President Donald Trump’s meeting with Saudi Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman couldn’t have been glitzier and more ostentatious. Seven years ago, the crown prince was persona non-grata in much of the West, castigated as a brutal tyrant who was waging a merciless, unproductive war in Yemen and who ordered the murder of Jamal Khashoggi, the Saudi dissident and Washington Post columnist who often wrote critically of MBS’ leadership.
Those days are long gone. Today, the 40-year-old crown prince was greeted by Trump on the White House portico as the de facto head of one of the world’s largest crude oil producers and chief authorizer to $1 trillion in Saudi investments. Trump treated the crown prince as not only a visiting dignitary, but also a man who needed protection from those pesky U.S. journalists who dared to ask Crown Prince Mohammed about his controversial track record.
Trump and MBS’ contention that the two share a durable alliance is therefore inaccurate on the merits.
As if to underscore their personal bond, Trump and the crown prince both referred to each other as good friends. Saudi Arabia, Trump told reporters, was “a great ally” that deserved state-of-the-art U.S. weaponry, such as the stealth F-35 fighter aircraft. Shortly thereafter, Trump designated Saudi Arabia a so-called major non-NATO ally — a distinction some of Riyadh’s other Persian Gulf partners, including Qatar and Bahrain, also hold.
There’s only one problem: None of what Trump and Crown Prince Mohammed are saying is true. The U.S. and Saudi Arabia aren’t allies, have never been allies and are unlikely to be allies in the future. While Saudi Arabia’s new designation may refute that conclusion, even this new status is less than meets the eye. No new U.S. security commitments are on offer. At most, Saudi Arabia will now be granted greater access to U.S. defense loans and faster deliveries of U.S. weapons.
In popular culture and ordinary life, we tend to use the word “ally” interchangeably with “friend” or “partner.” Yet in the world of international politics, “ally” has a very explicit meaning. Certain U.S. statutes define “allies” as “any nation with which the United States is engaged in a common military effort or with which the United States has entered into a common defensive military alliance.” The Oxford English Dictionary has a slightly different definition: “A person, state, military force, etc., united or associated with another by league or formal treaty.”
Generally, international relations specialists only consider two countries to be allies if they are locked into a mutual defense treaty, in which both sides agree to come to the other’s defense during a time of conflict. The relationship between the U.S. and Japan, for instance, fits the bill in this regard: Both have committed to defend one another, and the commitment is expressed via treaty.
Neither ingredient currently applies to the U.S. and Saudi Arabia.
While both countries undoubtedly possess a long-lasting defense relationship, first consummated during President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s famous February 1945 meeting with Saudi King Abdul Aziz al-Saud aboard the U.S.S. Quincy, U.S. and Saudi officials haven’t explicitly agreed to go to war for each other.
U.S. and Saudi interests are hardly identical. Their values are even further apart.
The closest the U.S. came to such a commitment was in 1980, when President Jimmy Carter stated in his State of the Union speech that any attempt by an outside force to gain control of the Persian Gulf would be considered an assault on U.S. interests. This, however, was articulated at a very different time and in very different circumstances, when it was commonly believed the Soviet Union could capture the Middle East’s oil resources and use it as a lever of control against the West. With the Soviets long gone, no such threat to Persian Gulf oil presently exists.
Trump and MBS’ contention that the two share a durable alliance is therefore inaccurate on the merits. Fortunately, at least from the U.S. perspective, this is precisely the way it should be.
Granted, the U.S. and Saudi Arabia calibrate on some shared interests. Both are keen to promote regional security after two years of warfare between Israel and Hamas, Hezbollah, Iran and the Houthis in Yemen. Trump and the crown prince don’t want the world’s energy market to spiral out of control. And U.S. and Saudi intelligence officers frequently work together on counterterrorism issues.
But U.S. and Saudi interests are hardly identical. Their values are even further apart.
Look no further than Khashoggi’s murder, during which a band of elite Saudi intelligence officers tricked the former Saudi royal insider into the Saudi consulate in Turkey, restrained him, killed him and disposed of his body. This murder was the culmination of a wider campaign inside Saudi Arabia in which Crown Prince Mohammed, then in his 30s, unleashed a political crackdown against his opponents, from women’s rights activities to members of the royal family. The crown prince justified it as an anti-corruption drive; in truth, it was a consolidation of authority. One of those senior princes on the receiving end of MBS’ rage was Mohammed Bin Nayef, who was detained and forced to vacate the position of crown prince. Needless to say, summary arrests and murdering dissidents is not how Americans do business. Or take the Middle East writ large. The U.S. and Saudi Arabia are often on the same side of the region’s most serious political and security disputes. Neither country, for example, wants to see a nuclear-armed Iran, and both would prefer an Israeli-Palestinian peace deal — even if they disagree on some of the specifics. There was a time not so long ago when Crown Prince Mohammed was a regional wrecking ball and one of the world’s biggest destabilizers. Yet the recent past demonstrates how quickly those similarities can diverge. There was a time not so long ago when Crown Prince Mohammed was a regional wrecking ball and one of the world’s biggest destabilizers. In 2015, the Saudis launched an air war against the Houthi rebels in Yemen that ravaged the country’s already limited infrastructure, killed tens of thousands of people and resulted in Iran redoubling its materiel support to the rebels. The U.S. never thought Riyadh’s decision was a particularly smart one but chose to back up the Saudis anyway. Today, Yemen remains dominated by the Houthis, with the rest of the country held by an assortment of militias. In 2017, the Saudis participated in a naval and air blockade against Qatar, ostensibly in retaliation for its support of terrorist groups. In reality, Riyadh enforced the blockade because Qatar’s foreign policy was too independent. Once again, Washington at the time thought this was a bad move. It turned out to be right; with its links to the biggest Gulf Arab powers cut, the Qataris increased their economic ties to Iran in response, the exact opposite of what Riyadh and its Gulf partners were hoping for. And who can forget about the 9/11 terrorist attacks that killed nearly 3,000 people — and was perpetrated by 19 hijackers, 15 of whom were Saudis? For decades, the families of 9/11 victims have been battling the kingdom in court, claiming the Saudi government knew of, sponsored and financed the attack. This yearslong court saga hovers over the U.S.-Saudi relationship to this day; the crown prince was even forced to address it during his presser with Trump, alleging that al-Qaeda conducted the 9/11 attacks in part to destroy strategic ties between Washington and Riyadh. Although U.S.-Saudi ties are stronger now than they were years ago, there’s no guarantee this will last. History is full of case studies in which partners turn into enemies and enemies turn into partners. Saudi Arabia’s entry into the club of non-NATO allies doesn’t change this. Trump would be wise to remember this before he elevates the U.S.-Saudi relationship to something it isn’t.
Daniel R. DePetris
Daniel R. DePetris is a fellow at Defense Priorities and a syndicated foreign affairs columnist at the Chicago Tribune. 
