Opinions

Sometimes, journalists indulge in myths and delusions they claim to decry.

This grating inclination has been on almost giddy display in the still evolving aftermath of United States President Donald Trump’s rash decision to join Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu in launching a war with Iran.

Like falling dominoes, a “narrative” gathered momentum among the America’s “progressive” commentariat, insisting that Trump’s order to go to war offended large swaths of the MAGA movement and set off a seismic split in his ardent base.

It is a silly myth and a seductive delusion.

Sure, a handful of familiar MAGA personalities have grumbled that another Middle East conflict betrays the “America First” pledge that helped propel Trump back to the White House.

Conservative commentator Megyn Kelly has questioned whether the US is drifting, yet again, into an endless war without purpose or meaning. Podcaster Joe Rogan has talked about the conflict’s disastrous, unintended consequences. Former Fox News host Tucker Carlson has warned that the unprovoked attack could trigger chaos across an already volatile region.

Trump, of course, parried the backlash with trademark coarseness. He lashed out. He dismissed the naysayers. He mocked allies who briefly turned detractors.

Headlines blared that a domestic quarrel threatened to engulf his MAGA disciples in a “civil war.”

The idea that MAGA has fractured is fantasy. Disquiet is not rupture. Dissent is not rebellion.

The MAGA “movement” is not a conventional coalition held together by consensus around a coherent, considered set of principles or policies.

MAGA remains what it has always been: a political phenomenon built to burnish one man’s ego and narcissism. As long as that man is Trump, the “movement” bends to his designs and whims. It adjusts; and, inevitably, snaps back into loyal line.

That loyalty remains the movement’s signature force.

For nearly a decade, Trump has tested its limits. He has weathered scandals that would have devoured most politicians. Two impeachments. Criminal convictions. A litany of controversies, including his close and lengthy friendship with the architect of a worldwide sex trafficking ring, the notorious paedophile, Jeffrey Epstein.

Through it all, MAGA has, if anything, tightened its loving embrace of Trump.

The notion that a fraternal dispute over foreign policy would shatter the vice-like bond is absurd. That bond is emotion. It is visceral.

For his embittered supporters, Trump is the embodiment of grievance-fuelled defiance. He is a charismatic champion against enemies in Washington — the gilded establishment, the media, the global order who treats them with derision and contempt.

Within that parochial framework, Trump’s actions at home and abroad are filtered through the prism of fidelity. When Trump unleashes a war that he once opposed, his devout followers accept his shifting rationales — however obtuse or contradictory. They believe he sees threats others ignore. They believe he acts when others hesitate.

Indeed, polls confirm their steadfast confidence in Trump’s judgement and his enduring appeal.

The Republican Party has always harboured different instincts. Some supporters lean towards isolationism. Others favour aggressive displays of the America’s unparalleled power.

While there may be hints of unease among Republicans about the prospect of a long, costly war with Iran, that unease has not led, and likely will not lead, to a broad revolt anytime soon.

Trump’s standing within the Republican Party remains strong. His approval among Republican voters remains high. They trust him.

That trust trumps the simmering doubts raised by a small, albeit prominent, slice of MAGA fawning pundits and a few recalcitrant members of Congress.

Kelly knows it. Rogan knows it. Carlson knows it.

The trio understands that they operate inside a MAGA universe fashioned and controlled by Trump. Their popularity and influence depend on staying there. They know the defining rule of Trump’s gravitational pull: stray too far and you will be cast out.

Predictably, Carlson avoided escalation.

Instead, he declared his allegiance. He made plain that he still “loves” Trump. He reminded listeners that Trump had reshaped American politics.

Kelly and Rogan may question the risks and dangers of war, but neither would wage a sustained attack on the president. Neither would dare tell Trump’s loyalists to abandon him.

A fleeting disagreement over Trump’s reckless adventure in Iran will not translate into a lasting break.

Even the most high-profile MAGA hucksters recognise that confronting Trump invites retribution and disaster. Their audiences overlap. Their reach thrives in the same ideological ecosystem.

Picking an ultimately losing fight with the ecosystem’s vengeful anchor is rarely good business.

So, MAGA is, at the moment, experiencing a touch of turbulence. It will pass.

Which is why the constant search by establishment media for a dramatic MAGA schism keeps producing the standard result.

Nothing much changes.

Every time Trump sparks outrage, the same prediction appears. This time, the base will rebel. This time, the coalition will splinter.

This forecast is a tired ritual. It ignores the fundamental nature of the MAGA compact. That connection is not rooted in briefs or blueprints. It is a secular religion where the leader is never wrong.

Myopic scribes mistake a fracas for a collapse. They see tension and hope for a divorce. The believers are not preoccupied with the logistics of war or the mercurial logic of “America First”. They care about the man who gave them a voice.

Once the friction fades, the sceptics will retreat. They have nowhere else to go. The undeniable magnetism of Trump’s celebrity and command of MAGA reels most reluctant strays back.

To leave that agreeable orbit permanently is to vanish into irrelevance — a bleak fate for provocateurs who have forged lucrative careers amplifying Trump’s ignorance, intolerance, and fury.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial stance.

Israel has killed almost 600 people in Lebanon and displaced more than 750,000 in less than two weeks. This is the opening act of Israel’s Gaza doctrine applied to a new front. The formula is consistent: Displace – either by ordering people to leave or by destroying their means of survival. Demolish civilian infrastructure to prevent return and expand territory through so-called “buffer zones”. Fragment any coherent governance by carving territory into disconnected enclaves where military action continues at a lower intensity.

I spent three years working in Palestine before being expelled by Israeli authorities. I watched this doctrine develop in real time. Now, from Beirut, I am witnessing its replication.

In the West Bank, Israel has spent decades fragmenting territory and denying Palestinians any contiguous geography. Water wells sealed with cement, homes demolished over impossible-to-obtain permits, herders pushed from their land by illegal settlement outposts. In Gaza, the same logic was applied with far greater speed and fury.

In October 2023, Israel announced that every Palestinian north of Wadi Gaza had to leave immediately. Days earlier, Israel’s defence minister had declared a complete siege: No electricity, no food, no water. By labelling an entire population as the enemy, Israel created a class of expendable people. The military released maps with Gaza divided into numbered blocks. When your number was called, you were forced to leave. Evacuation orders became the alibi for the crimes that followed. People were ordered into al-Mawasi, a stretch of coastline Israel designated a “safe zone”, a concentration area for hundreds of thousands living in tents, where air attacks continued. So-called evacuation zones were depopulated and destroyed.

Classic counterinsurgency logic would have entailed “clear, hold, and rebuild”. Israel’s approach was radically different: Destroy, displace, dismantle. The goal was not to pacify territory but to empty it. In both Gaza and southern Lebanon, Israel has treated civilian populations as indistinguishable from the resistance they support. Their displacement is the objective. The collapse of their political representation is a condition Israel seeks to make permanent. This is settler-colonial logic in contemporary military form.

The same playbook has now arrived in Lebanon, but with a revealing difference from previous Israeli operations here. In the first Lebanon war in the 1980s, Israel sought to install a sympathetic government. Gaza has shown that Israel has abandoned that aspiration. The goal is no longer to determine who governs a territory but to ensure that no coherent governance exists at all. Nor is Israel alone in this; the UAE’s approach in Yemen and the Horn of Africa – and its support to Israel in Gaza – reflects the same preference for isolated enclaves. What has emerged is a regional doctrine of fragmentation shared between aligned powers.

Israel has issued evacuation orders for the entirety of southern Lebanon and southern Beirut. The familiar map that appeared on my screen in Beirut last week had the same design and the same deadly ambiguity as the ones we dealt with in Gaza; announced evacuation zones failed to match those shown on the map. In Gaza, those who crossed the invisible lines were killed.

