Prosperity for Whom? – Middle East Monitor

For all the fanfare surrounding the so-called 3Ps—Peace, Partnership, and Prosperity—being marketed by Washington’s new envoy to Africa, Massad Boulos, what is taking shape on the ground looks less like a genuine reset and more like the latest repackaging of an old project: US dominance over African priorities.

In speeches across the continent, Boulos presents  the 3Ps as a new vision for a “mutually beneficial” relationship, but there is no official policy paper, guiding strategy, or coherent framework behind the slogan. Instead, the approach mirrors the transactional, deal-by-deal logic that defined Donald Trump’s first term—an Africa policy that treated the continent not as a partner but as a marketplace for influence, minerals, and military footholds.

This diplomatic façade of “peace” masks deeper geopolitical manoeuvring, “partnerships” that entrench dependency, and “prosperity” measured more in US contracts than African development. Trump himself never visited Africa as president, and his 2018 comments about African countries did not go down well with leaders, compounded recently by reports of poor treatment of a few African leaders in the White House, who were cut out of meetings or urged to “just say their names.”

The 3Ps did not emerge from a formal interagency review or strategic planning process, as was customary under previous administrations. Instead, they surfaced through media interviews and talking points from Boulos himself, who has repeatedly invoked “peace, partnerships, and prosperity” as shorthand for a supposedly new Africa policy. Yet this triad bears a striking resemblance to John Bolton’s 2018 “Prosperity, Security, and Stability” doctrine, which guided the Trump administration’s earlier Africa strategy and was primarily aimed at countering China and Russia rather than empowering African states.

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What differentiates the current phase is the absence of any written document, roadmap, or coordination among key agencies such as USAID, the State Department, and the Pentagon—department of War as it has recently been renamed. In practice, the 3Ps appear to serve as a marketing label for ad-hoc decisions—ranging from selective military engagement to business deals framed as development partnerships—rather than a comprehensive policy rooted in African realities or long-term goals.

Under the first pillar, “Peace,” Washington’s actions have leaned heavily on security and counterterrorism rather than conflict prevention or postwar reconstruction. In regions like the Sahel, the Horn of Africa, and Libya, the US has prioritised tactical engagement—intelligence sharing, drone operations, and selective military partnerships—over diplomatic investment in local peace processes. US airstrikes, particularly on Somalia targeting ISIS, have risen sharply within the first few months of the second Trump Administration term. This, of course, comes against and in contraction of Trump’s 2024 campaign pledge to end all wars not only in Africa but also around the world.

The recent US–Qatar–brokered ceasefire in the Democratic Republic of Congo, for instance, was promoted as a step toward regional stability but carried unmistakable undertones of resource politics, centered on access to the country’s vast reserves of cobalt and lithium. Similarly, Washington’s muted stance on Libya’s enduring fragmentation reveals that “peace,” in this context, is largely defined by the absence of threats to US or allied interests rather than the presence of justice or political reconciliation. The 3Ps’ promise of peace, therefore, risks becoming another euphemism for managed instability—where the US polices crises without ever empowering African mechanisms to resolve them.

When “Partnerships” is raised in the context of the 3Ps, it is often framed in Washington as mutually beneficial. But in practice the shape and terms of these partnerships heavily favour US interests, reinforcing imbalances of power rather than redressing them. Contracts for mining, infrastructure, or energy development are structured in ways that give US firms priority access, generous tax breaks, or favourable regulatory conditions—while African states are left carrying most of the risk: political, environmental, or economic. Similarly, military or security partnerships tend not to transfer meaningful decision-making authority or build indigenous capacity; they embed U.S. presence (bases, over-the-horizon options, intelligence operations) more than they foster homegrown institutions able to manage their own peace and security. In countries like Kenya, Niger, or Chad, for example, US aid and investment flows are tightly linked to compliance with security agendas that align with Washington’s view of Russia or China as threats, or with US strategic interests in counterterrorism. Thus, these “partnerships” often amount to conditionality, or shadow-sovereignty—where partner states must align foreign policy or logic of internal security around US goals. The “P” of Partnerships therefore risks deepening dependence, undermining local agency, and privileging U.S. strategic projection over mutual respect or sovereignty.

The third pillar, “Prosperity,” is perhaps the most revealing of the 3Ps’ real intent. On paper, it promises economic growth through trade and investment, replacing the older aid-driven model that Washington now dismisses as outdated. But in execution, this pillar prioritizes American business expansion and access to African markets over structural development within the continent. US delegations touring Africa since early 2025 have focused less on empowering local industries or technology transfer and more on promoting American private sector deals in energy, construction, and digital infrastructure. African economies are treated as emerging consumer bases rather than as equal partners in production. The rhetoric of “shared prosperity” thus masks a one-way flow of capital and profit, with US companies securing contracts backed by political leverage while local enterprises remain marginalised. Even Washington’s push for “investment-friendly reforms” frequently translates into pressure to deregulate and privatise—policies that have, in many African states, widened inequality rather than reduced it. Prosperity, in this sense, becomes another export—defined in Washington, delivered selectively, and measured by American gains.

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Taken together, the three pillars of the 3Ps—Peace, Partnership, and Prosperity—form a carefully rebranded continuity of U.S. dominance on the continent. Each pillar sounds constructive, but in substance they revive older doctrines of control, from the Cold War’s security alliances to the “War on Terror” basing networks and the neoliberal economic policies of the 1990s. What has changed is only the language, not the logic. The military dimension of “peace” ensures that Washington maintains operational leverage through AFRICOM and proxy alliances; “partnerships” institutionalize political loyalty under the guise of cooperation; and “prosperity” keeps African economies tethered to external capital flows. This structure reinforces Africa’s peripheral role in a US-led global order—strategically important but economically expendable, politically courted but rarely listened to. The 3Ps thus operate less as a new policy than as a diplomatic smokescreen for old hierarchies, offering the illusion of equality while preserving the instruments of dependence.

Ultimately, the 3Ps reflect not a reimagined US–Africa relationship but a recalibrated language for domination. By masking transactional interests in the rhetoric of peace and partnership, Washington seeks to reassert influence at a time when its global standing is contested and African nations are increasingly asserting independence in their foreign alignments. The absence of a written, transparent policy only reinforces this ambiguity—allowing flexibility without accountability. For Africa, the challenge is not how to fit into America’s 3Ps, but how to define its own: Power, Pride, and Policy—crafted in Africa, for Africans, and on Africa’s own terms.

The views expressed in this article belong to the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial policy of Middle East Monitor.