Trump didn’t flinch when he hit Mexico with a sweeping tariff. He didn’t pause to consider the binding rules of the US-Mexico-Canada Agreement (USMCA), didn’t weigh the legal framework that shielded certain goods from such economic blows. The hammer came down fast. But Mexico pushed back—citing the very agreement he’d trampled—and just like that, Washington reversed course, quietly acknowledging its misstep.
It was a diplomatic correction. A reminder that even in a world ruled by might, agreements still mattered—at least when the other side had the strength to speak.
But what happens when the other side is Africa?
Under the African Growth and Opportunity Act (AGOA)—a U.S. law passed in 2000 to grant African nations tariff-free access to certain U.S. markets—dozens of countries were promised a fairer shot at trade. It was supposed to be a game-changer. A door cracked open just wide enough to let hope slip through. But then came a shift. A 10% global tariff imposed by the Trump administration swept across nearly all U.S. trading partners. Quietly, African countries like Nigeria found themselves facing raised tariffs—some as high as 50%. Lesotho, a tiny, landlocked country already under economic strain, was among the worst affected.
And no one said a word.
Where Mexico had protested, Africa remained silent. Where one continent asserted its rights, the other seemed unsure it even had them. AGOA had been violated, and the breach passed without fanfare, without fight. The question lingers like smoke after gunfire: did anyone in Africa even notice?
Perhaps someone did. Perhaps voices rose within the African Union’s high walls in Addis Ababa. But if they did, they were too soft, too uncertain, too late. President Trump had announced a 90-day pause on his tariff escalation—a diplomatic opening, a ticking clock—but the continent stood still.
And maybe that’s the real story.
Because Africa, as it stands today, is not built to act fast when it comes to global trade. Fragmented by national interests, distracted by local challenges, and struggling to form a unified front, Africa continues to be what it’s long been in global commerce—a supplier of raw goods, not a driver of manufacturing.
The continent that gave the world gold, cocoa, copper, and cobalt remains largely locked outside the gates of global industrialization. And the irony burns. Africa was once a land of mighty empires—of Mansa Musa’s Mali, of the gold-lined stone cities of Great Zimbabwe. But today? Today, it is still searching for its footing in the global trade conversation.
Africa’s early leaders dreamed of a unified trading bloc—an economic force like the European Union. In 2002, the dream took the form of the African Union, but integration has been slow. That dream remains largely unfulfilled.
But amid the challenges, there are sparks. A new trade zone—the African Continental Free Trade Area (AfCFTA)—is forming. There is talk of renewal. Of factories rising from red soil. And from Washington, a surprising gesture: Massad Boulos, a Nigerian-Lebanese businessman, was appointed as a Senior Adviser on African Affairs to President Trump. He has already met with leaders from Kenya to Nigeria, championing economic collaboration and investment.
Yet, goodwill alone isn’t enough. Not when Africa still plays catch-up. Not when it lacks the one thing global trade rewards—preparedness. Infrastructure remains underdeveloped. Roads that end abruptly. Ports that are outdated. Energy that doesn’t meet demand. Investors look elsewhere. To Vietnam, to Thailand, to Malaysia. Countries that once faced similar obstacles—but built, reformed, and connected.
Africa, on the other hand, continues to export raw cocoa and import processed chocolate. It feeds others, while still facing food insecurity at home. Its economies remain at the mercy of distant market decisions.
Even in agriculture—a space where Africa holds immense natural advantage—the continent is stifled. Western farm subsidies undercut African producers. Eggs in the U.S., when overproduced, have been dumped or destroyed to stabilize prices. Meanwhile, across Africa, shortages persist.
And yet, the world changes.
Mexico’s avocados were once dominant in U.S. markets. Tariffs shifted the equation. A supply gap emerged. Africa, which also grows avocados, could seize the opportunity—if infrastructure and agreements like AGOA are honored and supported.
But AGOA, now over two decades old, appears increasingly sidelined. Its potential remains untapped under newer tariff regimes.
This moment—this shifting global trade landscape—is not a threat. It’s a doorway.
But only if Africa walks through it.
The continent must stop treating trade like aid. It must reject dependency and demand opportunity. It must build. It must speak. It must trade on its own terms.
It must recognize that the world’s wealthiest man, Elon Musk, has explored Mars, yet Africa’s industrial potential remains largely unexplored. That the U.S. can launch billionaires into space, but not build sustainable manufacturing partnerships across African cities.
If trade is about strength, then Africa must build its own. Not with confrontation, but with clarity. Not with outrage, but with plans. The world won’t wait. The pause won’t last.
If Mexico could get a seat at the table by speaking up, maybe—just maybe—Africa can too. But only if it stops waiting for the world to remember its name.President Donald Trump stands before a map of Africa and shipping cranes, symbolizing the high-stakes trade shifts under his administration and Africa’s silent crossroads in a changing global order.