Hundreds of thousands of people are now on the move. Schools have become shelters, health workers have been killed, and people are sleeping on the seafront where just two nights ago a tent was bombed. Israel has threatened to attack Lebanese state infrastructure if the government fails to act against Hezbollah – extending its aims from displacement and infrastructure destruction towards the forced destabilisation of the state itself. The Lebanese government has responded by forbidding Hezbollah from firing. This is precisely the internal fracturing that Israel’s strategy appears designed to provoke.

But Lebanon is not Gaza. Hamas was fighting with an improvised arsenal inside a besieged strip of land, and this already proved challenging for Israeli forces. Hezbollah commands more sophisticated weaponry, hardened infrastructure, and decades of preparation for this kind of war. It has shown it can absorb heavy blows and strike back, surprising both Israel and outside observers with the depth of its capabilities. Israeli ground operations in southern Lebanon and the Bekaa have already met significant resistance. It is here that the doctrine may encounter its limits – not through diplomatic pressure, which has failed to materialise, but through asymmetric military reality. Iran has made Lebanon’s fate explicitly part of any ceasefire calculus, signalling a unification of fronts that Israel had thought were weakened.

A doctrine built on the assumption of impunity has encountered little resistance in the conference halls of a so-called rules-based order. The Gaza doctrine is the expanded version of what Israel previously called the “Dahiyeh doctrine” – the use of overwhelming force against civilian infrastructure – now weaponised towards a larger end: The permanent redrawing of the region’s geography, demography, and political order.

This doctrine has developed in a vacuum of accountability. The International Court of Justice has been ignored. The Security Council has been paralysed. Governments have continued trading with Israel as it steadily normalised the unacceptable. Daniel Reisner, who headed the international legal division of Israel’s military advocate general’s office, was candid in saying that “If you do something for long enough, the world will accept it […] International law progresses through violations.”

The United States is not a bystander to this failure; it is an active participant in deepening it. At the Munich Security Conference earlier this year, Secretary of State Marco Rubio framed the transatlantic alliance in ethnonationalist terms and cast colonialism as a Western achievement. At an event in Tel Aviv, US Ambassador Mike Huckabee expressed confidence that Washington would “neuter” both the ICC and the ICJ – the very institutions through which accountability might otherwise be pursued.

What is unfolding in Lebanon is the political continuation of an ongoing settler-colonial project. The evacuation orders are precursors to mass destruction, designed to prevent return and permanently alter the landscape. Stability in the Middle East demands more than ceasefire agreements that manage fragmented populations while permitting lower-grade warfare to continue. It requires unconditional enforcement of international law, full accountability for those prosecuting this doctrine, and the right of return and reconstruction – from Beit Hanoon to Beirut.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial stance.

For years, Iran’s leaders believed time was on their side.

After the United States withdrew from the 2015 nuclear agreement, known as the Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action (JCPOA), Tehran effectively adopted what later came to be described as a “strategic patience” approach. Rather than immediately counter-escalating, Iran chose to endure economic pressure while waiting to see whether diplomacy could be revived.

The logic behind the strategy was simple: eventually, Washington would recognise that confrontation with Iran was against its own interests.

Today, that assumption lies shattered.

The collapse of diplomacy and the outbreak of war have forced Iran’s leadership to confront a painful reality: their belief that the US would ultimately act rationally may have been a profound miscalculation.

If Iran survives the current conflict, the lessons Iranian leaders draw from this moment may motivate them to pursue a nuclear deterrent.

The strategy of waiting

After the first Trump administration withdrew from the JCPOA and launched its “maximum pressure” campaign in 2018, Tehran initially avoided major counter-escalation. For nearly a year, it largely remained within the deal’s limits, hoping the other signatories, particularly Europeans, could preserve the agreement and deliver on the promised economic benefits despite US sanctions.

When that failed, Tehran began gradually increasing its nuclear activities by expanding enrichment and reducing compliance step by step while still avoiding a decisive break.

The pace accelerated after Iran’s conservative-dominated parliament passed a law mandating a significant increase in nuclear activities, in the wake of the assassination of top nuclear scientist Mohsen Fakhrizadeh. The shift was reinforced further by the 2021 election of conservative President Ebrahim Raisi.

The ultimate goal was to rebuild negotiating leverage, as Tehran believed that broader geopolitical and regional trends were gradually shifting in its favour. From its perspective, China’s rise, Russia’s growing assertiveness, and widening fractures within the Western alliance suggested that Washington’s ability to isolate Iran indefinitely might weaken over time.

At the same time, Iran pursued a strategy of reducing tensions with its neighbours, seeking improved relations with Gulf states that had previously supported the US “maximum pressure” campaign. By the early 2020s, many Gulf Cooperation Council countries had begun prioritising engagement and de-escalation with Iran, culminating in moves such as the 2023 Saudi-Iran rapprochement brokered by China.

Against this backdrop, even as tensions rose, Tehran continued to pursue diplomacy. Years of negotiations with the Biden administration aimed at restoring the JCPOA ultimately produced no agreement. Subsequent diplomatic efforts under Trump’s second presidency also collapsed.

Underlying this approach was a fundamental assumption: that the US ultimately preferred stability to war. Iranian officials believed Washington would eventually conclude that diplomacy, rather than endless pressure or a major war, was the most realistic and least costly path forward.

The joint US-Israeli assault on Iran has now exposed how deeply flawed that assumption was.

The return of deterrence

While Tehran based its strategy on mistaken beliefs about the rationality of US foreign policy, Washington, too, is misreading the situation.

For years, advocates of the maximum pressure campaign argued that sustained economic and military pressure would eventually fracture Iran internally. Some predicted that war would trigger widespread unrest and even the collapse of the regime.

So far, none of those predictions has materialised.

Despite the enormous strain on Iranian society, there have been no signs of regime disintegration. Instead, Iran’s political base — and in many cases broader segments of society — has rallied in the face of external attack.

Furthermore, Iran spent years reinforcing its deterrence capabilities. This involved expanding and diversifying its ballistic missile, cruise missile and drone programmes and developing multiple delivery systems designed to penetrate sophisticated air defences. Iranian planners also drew lessons from the direct exchanges with Israel in 2024 and the June 2025 war, improving targeting accuracy and coordination across different weapons systems.

The focus shifted towards preparing for a prolonged war of attrition: firing fewer but more precise strikes over time while attempting to degrade enemy radar and air defence systems.

We now see the results of this work. Iran has been able to inflict significant damage on its adversaries. Retaliatory attacks have killed seven Americans and 11 Israelis, placing a growing strain on US and Israeli missile defence systems, as interceptors are steadily depleted.

Iranian missile and drone strikes have hit targets across the region, including high-value military infrastructure such as radar installations. The closure of the Strait of Hormuz has sent global energy markets into turmoil.

Apart from the immense cost of war, the US decision to launch the attack on Iran may have another unintended consequence: a radical shift in Iranian strategy.

For decades, Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei maintained a longstanding religious prohibition on nuclear weapons. His assassination on the first day of the war may now motivate the new civilian and military leadership of the country to rethink its nuclear strategy.

There may now be fewer ideological reservations about pursuing nuclear weapons. The logic is simple: if diplomacy cannot deliver sanctions relief or permanently remove the threat of war, nuclear deterrence may appear to be the only viable alternative.

Iran’s actions in this conflict suggest that many leaders now see patience and diplomacy as strategic mistakes. These include the unprecedented scale of Iranian missile and drone attacks across the region, the targeting of US partners and critical infrastructure, and political decisions at home that signal a harder line, most notably the appointment of Mojtaba Khamenei as supreme leader.

The choice of Khamenei’s son breaks a longstanding taboo in a system founded on the rejection of hereditary rule and reflects a leadership increasingly prepared to abandon previous restraints.

If a more zero-sum logic of deterrence takes hold across the region, replacing dialogue as the organising principle of security, the Middle East may enter a far more dangerous era in which nuclear weapons are viewed as the ultimate form of deterrence and nuclear proliferation can no longer be stopped.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial stance.

