Trump, the Nobel, and the Legacy He’s Already Writing
It was a quiet morning in the Oval Office, aides shifting papers and glancing at their phones, when Donald Trump reportedly leaned forward and said, almost casually: “This time I should win it.”
Not a lawsuit. Not a swing state.
The Nobel Peace Prize.
Behind the offhand remark was something deeper than bravado—a blueprint of legacy, a campaign not just for votes, but for history. In Trump’s world, the Peace Prize isn’t a trophy awarded by a committee in Oslo. It’s an inevitability—one he believes was already earned, then withheld.
And next year, he wants it.
A Recognition Delayed, Not Denied
This year, the Nobel Peace Prize went to Venezuelan opposition leader María Corina Machado, whose decades-long push for democratic reform in a fractured nation was described by the Nobel Committee as “the embodiment of peaceful resistance.”
Trump didn’t disagree—but he claimed he received a call from Machado herself, telling him she had accepted the award in his honour. “You really deserved it,” he quoted her saying. Then, with a practiced smile, added: “I didn’t say, ‘Then give it to me,’ though.”
In that moment, Trump did what he does best: shifted the spotlight, reframed the story. The prize may have gone elsewhere, but in his telling, it still pointed back to him.
The Long Campaign for a Short List
Trump has spent years laying the groundwork for what he sees as a rightful place among Nobel laureates. From his 2020 Abraham Accords, which normalized relations between Israel and several Arab states, to his frequent declarations about avoiding new wars, Trump frames his foreign policy legacy in terms of peace—not power.
At the United Nations, he once told world leaders, “Everyone says I should earn the Nobel Peace Prize,” while noting—correctly—that nominees cannot nominate themselves.
More recently, at Marine Corps Base Quantico, he listed conflicts he claimed to have ended: “This will be my eighth war that I’ve solved… I hear there’s a war now between Pakistan and Afghanistan. I said, ‘It’ll have to wait until I get back.’”
He paused for laughs, then added, “I’m good at solving wars. I’m good at making peace. It’s an honour.”
His belief is clear: had his name been Obama, the medal would already hang around his neck.
Who’s Backing the Bid?
In 2024, multiple actors nominated Trump for the Peace Prize—including Pakistani officials, Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, and U.S. Representative Claudia Tenney, a Republican from New York.
Supporters echo Trump’s argument: that his administration achieved tangible diplomatic progress, and that restraint—as in not launching new wars—should count for something.
Critics, however, view the campaign as self-congratulatory at best, revisionist at worst. The Abraham Accords, while historic, have not solved the region’s deeper instability. And Trump’s “peace through strength” approach is a far cry from Nobel’s vision of international fraternity.
Conclusion: A Legacy in the Making
Trump’s pursuit of the Nobel Peace Prize reveals more than a desire for validation—it reveals how he views his presidency, and how he intends to frame it for history.
This isn’t just about Oslo. It’s about the story Trump wants told: that he brought peace, avoided war, and deserved global recognition—even if it never came.
Next year, he’ll be running not just for president, but for something more symbolic: a seat in the pantheon of the “great peacemakers” he believes history has overlooked.
Whether the Nobel Committee agrees—or chooses another name entirely—remains to be seen.
But if there’s one thing certain in Trump’s narrative arc, it’s this:
In his version of events, he didn’t lose the prize. It was simply delayed.