The news hit the G20 secretariat like a shockwave. President Trump’s Friday announcement that the U.S. would host the next G20 summit at his golf club in Doral, Florida, was an unprecedented move. The G20, a forum built on consensus and diplomatic negotiations, had a well-established (if unwritten) process for selecting its host city. The presidency rotated among member countries, and when it was a country’s turn, various cities would vie for the honor, lobbying the G20’s “sherpas” with lavish presentations, promises of world-class facilities, and, in some cases, less-than-above-board incentives.
The competition to host the G20 was a high-stakes game. For a city, it was a guarantee of a massive economic injection. A swarm of world leaders, diplomats, and their entourages meant a boom for hotels, restaurants, and luxury transport. The media presence was a global advertising campaign, with every major news outlet setting up shop. Security budgets ran into the hundreds of millions, creating a windfall for local contractors. Afterward, the host hotels would capitalize on their newfound prestige, turning their lobbies into tourist attractions, with framed photos of leaders shaking hands. Souvenir shops would sell out of G20-themed trinkets. It was a commercial bonanza, and cities across the globe fought for it fiercely.
This year, the U.S. was next in the rotation, and cities from New York to Los Angeles had been quietly, but aggressively, pitching their bids for months. The G20 secretariat had been fielding calls from mayors, city tourism boards, and powerful lobbyists, all promising the moon. There were rumors of a particularly attractive offer from a city in Texas, which had flown G20 officials in for a weekend of lavish entertainment. The secretariat, a small group of career diplomats, was used to this dance. They considered it part of the job, and it often came with its own set of personal benefits.
But now, Trump had upended the entire process. He had bypassed the G20’s own system, and with a simple declaration from the Oval Office, handed the most lucrative, prestigious event on the global calendar to his own private business.
“It’s the best location,” he had told reporters, while claiming his family would make “no money” from it. This was the same line he had used in his first term, when he had tried and failed to host a different summit at Doral after a wave of bipartisan criticism. This time, however, there was little political blowback, and the president seemed emboldened by it. He had spent his second term blurring the lines between his official duties and his business ventures, from promoting his cryptocurrency and hosting investors at his properties to his sons’ foreign business dealings. The G20 decision was simply the latest, and most striking, example.
The G20 secretariat, caught completely off guard, scrambled to respond. They drafted a statement, then crumpled it up. How could they protest a head of state’s unilateral decision? The host nation had the right to select its own venue, but the tradition had always been one of collaboration and a semblance of impartiality. Trump’s move had shattered that pretense. The phones in the G20 offices rang off the hook. It was every city and tourism board that had wasted time and money on their bids, demanding to know what had happened. It was a major upset, a clear sign that the G20 had fully evolved from a forum of international cooperation into a high-stakes, hyper-commercialized event, with one man now holding all the cards.
All names of people and organizations appearing in this story are pseudonyms
Trump says US will host next year’s G20 summit at his Florida golf club but he won’t make money
Comments