As world institutions wobble, The Hague has unexpectedly become the stage for a reckoning long denied in the Philippines.

Proceedings at the International Criminal Court (ICC) in late February offered a rare glimpse of accountability at a moment when global norms feel increasingly fragile. The court held a hearing in the case against former Philippine President Rodrigo Duterte to confirm charges for crimes against humanity committed during the so‑called “war on drugs”.

For the families of those killed in the “drug war” watching tearfully from the public gallery, this hearing marked the first real step towards justice after years of violence, denial, and dehumanisation of their loved ones. As a Filipino lawyer and counsel for the victims, Joel Butuyan, told the court, “Truth is the antidote to the virus of impunity.”

A three-judge panel – women from Romania, Mexico and Benin – heard arguments from prosecutors, victims’ counsel, and Duterte’s defence lawyer. Their task was not to determine guilt, but to assess whether there is sufficient evidence for the case against Duterte to proceed to trial.

The case focuses on 49 incidents of alleged murder and attempted murder, involving 78 victims, including children, between November 2011 and March 2019, when the ICC still had jurisdiction over the Philippines. In March 2018, soon after the former ICC prosecutor announced a preliminary inquiry into the situation of the Philippines, Duterte withdrew the Philippines from the court’s membership, which became final one year later.

The case against Duterte covers his tenure as mayor of Davao City, in the southern Philippines, and the period after he was elected president in 2016. The prosecutors emphasised that the specific incidents they focused on represent only a fraction of the thousands of killings attributed to police and hired hitmen during Duterte’s anti-drug campaign.

I sat in the public gallery alongside victims’ families, activists, clergy, journalists, and lawyers who had traveled from the Philippines to witness a moment many never thought possible. Duterte’s supporters were there, too. But Duterte himself was absent as he waived his right to be present. His written statement declared that he did not recognize the court’s jurisdiction and claimed he had been “kidnapped”. His refusal to appear was obviously a disappointment for the victims’ families, hoping to see him in the dock.

Still, his voice echoed through the courtroom. Prosecutors played video after video of Duterte urging police to kill drug suspects and ignore legal restraints. In one chilling 2016 address, he warned: “If I become the president, I will order the military and the police to hunt down the drug lords, the big ones, and kill them.”  Duterte’s lawyer argued that the prosecutors were selective in their approach to the speeches and that they missed critical information that would exonerate Duterte, including references to using force in self-defence.

Human Rights Watch has been reporting on Duterte’s “drug wars” since 2009, when we detailed the operations of the “Davao Death Squad” that targeted street children, petty criminals and drug suspects when Duterte was mayor. A 2017 Human Rights Watch report showed how Duterte’s “drug war” escalated nationwide after he was elected president.

The panel now has 60 days to decide whether the case will proceed to trial. But while the ICC deliberates, drug-related killings in the Philippines continue, though reduced from their peak during the Duterte administration.

Domestic accountability remains woefully inadequate. Nearly 10 years after the nationwide “drug war” began, five cases have resulted in convictions of a total of nine police officers. The vast majority of those responsible, including senior officials, remain untouched.

The political context is also fraught. Sending Duterte to The Hague may have suited the current president, Ferdinand Marcos Jr,  allowing him to distance himself from the bloodiest excesses of his predecessor. But several of Duterte’s alleged co‑perpetrators – senior police officers and officials who helped transplant Davao City’s “neutralisation” strategies to the national stage – still wield influence or have gone into hiding.

The security architecture that enabled the killings within the national police force remains largely intact. With the wrong political signal, the violence could easily surge again.

Marcos now faces a defining choice. He can continue outsourcing justice to the ICC while tolerating a culture of impunity at home. Or he can demonstrate genuine commitment to accountability and the rule of law. Doing so would require a clear, public repudiation of the decade-long police operation underpinning the anti-drug campaign, and an explicit assurance that its methods are no longer acceptable state policy.

Marcos should also empower the Department of Justice to pursue investigations and prosecutions in earnest, and take steps to rejoin the ICC, which would, in turn, help strengthen domestic accountability efforts. Without credible domestic action, promises of reform will ring hollow.

This is a moment of reckoning for the Philippines. Families who have waited years for answers deserve more than political convenience; they deserve justice. Whatever the ICC decides in the coming months, the Philippine government need not – and should not – wait. Ending impunity and honouring the dignity of victims begins at home.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial stance.

The Gulf states have spent years trying to broker peace between Iran and the West: Qatar brokered nuclear talks, Oman provided back-channel diplomacy, and Saudi Arabia maintained direct dialogue with Iran through 2024 and into 2025. Iran attacked them anyway. The idea that the Gulf states have a responsibility, a moral one, to protect Iran from the consequences of its actions because of good neighbourliness is now grotesque in context. Iran did not return good neighbourliness. Iran returned ballistic missiles.

Iran’s position is based on three propositions. First, that Iran acted in lawful self-defence pursuant to Article 51 of the UN Charter; that host countries relinquished territorial sovereignty by allowing US military bases on their territory; and that the definition of aggression in Resolution 3314 justifies the attack on those bases as lawful military objectives. Each of these propositions is legally flawed, factually skewed, and tactically wrong. Collectively, they add up to a legal argument that, if accepted, would ensure that the Gulf is permanently destabilised, the basic principles of international law are destroyed, and, in a curious twist, the very security threats that Iran is reacting to are reinforced.

The self-defence claim does not meet the required legal threshold

The UN Charter, in Article 51, permits the use of force only in self-defence against an “armed attack”, and this term is not defined by reference to the state invoking it. The International Court of Justice, in cases such as Military and Paramilitary Activities in and against Nicaragua (Nicaragua v. United States) (1986) and Oil Platforms (Iran v. United States) (2003), has interpreted the requirement of an “armed attack” under Article 51 of the UN Charter restrictively. The Court distinguished between the most grave forms of the use of force, which qualify as armed attacks triggering the right of self-defence, and less grave uses of force that do not. Accordingly, not every use of force, such as minor incidents or limited military activities, amounts to an armed attack. In this light, the mere presence of foreign military bases in Gulf states, maintained for decades under defence agreements with host governments, would not in itself constitute an armed attack against Iran.

Necessity and proportionality are also part of customary international law, requiring that self-defence be necessary and proportional. Iran has not demonstrated either. Targeting the territory of other sovereign Arab states in response to the policy decisions of the United States is neither necessary, since diplomatic and United Nations avenues are still available, nor proportional, since it imposes military consequences on states that are not a party to any conflict with Iran.

Critically, Article 51 also has a mandatory procedural element, in that any state employing self-defence is immediately required to notify the Security Council. Iran has consistently evaded this requirement in each of its escalatory actions. While this may seem to be a minor element, it is in fact the means by which the international community is able to verify and check self-defence claims. A state that evades this requirement is not employing Article 51. It is exploiting the language of Article 51.

Iran’s reading of Resolution 3314 is a fundamental distortion

The provision of Article 3(f) of the Annex to United Nations General Assembly Resolution 3314 (XXIX) (1974) states that an act of aggression includes the “action of a State in allowing its territory, which it has placed at the disposal of another State, to be used by that other State for perpetrating an act of aggression against a third State”. Iran could rely on this provision to hold the Gulf states that host United States military bases liable for any act of aggression committed from their territories against Iran. Nevertheless, the mere presence of military bases is not sufficient to hold them to be lawful military objectives; this will depend on their actual contribution to military activities against Iran based on the rules of international humanitarian law.

Thus, such an Iranian reading would be wrong on three distinct legal grounds.

First, Resolution 3314 is definitional in nature. The resolution was adopted to assist the Security Council in determining when aggression has taken place, not to confer upon states the unilateral power to punish states deemed to have committed aggression through the use of force. The resolution itself, in Article 2, asserts the power of the Security Council to make the determination of what constitutes aggression. The self-application of Article 3(f) of the resolution is therefore bypassed altogether.

