrumentalization of international law. Added to this is the hardline approach in Venezuela, where the US controls the coast and oil terminals but not the country as a whole, and where a military operation has reached a dead end, leaving destruction and a guerrilla war in its wake. For Australia, South Africa, and Saudi Arabia, all of this is a lesson that American forceful decisions less and less often produce lasting results, but almost always create long-term risks.
Interestingly, in the shadow of military and diplomatic storylines another, quieter thread of discussion is taking shape: technological rivalry between the US and China, primarily in artificial intelligence. In Russian-language discussions on popular science resources and forums analyzing reports that “the gap between the US and China in AI has effectively closed,” the idea is voiced that America’s former “technological hegemony” is no longer self-evident. Commentators point to a declining inflow of talent to the US, to the American regulatory stance oscillating between deregulation and fear of China, and to Washington’s resistance to the idea of international mechanisms for AI governance. In one popular discussion the words of White House technology adviser Michael Kratsios are cited — he insists that subjecting AI to international bureaucracy will not lead to progress — and this is perceived as a manifestation of the US’s unwillingness to share rules with other centers of power. For countries like Australia and Saudi Arabia, which are actively investing in the digital economy, this is another signal: relying solely on the American technological ecosystem may prove risky amid an imminent fragmentation of the global tech space.
Against this backdrop, the overall image of the United States in foreign discussions becomes much more multifaceted and contradictory. In Australia there is a prevailing sense of “love that has faded”: the historical alliance remains, the sense of shared values has not disappeared, but faith in American leadership as a reliable constant is noticeably undermined, and more voices argue for building strategic autonomy. In South Africa the US is seen through the prism of global and domestic injustice: the role of investor and partner is important but does not outweigh memories of double standards and Washington’s reluctance to recognize the Global South as a subject rather than an object. In Saudi Arabia the United States still remains the main external security guarantor, but no longer the only one: the kingdom is increasingly probing alternative supports — from China to regional formats — and is demonstratively refusing to unconditionally back American military adventures.
Taken together, these three perspectives show that the crisis of trust in the US is not a marginal phenomenon or an “anti-American campaign,” but the result of accumulated experience: from the Iraq war to Venezuela and Iran, from trade wars to withdrawal from multilateral agreements. Trumpian “America First” has, in the eyes of many partners, become “America by itself.” And the response to this in Australia, South Africa, and Saudi Arabia is not a sharp break but a quiet yet persistent reorientation toward the logic of choice: the US is no longer the center around which orbits are drawn, but one of several heavy planets in a system where each country seeks to calculate its own trajectory. It is this new sense of freedom and caution at once that today both shapes and constrains Washington’s influence in the world.
