There are diplomatic missions, there are peace summits, and then there is the inevitable next chapter in the foreign policy of Donald Trump: dispatching Steve Witkoff and Jared Kushner to the funeral of Iran's Supreme Leader—not to pay respects, but to negotiate directly with the Ayatollah's turban before it is lowered into the ground.
Why waste time with governments when you can negotiate with the wardrobe?
One can almost imagine the scene. The funeral procession moves solemnly through Tehran. Millions gather in mourning. The clerics chant. The cameras roll. Then, emerging from a black SUV, comes the American negotiating team carrying leather portfolios and term sheets. Before the mourners can finish reciting the prayers, someone whispers, "Quick! See if the turban is willing to make a deal."
Perhaps the turban is more flexible than the regime that wore it.
After all, this has become the defining illusion of Trump's approach to hostile dictatorships: every fanatic is merely an overlooked real estate developer waiting for the right offer. The problem is never ideology, revolutionary theology, or decades of declared hostility. The problem, apparently, is that nobody has offered sufficiently attractive financing terms.
Maybe the turban simply needs a better incentive package.
The satire writes itself because reality increasingly resembles political theater. Every crisis becomes another episode in which America's adversaries are assumed to be one meeting away from moderation. Never mind that revolutionary regimes often interpret negotiations as opportunities to gain time, divide alliances, and strengthen their strategic position. In this worldview, history is replaced by optimism wrapped in transactional language.
One can picture Kushner presenting glossy architectural renderings. "Imagine this," he says. "The Islamic Republic Luxury Peace Resort. Waterfront access. Golf course. International investment. We can call it Ayatollah Towers."
Meanwhile, Witkoff quietly asks whether sanctions relief can be bundled with complimentary valet parking.
The mullahs need not even answer immediately. They understand that every American envoy arriving in Tehran signals something valuable: Washington wants an agreement more urgently than they do. In negotiations, desperation is a currency. Revolutionary regimes know how to spend it.
This is not merely about one funeral or one negotiation. It is about confusing ceremony with strategy and symbolism with leverage. A regime built upon ideological conviction does not suddenly abandon its ambitions because another delegation arrives carrying promises of economic normalization. The cemetery is not a conference center.
Perhaps the final negotiation will indeed take place—with the turban itself. It cannot reject proposals. It cannot demand concessions. It cannot enrich uranium. It is, in many respects, the easiest negotiating partner imaginable.
If only America's adversaries were as accommodating as their headwear.
One can almost imagine the scene. The funeral procession moves solemnly through Tehran. Millions gather in mourning. The clerics chant. The cameras roll. Then, emerging from a black SUV, comes the American negotiating team carrying leather portfolios and term sheets.
Standing just beyond the security cordon is a fictional welcoming committee. A few smiling Chabad emissaries have somehow managed to appear—as they seem to do in every corner of the globe—with a table of kosher sandwiches, bottled water, and warm hospitality for every Jewish visitor, regardless of politics. "Before you negotiate with the turban," one jokes, "at least have something to eat." When Kushner is asked "are you Jewish", he pockets a sandwich to take home to his wife; "now you know"!
Nearby, Jewish travelers of every stripe gather around the kosher food, arguing animatedly—as Jews have done for centuries—about whether any of this is a good idea. The only point of unanimous agreement is that nobody should negotiate on an empty stomach.
Meanwhile, the diplomats hurry past the buffet. After all, history cannot be allowed to interfere with the next photo opportunity.
The irony is delicious. The kosher food is unquestionably real. The hospitality is genuine. The optimism about striking a grand bargain with revolutionary ideologues remains the most fictional thing at the funeral.
Political satire succeeds because it exaggerates recognizable tendencies rather than inventing them. The joke is not really about a funeral, a turban, or another diplomatic mission. The joke is about believing that every geopolitical problem has a transactional solution if only the salesman is persistent enough. History, unfortunately, has rarely been impressed by salesmanship. Ideological revolutions have seldom been negotiated into retirement. They end because ideas lose their power, regimes lose their coercive capacity, or determined adversaries impose costs that can no longer be ignored.
Even a turban knows that.
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