Second, Article 3(f) speaks of the active launching of an attack, not the passive hosting of a military base. The legal distinction is fundamental. A state, in signing a defence treaty with another and hosting the latter’s troops on its soil, is engaging in a measure of sovereignty. A state, actively launching, coordinating, or enabling military strikes against a third party, is engaged in a different matter altogether. Iran has not credibly shown this latter case. The presence of US troops or bases in the Gulf has been a fact for decades, and this has not constituted armed aggression against Iran under any legal standard.

Third, even if Article 3(f) were applicable, the appropriate course would be to bring the matter to the Security Council, not to launch unilateral military strikes. General Assembly resolutions do not override the Charter. Iran cannot rely upon a non-binding resolution defining terms to override the Chapter VII requirements for the use of force or the clear criteria of Article 51.

Sovereignty cannot be dictated by a neighbour’s strategic preferences

Iran, in invoking the principle of good neighbourliness, asks the Arab Gulf states to deny the United States basing rights. Good neighbourliness is a two-way principle, and it does not allow for interference in the internal affairs of other states, certainly not interference in the decisions of other states simply because they are deemed inconvenient to the interfering state. All UN states possess the inherent right to conclude defence treaties with whomever they choose, and this is so regardless of the opinion of their neighbours.

The asymmetry of Iran’s position is striking and self-disqualifying. Iran itself has active military relationships with Russia and China. Iran arms, finances, trains, and supports the activities of non-state military actors in Lebanon, Syria, Iraq, and Yemen. The Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps Quds Force operates openly in various states, and this has been extensively documented in United Nations Panels of Experts reports, as well as other international monitoring reports. According to the standards that Iran applies to the Gulf states, any state that hosts the activities of the IRGC, the transfer of Iranian arms, or the coordination of Iranian proxies on its soil would be engaging in aggression against third parties. Iran will not accept this principle when it is applied to itself. A legal principle that is unacceptable to the party to whom it would be applied is not a legal principle at all; it is a political tool.

A doctrine that defeats Iran’s own strategic interests

From the perspective of international relations theory, Iran’s position follows the logic of offensive realism, which seeks to remove the external balancing architecture of regional neighbours by claiming it to be hostile in nature. However, this approach is empirically self-defeating.

Under balance of threat theory, states react to offensive capability, geographic proximity, and aggressive intentions. Iran’s doctrine, in asserting the right to strike any state that hosts forces it perceives as a threat, drives each and every threat variable to maximum levels for each and every state in the region. The obvious consequence, evident in the data, is that the states in the region and external powers are becoming more, rather than less, securely integrated. The Fifth Fleet’s permanent base in Bahrain, the UAE’s negotiations over F-35s, Saudi Arabia’s deployments of THAADs, and Qatar’s expansion of the Al Udeid base are reactions to Iran’s escalation, not causes of it.

From the perspective of constructivism, the legitimacy of a legal argument is also partly based on the normative credibility of the state that presents the argument. The record of Iran’s compliance with IAEA regulations, including the enrichment of uranium to a purity level of 60 percent or more in 2023–2024, interference with inspections, the removal of monitoring cameras, and the overall violation of the non-proliferation regime, has undermined the credibility of the state significantly. A state that is itself a violator of the legal regime cannot claim the role of a law-abiding state seeking protection under the norms of the legal regime.

Iran’s legal rationale was always theoretically wrong. What has occurred since February 28, 2026, has made Iran’s actions morally and politically wrong. Iran did not simply target US military assets. The reality of the situation is now documented and undeniable. Ballistic missiles and drones were launched against Gulf states in the opening days of the conflict. This marked the first time one actor had simultaneously attacked all six GCC states. Iran escalated its attacks in deliberate stages. Day 1: Iranian missiles were fired against military bases. Day 2: Iranian missiles were fired against civilian infrastructure and airports. Day 3: Iranian missiles were fired against the energy sector. Days 3 and 4: The US Embassy in Riyadh was attacked by Iran. International airports in Dubai, Abu Dhabi, and Kuwait were attacked by Iranian missiles, resulting in the suspension of flights throughout the region. Videos from Bahrain documented an Iranian Shahed drone attacking an apartment building. This is not self-defence. This is the collective punishment of sovereign nations that went to extraordinary lengths to avoid the conflict.

The rationale provided by Iran falls flat when one considers the actions Iran itself took. Its doctrine held that only targets involved in the preparation or launch of an attack against Iran were legitimate targets. Civilian airports are not military bases. Hotels in Palm Jumeirah are not military command centres. An apartment complex in Manama is not a weapons storage facility. By Iran’s own stated legal rationale, none of these targets was legitimate, yet they were attacked. This was not a legal doctrine at all; it was a pretext for coercion, and the conduct of war revealed this to be the case.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial stance.

Supporters of the United States and Israeli military campaign against Iran argue that weakening Tehran by degrading its missile capabilities, crippling its navy and reducing its ability to project power through regional allies will make the Middle East safer. But this strategy rests on an assumption that a weaker Iran would produce a more stable region. In reality, destabilising one of the Middle East’s largest and most strategically important states could unleash forces far more dangerous than the status quo.

According to briefings provided to congressional staff in Washington, DC, there was no intelligence suggesting Iran was planning to attack the US. Yet military escalation continues in the belief that weakening Iran will ultimately serve US interests. If that assumption proves wrong, the consequences could be severe not only for the region but also for American strategic interests.

The first danger is internal fragmentation. Iran’s population is ethnically diverse. While Persians form the majority, the country is also home to large Azeri, Kurdish, Arab and Baloch communities, among others. Several of these groups already have histories of political tension or insurgency, including Kurdish militant activity in the northwest and a long-running Baloch insurgency in the southeast.

A strong central state has largely kept these fault lines contained. But if Iran’s governing structures weaken significantly, those tensions could intensify. The result could resemble the fragmentation seen in other Middle Eastern states after external military pressure or regime collapse.

Recent history offers sobering examples. In Iraq, the dismantling of state institutions after the 2003 US invasion created the conditions for years of sectarian violence and ultimately the rise of ISIL (ISIS). Libya’s state collapse in 2011 left the country divided between rival governments and armed militias, a crisis that persists more than a decade later. Syria’s civil war produced one of the worst humanitarian catastrophes of the century while turning large swaths of territory into battlegrounds for militias and extremist groups. At the height of the conflict, ISIS was able to seize and govern territory across eastern Syria, declaring a so-called caliphate that controlled millions of people.

Iran’s collapse would produce an even more dangerous scenario. Its population is far larger than Iraq, Libya or Syria, and its territory borders multiple conflict-prone regions. The emergence of armed factions, ethnic militias or insurgent groups inside Iran could quickly transform the country into another arena of prolonged instability.

Such instability would not remain local. Iran sits at the heart of the Gulf, one of the world’s most strategically important energy corridors. Roughly a fifth of global oil supplies pass through the Strait of Hormuz along Iran’s southern coastline. Armed factions, rival militias or uncontrolled naval forces operating along Iran’s coast could disrupt shipping lanes, attack tankers or try to block access to the strait, turning a regional crisis into a global energy shock. That would have consequences far beyond the Middle East. Higher energy prices would ripple through global economies, affecting everything from transportation costs to inflation. American policymakers often view energy instability as a regional problem, but in reality, it quickly becomes a global one.

The strategic consequences would extend further. Iran currently serves as a central node in a network of regional alliances and proxy groups that includes Hezbollah in Lebanon, various militia groups in Iraq and the Houthis in Yemen. These actors operate within a framework influenced, to varying degrees, by Tehran. If the Iranian state weakens dramatically, that structure could fragment. Some groups might operate independently, others might compete for influence, and still others could radicalise further without central coordination. The result would be a far more unpredictable security environment across the Middle East, which would make diplomatic engagement more difficult and military conflicts harder to contain.

