The Slow, Strange Business of Nuclear Diplomacy

The world’s most dangerous talks can feel more like closing a real estate deal

I was once stuck in a two-hour meeting about font sizes. 

It was a corporate stand-off for the ages: Arial 11 versus Times New Roman 12. 

No one blinked. No one compromised.  Lunch was delayed. 

If you’ve ever wondered why major international agreements take years to hammer out, just imagine that - but with nuclear weapons at stake.

That’s exactly the vibe in Oman right now, where US and Iranian negotiators are locked in the diplomatic equivalent of a never-ending group project. For the third time, officials from both sides sat down, picked apart the same issues for hours, and agreed... to keep talking. Progress, technically. But if you’re waiting for a grand handshake moment, you might want to grab a snack. Maybe two. Because when it comes to nuclear diplomacy, it’s not about sudden breakthroughs - it’s about a slow, almost glacial grind, where movement is measured not in deals struck, but in “positive atmospheres” and “productive expert-level discussions.”

Iran’s nuclear programme has been the source of international anxiety for over two decades. The stakes are enormous: at its heart lies the question of whether Iran will be allowed to enrich uranium - a material that can power both cities and bombs. In 2015, the world thought it had cracked it with the Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action (JCPOA), a deal that promised to curb Iran’s enrichment activities in exchange for sanctions relief. Fast forward to 2018, and Donald Trump tore it up like a bad lease agreement, reimposing economic penalties and sending Iran’s uranium stockpile ticking upward like a stubborn pressure gauge. Now, with Trump back in the White House and the Iranian nuclear file gathering dust and urgency in equal measure, Washington and Tehran are trying - awkwardly, cautiously - to find a way forward.

And there’s money involved. Serious money. Billions of dollars frozen, hundreds of millions in blocked oil exports, whole sectors of the Iranian economy shuttered by sanctions. Meanwhile, in the West, defence contractors, oil traders, and multinational corporations are watching closely. If a deal emerges, it could unlock Iranian oil exports at a scale big enough to shift global markets - and global politics. The International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) recently reported that Iran’s stockpile of highly enriched uranium has ballooned since 2018, with Tehran insisting it’s for peaceful energy purposes while Washington and its allies squint at the data and prepare for the worst. European governments, perched nervously on the sidelines, offer encouragement like anxious wedding planners trying to stop a brawl from breaking out at the altar.

And yet, despite the high stakes, the talks themselves are almost comically slow. The most recent session in Oman stretched for six hours. At the end of it, the major accomplishment was... agreeing to meet again. Somewhere. In Europe. Sometime soon. In diplomatic terms, this is practically a parade. But that’s nuclear diplomacy for you: every comma matters, every footnote needs to be blessed by a small army of lawyers, scientists, and political handlers. The difference between "Iran may enrich uranium for peaceful purposes" and "Iran may not enrich uranium" isn’t just legalese - it’s the difference between a breakthrough and a bombshell. Negotiators are walking a credibility tightrope: move too fast and risk looking desperate; move too slowly and risk collapse. It’s a delicate business dance, with each side constantly adjusting to the other’s rhythm - or, more often, to the lack of it.

And Oman? Oman is the endlessly patient host. It has quietly carved out a niche as the Switzerland of the Gulf, a place where rivals can meet, glare at each other over cups of mint tea, and occasionally agree that yes, another round of talks would be nice. Even with Oman’s best efforts, though, the politics are getting messier. Trump’s new envoy, Steve Witkoff, comes from a real estate background, not a diplomatic one, and while he brings a businessman’s dealmaking instincts, he doesn’t exactly have the nuclear non-proliferation handbook memorised. His Iranian counterpart, Abbas Araghchi, is a veteran of the 2015 deal but faces immense pressure from Tehran’s hardliners not to give away too much - or worse, to appear weak.

Both sides have painted themselves into rhetorical corners. Iran insists it will never surrender its right to enrich uranium. The US demands that enrichment must stop. These aren’t negotiating positions; they’re immovable objects. Layer on top regional tensions - Israel threatening airstrikes, Russia quietly

encouraging division, China hovering with its own long-term ambitions - and the Oman talks start to look less like diplomacy and more like diplomatic triage. Adding to the drama, just as the latest session wrapped up, news broke of a deadly explosion at an Iranian port, a grim reminder that the stakes aren’t confined to hotel conference rooms.

Still, in the world of nuclear diplomacy, even glacial progress counts as good news. Future rounds of talks are expected to shift to Europe, with negotiators trying to sketch out what one official delicately called "a framework for continued discussion" - which roughly translates to: “please don’t expect any miracles yet.” Because here’s the thing: in nuclear negotiations, the alternative to long, grinding, frustrating talks isn’t a better, faster deal - it’s a disaster. As Trump himself put it, speaking en route to Rome for Pope Francis’s funeral last week, "I’d much rather have a deal than the other alternative. That would be good for humanity."

Hard to argue with that - even if it means enduring 57 more rounds of arguments about uranium percentages, missile technology, and the placement of every single comma. 

So next time you find yourself stuck in a meeting that feels like it might last forever - whether it’s about font sizes or quarterly budgets - just be glad you’re not trying to stop World War III.