Another risk lies in leadership uncertainty. Some policymakers assume that weakening the current Iranian leadership will produce a more moderate political order. But regime change rarely follows a predictable script.

Iran’s political system contains multiple competing factions, including conservative clerical networks, reformist politicians and powerful elements within the security establishment such as the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC). Iran’s leadership transition is less about a single successor than about the balance of power between clerical institutions, elected offices and the security apparatus. If the existing leadership were weakened or removed during wartime conditions, that balance could quickly unravel. The IRGC, which already commands vast military and economic resources, could try to consolidate authority, potentially pushing Iran towards a more overtly militarised political order. In such an environment, more radical actors, particularly those who view compromise with the US as impossible, could gain influence.

There is also little evidence that sustained military strikes will generate pro-American sentiment among the Iranian population. History suggests that external pressure often strengthens nationalist sentiment rather than weakening it. The 2003 invasion of Iraq, for example, did not produce pro-American attitudes but instead fuelled resentment and insurgency. Similarly, repeated Israeli military campaigns in Lebanon have tended to strengthen support for Hezbollah rather than weaken it.

Beyond the Middle East itself, instability in Iran could also trigger significant migration flows. Iran already hosts millions of refugees from neighbouring countries, particularly Afghanistan. If internal conflict were to erupt inside Iran, even a small share of Iran’s population of more than 90 million people seeking refuge abroad could produce migration flows far larger than those seen during recent Middle Eastern crises.

Many of those migrants would likely move towards Turkiye and eventually Europe, placing additional pressure on governments already grappling with migration crises. While this may appear distant from American shores, the political consequences for US allies in Europe would inevitably affect transatlantic relations and Western cohesion.

Taken together, these risks illustrate a broader strategic problem. Weakening Iran may appear attractive to the US from a narrow military perspective, but destabilising a large regional power rarely produces orderly outcomes.

The United States has confronted similar dynamics before. The collapse of state authority in Iraq after 2003 did not eliminate threats in the region; it produced new ones. Libya’s fragmentation after 2011 created an enduring security vacuum. Syria’s civil war turned into a multisided conflict that reshaped the politics of the entire region.

For Washington, the question should be whether the long-term consequences of destabilising Iran would ultimately make the region and the world more dangerous. If recent history offers any guidance, destabilising Iran may ultimately create the very threats Washington hopes to eliminate.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial stance.

As Israel and the United States attacked Iran, Palestinians in the Gaza Strip began to panic. They remembered how crossings were closed in the past, causing famine, and rushed to markets to buy whatever they could. As a result, prices of food and basic necessities skyrocketed. Soon enough, the news came that the border crossings had been closed.

All of this happened just as the grace period set by Israel for 37 NGOs to withdraw from Gaza for not fulfilling registration requirements expired. Organisations like Doctors Without Borders (also known by its French acronym MSF), Medical Aid for Palestinians UK, Handicap International: Humanity & Inclusion, ActionAid, CARE, etc were supposed to stop operating in Gaza.

At the last moment, a ruling by the Israeli Supreme Court allowed them to continue working while it considers their appeal against the ban. But even with this court decision, these organisations cannot continue to function fully. That is because the Israeli occupation continues to prevent their supplies and foreign staff from entering Gaza.

According to these NGOs, together they are responsible for half of the food handouts in the Strip and 60 percent of services provided in field hospitals.

For many families in Gaza, this means hunger – because food parcels will not be distributed and livelihoods will be lost.

We know this is not about NGOs failing to meet new registration rules, just like the closure of the border crossings is not a matter of security. They are about exacting yet another form of collective punishment on the Palestinians.

Even if the Supreme Court miraculously rules against the NGO ban, the Israeli occupation would still find another way to push these foreign organisations out of Gaza. This was made clear this month when it was revealed that World Central Kitchen, which has been running dozens of soup kitchens across the Strip and which is not on the ban list, may be suspending its activities.

According to Gaza’s Government Media Office, this was because Israel blocked most of the organisation’s supply trucks from coming in. As a result, there are not enough supplies to continue cooking. World Central Kitchen previously said it serves 1 million meals daily.

So now, amid the war with Iran, which may last weeks or months, hundreds of thousands of families will not have adequate food once again.

All of this comes on top of Israel’s continuing war on UNRWA. Since its creation in late 1949, the United Nations agency has been the backbone of international support for Palestinian refugees. It has the largest capacity for emergency response and the widest spectrum of services on offer. And yet, Israel has banned its operations and has blocked its supplies from entering the Strip.

Through relentless lobbying, Israel has managed to achieve substantial cuts to UNRWA’s budget. As a result, last month 600 employees were fired. The salaries of the rest were reduced by 20 percent.

The NGO ban will likely result in thousands of people losing their jobs as well. And this is at a time when unemployment in Gaza has gone beyond 80 percent.

My family will also suffer. In the past, we have benefitted from food and basic supplies handouts from NGOs, and my brother has been able to find temporary work as a driver for one of them.

The possible closure of international organisations is a direct threat to the lives of hundreds of thousands of civilians who depend on their services and employment. The closure of the border crossings could mean another hunger crisis.

These are a form of collective punishment that yet again will not make the news. Israel is constantly thinking of new ways to make our lives that much more unbearable, that much more impossible in our devastated homeland.

Two and half years of the Israeli genocide has destroyed hospitals, schools, universities, roads, sewage and potable water systems, water treatment plants, the electricity grid, and countless generators and solar panels.

The vast majority of the population lives primitive lives in tents or makeshift shelters that cannot protect people from extreme heat or cold.

Water is contaminated, food is insufficient, land has been destroyed and poisoned.

Now we will be deprived of the little international support we have been receiving.

And what is the goal of all this? To push us ever closer to despair and the ultimate surrender, to make us desire to leave our homeland on our own. Ethnic cleansing by mutual agreement.

All of the organisations that Israel is seeking to ban are foreign. Most of them are based in Western countries. Yet there has been little to no condemnation from Western governments of Israel’s actions against their own organisations. There has been no outrage that the occupation is trying to destroy international humanitarian provision so it can fully control aid distribution.

Collective punishment is a violation of international law. States are obliged to go beyond verbal condemnations and take action by imposing sanctions. Until that happens, we in Gaza will continue to be subjected to ever more brutal acts of collective punishment by our occupiers.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial stance.

As court documents tied to the late financier Jeffrey Epstein continue to surface, the scandal has become an international embarrassment, exposing how quickly powerful men can turn into reputational liabilities. That discomfort reached New Delhi, where Microsoft cofounder Bill Gates was expected to deliver the keynote address at the AI Impact Summit but ultimately did not attend amid criticism and apparent unease within the Modi government over his past meetings with Epstein. The spectacle was revealing. Public moral outrage travels swiftly when scandal threatens reputations and diplomatic optics. Yet that sensitivity to association sits uneasily beside a domestic reality in which sexual violence against women unfolds with brutal regularity, drawing neither comparable embarrassment nor consequence. The contrast is grotesque. A political culture capable of signalling discomfort towards a global scandal remains strikingly untroubled by the everyday brutality faced by women at home.

Under the Modi administration, the news cycle churns with reports of gang rapes like factory output — steady, relentless, and numbing in repetition. The rapes have become so common that they are reported like the weather. Heatwave deaths. Flash flood. Five-year-old abducted, raped, murdered. And like the weather, only God is responsible. Not the rapist. Not the court. Not the police. Definitely not the prime minister.

Between the time this piece was commissioned and published, a five-year-old was gang-raped in Meerut, a 26-year-old was gang-raped in Faridabad, and a 17-year-old was gang-raped in Odisha. A 42-year-old was gang-raped in Delhi’s suburbs. A 12-year-old girl was kidnapped and gang-raped in Bikaner. There were more gang rapes in Bihar, Chhattisgarh, Rajasthan, and Kanpur. I could give you statistics, but numbers could never convey the larger, all-encompassing terror of living with predators. The threat of sexual violence is as constant as gravity. The cases are gruesome — intestines pulled out, rods inserted, tongues cut out, acid thrown, decapitation, strangulation, and burning. When I look at government data about rape — an average of 86 women are raped every day — it feels as grisly as stumbling upon a mass grave in Excel sheets.

Prime Minister Narendra Modi and his home minister, Amit Shah, ostensibly obsessed with restoring law and order at any cost, seem entirely unconcerned that India is the gang rape capital of the world on their watch.

The most alarming instance of this was when convicted rapist and Bharatiya Janata Party politician Kuldeep Singh Sengar, found guilty of raping a minor in 2017 and a native of Makhi village in Unnao district of Uttar Pradesh, was granted bail by a high court, raising the possibility of his reintegration into the very social and political landscape that had once enabled his impunity. A high court granted him bail in December. Thankfully, it was stayed by the Supreme Court, but only after infuriated women gathered in Delhi to protest. Sengar had raped a teenager, who was also gang-raped by his associates. Her father was murdered in police custody. A case was registered only after she threatened to burn herself in front of the chief minister’s residence. Her tragic story showcases how Indian men, like the Modi administration, remain remarkably unembarrassed about the state of affairs.

Sadly, this is not an aberration; it is the system speaking in its mother tongue.

Public memory matters because each new case unfolds against the residue of the ones we were told would change everything. In 2012, I read about the “Nirbhaya” gang rape three days after the incident, on my way from the airport. I had been deliberately avoiding the news until she ended up at Safdarjung Hospital, and my editor needed a health update from me. After I learned all the details of what men had done to this young woman, I thought the world would stand still. A threshold had been crossed. Something told me the world would start anew. There were protests, and people everywhere would know her name, and something like this would never happen again.

All of my naivety was drowned in a chorus of “Not All Men”, as the gang rape was turned into something viral to hang a hashtag on. The refrain did not defend innocence so much as redirect attention away from accountability and back towards male comfort.

It is impossible for me to hear of such cases and not think: What if it were me? My body. That rod. Those men. The suffering and mutilation of women’s bodies is so reliable that there is now a market to help ease our fear. Security apps. Pepper sprays and wearable panic alarms. Every time I write about this subject, I sit with the absolute inadequacy of the written word in the face of men who film the rapes, brag about them, and get rehabilitated nevertheless.

It wouldn’t be out of place to call this moment unprecedented, but it is beyond that. It is existential. Whether it is the United States or India, women are watching the same choreography of power protecting itself, as men of consequence close ranks and wait out the storm. The similarity lies not in scale or context, but in the recurring spectacle of institutions cushioning powerful men while survivors fight alone. For a while now, both countries — allegedly the biggest and the oldest democracies — have been on a trajectory of self-destruction, with men leading the way. Under Modi as well as Trump, rape has become an extension of politics. Women are violated no longer by men alone, but by courts, hospitals, and newsrooms, too. It is the age of monsters. It did not begin with Epstein, Gates, or Sengar, of course, but they are the symbols of it.

While the middle class was busy buying into the dream of upward mobility, careerism, and two bedrooms in a gated suburb, we let thugs cultivate a wholesale misogynist empire that runs on hate for women. I do not know what to do with the rage I feel. What do you do when you are constantly told that your body, your people, your gender are disposable? I don’t know.

What I do know is that the teenager who survived Sengar is still fighting for justice. I know that the survivors of Epstein’s sex trafficking network are fighting for justice, too. These women are fighting with heart and soul and sweat and muscle. I know that I have no right to be despondent while they stand tall, looking every inch the hero they are. I also know that nobody puts up a fight like that unless you love your sisters.

At this dark hour, it feels important to place on record that as the Modi administration recoils theatrically from the shadow of the Epstein scandal at the summit stage, the satire writes itself. A government that cannot, or will not, protect its women should be far more ashamed of what is ordinary than of what is scandalous.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial stance.

Last week, American diplomats and their Iranian counterparts sat down in Geneva for yet another round of talks mediated by Oman. The outcome seemed unclear. While the Iranians said “good progress” had been made, the Americans claimed there was “a little progress”. Meanwhile, United States President Donald Trump threatened once again to strike Iran.

In recent weeks, there has been a heavy US military build-up in the Middle East in preparation for what many observers see as an imminent attack. In this context, it may be apt to question whether the current negotiations are not simply a tactic to buy time to better prepare for the inevitable.

In the face of US military might, some have suggested that Iran’s only option is negotiating an agreement with the US, however unfair it may be. While Iranian military capabilities stand no chance against an army with the world’s biggest budget, accepting capitulation through a debilitating deal that may be broken again by Washington may not necessarily be Tehran’s only choice.

There is another way in which Iran can stand up to US bullying and win.

The fate of past negotiations

The ongoing US-Iran talks cannot be viewed in isolation. For Iran, any diplomatic engagement with the US is overshadowed by the legacy of the Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action (JCPOA).

Signed by the US, China, Russia, France, the United Kingdom, Germany, the European Union and Iran in 2015, the agreement provided sanctions relief in exchange for full transparency of the Iranian nuclear programme. Tehran accepted the deal even though it had some unfair provisions, including some US sanctions remaining in place.

Nevertheless, it fulfilled its obligations – a fact that was repeatedly verified by the International Atomic Energy Agency.

In return, however, the US as a signatory did not uphold its end of the deal. In 2018, Trump unilaterally withdrew from the JCPOA and reimposed maximum pressure sanctions aimed at crippling Iran’s economy.

It was a stark reminder that American promises are nonbinding. As a leader who has shown no regard for the interests of American allies in pursuit of an “America first” policy, Trump could hardly be expected to respect the interests of American adversaries.

However, even if a Democratic president had been in the White House, there would not have been any guarantee that the JCPOA would have remained in place. In the US’s polarised political climate, an American president’s signature is only valid until the next election.

For the US, negotiations can also be little more than a facade intended to lull adversaries into a false sense of security. Last year, just as US and Iranian representatives were scheduled to meet in Oman for another round of talks, Israel, a key American ally, launched a massive military campaign against Iran.

While the US denied direct involvement, it acknowledged having received prior notice. Given the close ties between the two countries, this prior knowledge strongly implied that the US had given Israel tacit approval for the air attacks.

Today, Iran is engaging in negotiations with the US again, and it is being pressured to accept an even more unfair deal. Should it back down and submit to US demands, then Trump – who preys on perceived weakness – would simply move the goalpost. Demands would shift from Iran’s nuclear programme today to its ballistic missiles tomorrow and regime change the day after.

The special US relationship with Israel means that Washington is fundamentally hostile to an Iranian government that sees the Israeli state as an enemy. Consequently, Trump’s goal is not to reach a durable agreement but to ensure that Iran can never fully comply with his demands, thereby justifying a permanent campaign of maximum pressure and hostility.

In this context and given its recent experience, it would be foolish for Iran to rely on US promises and negotiated agreements.

Leverage through strong regional ties

The current US-Iran standoff is a high-stakes game in which an all-out war is a likely outcome. While the US could achieve an initial victory through overwhelming military superiority, it could also get bogged down fighting a protracted counterinsurgency in Iran’s mountainous terrain.

Conversely, while Iran could eventually repel an American invasion – just as its Afghan neighbours did – the country would be reduced to rubble in the process.

That does not mean Iran should back down. The Greenland crisis and the China-US trade war have demonstrated that Trump’s propensity for sabre-rattling is tempered by his aversion to losses. Even though the EU and China are far more powerful than Iran, a clear show of resolve could compel Trump to retreat.

And Tehran does not have to be alone in its defiance. In its neighbourhood, there are other big players who recognise that another disastrous war led by the US is not in their interests. Iran can and should leverage the regional desire for stability.

For years, Iran pursued a policy of confrontation in the region until it realised that carving out a sphere of influence was actually exacerbating its security dilemma. This recognition ultimately led to the historic normalisation of relations with Saudi Arabia in 2023 – a breakthrough facilitated by China, Oman and Iraq – which in turn set in motion a broader detente with other Arab countries.

Three years later, that decision is yielding dividends. Notably, Saudi Arabia, Oman, Turkiye and Qatar are lobbying Trump to exercise restraint. Building on this neighbourly diplomacy and investing in developing regional stability and a security architecture could help stave off another major US war in the region.

The most important path to peace – and the only means of countering American gunboat diplomacy – does not lie in matching American military might, a contest Iran is destined to lose, but in establishing good relations with its neighbours and accepting regional stability as part of its national security.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial stance.

On Sunday, Mexican security forces killed 59-year-old Nemesio Ruben Oseguera Cervantes, alias “El Mencho”, the leader of the notorious Jalisco New Generation Cartel (CJNG), based in western Mexico’s Jalisco state.

The Mexican defence ministry acknowledged that the lethal operation had been conducted with “complementary information” from the United States, whose “peacemaker” president, Donald Trump, has repeatedly threatened to attack Mexico to combat the drug cartels.

Mind you, these are organisations that owe their very existence to US policy and drug consumption in the first place.

US Deputy Secretary of State Christopher Landau greeted the news of El Mencho’s death with glee, taking to X to proclaim: “This is a great development for Mexico, the US, Latin America, and the world.”

And yet things aren’t looking quite so “great” thus far.

As anyone who has ever paid remote attention to global affairs might have predicted, violence has broken out across several Mexican states in the aftermath of the killing – which is generally what happens when you take out a cartel kingpin.

Gunmen have torched vehicles and blocked highways in various locales while various US media have reported sensationally on the plight of American tourists “stranded” in Mexican resort cities on account of the upheaval.

Shortly after his initial enthusiastic post, Landau returned to X with a “PS, I’m watching the scenes of violence from Mexico with great sadness and concern.” But no matter: “We must never lose our nerve.”

The deputy secretary of state ended his “PS” with some words of encouragement in Spanish for the Mexican nation: “¡Animo Mexico!” (Cheer up, Mexico!)

But again, there is hardly room for cheer given that there is not a single example in pretty much the entire history of the world in which the killing of one cartel boss has resolved the narcotrafficking problem – or anything else, for that matter.

Recall the case of Pablo Escobar of the Medellin Cartel, killed in 1993 by Colombian police with a whole lot of help from the US Drug Enforcement Agency (DEA).

Despite Escobar’s absence, the international drug trade proceeded apace, and ensuing decades played host to spectacular levels of violence in Colombia – much of it coincidentally perpetrated by heavily US-backed state security forces.

In one particularly memorable episode, members of the Colombian army slaughtered an estimated 10,000 civilians and passed the cadavers off as left-wing “terrorists”.

To this day, Colombia remains the world’s top producer of cocaine.

In other words, to hail El Mencho’s demise as a “great development” for Mexico or anyone else is at best preposterously delusional.

On Sunday I phoned a Mexican friend in the southern state of Oaxaca, a supporter of Mexican President Claudia Sheinbaum, for our requisite argument over the day’s events. In his view, Mexico’s government had simply been “doing its job” in the “war on drugs” by eliminating El Mencho, and the US had nothing substantial to do with it.

Indeed, much like her predecessor and mentor Andres Manuel Lopez Obrador, Sheinbaum has perfected the art of doing the gringos’ dirty work while purporting to act in a “sovereign” fashion – and even to defy the imperial overlords to the north.

Granted, she does not have a whole lot of room to manoeuvre given the recent kidnapping by the US of Venezuelan head of state Nicolas Maduro – and the fact that Trump has made it known that he is beholden to no law, whether domestic or international.

But while Sheinbaum may have seen no choice but to temporarily placate the Americans and satisfy Trump’s need for blood, Mexicans will pay a heavy price.

A brief review of contemporary Mexican history confirms as much. No sooner did then-Mexican President Felipe Calderon launch his “drug war” under US guidance in 2006 than homicides and enforced disappearances skyrocketed in the country.

Well over half a million people have since been killed and disappeared, many of them victims of militarised agents of the state who often operate in cahoots with organised crime.

Nary a dent has been put in the northward flow of drugs while the southward flow of US-manufactured weapons continues unabated.

The state of Jalisco itself happens to have the highest number of enforced disappearances in all of Mexico and made headlines last year with the discovery of a clandestine crematorium on a ranch outside Guadalajara, one of the host cities of the upcoming World Cup.

The ranch was reportedly used by the CJNG as a recruitment and training centre as well as an extermination site.

And the removal of El Mencho from the equation will do precisely nothing in terms of pacifying the landscape – just as the respective extraditions to the US of Sinaloa cartel leaders Joaquin “El Chapo” Guzman and Ismael “El Mayo” Zambada merely set off an ongoing violent battle for power.

Contrary to lofty soundbites from US officials, the empire is not at all interested in getting rid of either drug trafficking or violence south of the border as both phenomena provide a perennial excuse for US interference in Mexico and beyond.

Were the gringos actually serious about ridding “Mexico, the US, Latin America, and the world” of the whole cartel problem, a decriminalisation of drugs would do much to nip the business in the bud by rendering the movement of drugs far less fantastically lucrative.

A moratorium on the US’s obsessive manufacture of weapons would also help.

Obviously, nothing so much as resembling those potential solutions is even on the horizon. If it were, that would be one hell of a “great development” indeed.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial stance.

On February 16, a group of Palestinian footballers, clubs and advocacy groups referred the heads of FIFA and UEFA to the International Criminal Court (ICC). The 120-page filing accuses Gianni Infantino and Aleksander Čeferin of “aiding and abetting war crimes (specifically, the transfer of civilian population into occupied territories) and crimes against humanity (specifically, apartheid)”.

This historic case marks the first time sports leaders are being accused of these crimes and sends a warning to presidents of all other corporate entities in and beyond athletics. It offers a perfect opportunity to challenge the impunity of Israeli apartheid, occupation and genocide.

Football is the world’s most popular form of cultural expression, with some five billion fans across the planet. Therefore, the stakes of this charge are immense in terms of the spectacle of accountability and legal precedent.

In the course of its campaign in Gaza, of genocide generally and “athleticide” particularly, Israel has killed 1,007 Palestinian sportspeople and destroyed 184 sports facilities, while damaging 81 others.

Although this “athleticide” cannot be directly attributed to the Israel Football Association (IFA), its activities linked to clubs from illegal Israeli settlements located on the occupied Palestinian territory and their participation in domestic and international tournaments can be seen as abetting Israeli crimes of occupation and apartheid.

Despite facing demands for the suspension of these clubs or the IFA, UEFA and FIFA leadership have taken no action. In a recent interview, FIFA chief Infantino said he opposed a ban on Israeli teams from participation in global football, calling it “a defeat”. He went on to add that he was in favour of enshrining in FIFA statutes that no country should ever be banned from “playing football because of the acts of their political leaders”.

Ironic, when you consider he is the very person who oversaw the suspension of Russia from FIFA in 2022 and the banning of Crimean clubs from playing in the Russian league, linked to UEFA, after the Russian occupation of the Ukrainian peninsula in 2014.

The complaint is filed against Infantino and Čeferin because private organisations cannot be defendants before the ICC, but those individuals responsible for their policies can be.

The focus of the complaint is the fact that the IFA has been permitted to materially support, recognise, and include in domestic and international competitions clubs that are based in the stolen settlement land of the occupied West Bank.

Article 64(2) of FIFA Statutes prohibits member associations and their clubs from playing on the territory of another member association without the latter’s approval.

The complaint alleges that by allowing the IFA to oversee clubs that operate on stolen land, Infantino and Čeferin are accountable for normalising illegal Israeli settlements, in direct contravention of a 2024 pronouncement by the International Court of Justice (ICJ) and a resolution from the United Nations General Assembly, which found the settlements to be “unlawful” and required Israel to “cease immediately all new settlement activities, and to evacuate all settlers from the Occupied Palestinian Territory”.

The existence of sanctioned Israeli clubs in West Bank settlements, the referral argues, contributes to the transfer of the civilian population into the occupied territory, contrary to the Rome Statute Article 8(2)(b)(viii), by normalising colonisation.

Likewise, because Israeli clubs in the occupied territory prohibit Palestinians from spectating matches or playing for or managing these teams, the continued sanction of these organisations falls under the definition of aiding and abetting apartheid (a crime against humanity pursuant to Rome Statute Article 7(1)(j).

In continuing to allow the membership of these clubs and the IFA in global and European sport, the filing alleges that Infantino and Čeferin have acted in full knowledge that they have participated in the violation of international law based on the fact that they have deliberately ignored numerous reports and letters advising them to intervene.

Now that the complaint has been formally filed, the Office of the Prosecutor of the ICC will conduct a preliminary examination to confirm that the elements of jurisdiction, admissibility, and the interests of justice have been satisfied. They will then have the option to either decline to open the investigation or proceed to investigate the legal issues raised in the complaint.

If an investigation does ensue, evidence-gathering will occur and arrest warrants or summonses may ultimately be issued. If that happens, this would set an important precedent and give momentum to the campaign for justice for Palestine.

It is notable that while Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu has been able to dodge an ICC arrest warrant by cowering away from Rome Statute signatory states, it would be impossible for Infantino and Čeferin to do so while still fulfilling their roles, assuming it is enforced.

Football is, without question, one of the most popular sports on the planet. When such a cultural juggernaut is connected to business, what emerges is an industry like no other. FIFA and UEFA are global regulatory monopolies, meaning their rules and regulations act the same way a country’s legislation acts on its population. They also preside over a huge, lucrative industry worth hundreds of millions of dollars.

Given the amount of eyeballs and money at stake, the impact of a ban on participation is enormous, as Russia understands all too well after being subjected to suspension. This is no doubt exactly why the presidents of these organisations have refused to act against Israel under the guise of “political neutrality”.

As former UN special rapporteur on the occupied Palestinian territory, Michael Lynk, told us: “When an occupying power is blatantly committing war crimes by creating civilian settlements in occupied territory, the rest of the world – including states, corporations and international sporting organisations – is required to ensure the enforcement of international law by doing everything in their power to bring the violations to a swift end. Yet, FIFA and UEFA are sportswashing the illegal Israeli occupation by allowing the Israeli Football Association to include clubs based in the illegal settlements to participate in their domestic leagues. Nothing could be further from the rules of fairness and equity.”

The bottom line is that sport is and has always been political. The veneer of “political neutrality” conceals the reality that politics is the name of the game for FIFA and UEFA.

Nobody is entitled to stand above international law. It is time for the ICC to prove it.

The views expressed in this article are the authors’ own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial stance.

The Israeli Knesset is pushing through a bill that, if passed, would allow the occupation authorities to legally execute Palestinians. This development has attracted hardly any international attention, but for Palestinians, it is yet another looming horror.

The bill is part of the deal that allowed the formation of Benjamin Netanyahu’s coalition government in late 2022. It was demanded by Itamar Ben-Gvir, now national security minister, who has led a reign of terror across the West Bank for the past three years.

In November, the bill passed its first reading, and in January, its provisions were revealed: execution carried out within 90 days of sentencing, no appeals, and death by hanging. Palestinians charged with planning attacks or killing Israelis would face the death penalty. Ben-Gvir has repeatedly called for the execution of Palestinians, most recently during his visit to Ofer Prison, where he filmed himself overseeing the abuse of detainees.

That we got to this point is hardly surprising. For decades, the international community has neglected the fate of Palestinian prisoners. In the past two and a half years, there has been almost no global reaction to the mass brutalisation of Palestinians held in Israeli jails with or without charges. Israeli efforts to legalise executions of Palestinian is the logical next step in eliminating the Palestinian question.

‘Prisoners’ or captives?

The use of the term “prisoners” to refer to Palestinians held by Israel is deceptive. It strips this cruelty of its context – the military occupation and colonisation Palestinians live under. Prisoners of war or captives are much more accurate terms. That is because Palestinians are taken away either for resisting the occupation or for no reason at all – for the sake of terrorising their families and communities.

Currently, more than a third of the Palestinians Israel is holding are under “administrative detention” – ie, they are being held without charge – and some are women and children. Palestinians are also “tried” in military courts, which are blatantly biased against the occupied population.

I, myself, was a victim of this system of oppression through unjust detention.

In November 2015, Israeli soldiers burst into my home in Ramallah and took me away.  They tortured and isolated me for weeks without even telling me what I was accused of.

Eventually, they came up with an accusation of “incitement”, for which they did not produce any evidence. They kept me under their “administrative detention”, or what is really an arbitrary arrest. The abuse continued, and during one interrogation session, an Israeli officer threatened me with rape.

They treated me like an animal without rights or legal protection. Representatives from the International Committee of the Red Cross were prevented from visiting me. I was released only after I went on a hunger strike for three months and my condition deteriorated to a dangerous level.

This happened to me 10 years ago, long before October 7, 2023. Back then, the international community was turning a blind eye to Israel’s violations of international law through administrative detention and abuse.

After October 7, the conditions in Israeli military prisons worsened, with rampant torture, starvation and medical neglect. At least 88 Palestinians have been killed in Israeli detention since then. The international community has remained silent, issuing an occasional weak condemnation.

Legalising the illegal

Israel’s brutal mistreatment of detained Palestinians is in direct violation of the Geneva Conventions, which it is a party to. By virtue of being under occupation, Palestinians are considered a protected population and have rights which the Israeli authorities have systematically denied.

Nevertheless, the international community has accepted these flagrant violations. Under the guise of anti-terrorism, the international discourse has transformed Palestinians from an occupied people to threats to Israeli and international security.

Not even the shocking images and testimonies of mass rape at Israeli detention centres managed to overturn this flawed framing.

In this context, the death penalty bill is not an extremist proposal; it fits right into the pattern of the brutalisation of Palestinian detainees.

From the perspective of the Palestinians, this bill is yet another tool of Israeli revenge. If passed, it would spread more fear and further diminish any peaceful resistance against the Israeli settlers’ violent assaults on the Palestinian people and their property.

The bill is also a nightmare for every family that has a member in an Israeli prison. They have already been pushed to the edge by the lack of information about their loved ones since a ban on visiting amid the spike in deaths in detention.

Even more horrific is the prospect that the bill may be applied retroactively. This means anyone with the charges of planning or causing the death of an Israeli could be executed.

There are currently reports in Israeli media that supposedly, the Israeli government is under pressure not to push forward with this law. There have been some suggestions to amend the text to make it more palatable. But we know that Israel will eventually get to executing Palestinians. Just as it has done with other laws, it will deceptively manoeuvre to minimise reactions but still proceed with what it wants to do.

As Israel is well on its way to bulldozing through yet another international legal norm, the most it will likely get is “calls for restraint” or “statements of condemnation”. Such weak rhetoric has enabled its onslaught against international law for the past few decades, and especially during the past two and a half years.

If the international community wants to salvage what is left of the international legal regime and save face, it is time to radically change its approach.

Instead of making weak statements about respect for international law, they must impose sanctions on Israel. Israeli officials who have been accused of committing crimes against Palestinians should not be hosted but held to account.

Only then can there be hope for the safe and peaceful return of all Palestinian prisoners – something that was already agreed upon during the Oslo Accords. And only then can there be hope that Israeli efforts to dismantle international law so it can do as it pleases in Palestine will be stopped.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial stance.

It is no longer possible to interpret the Yemeni landscape solely through the lens of politics. The developments witnessed in the southern Yemeni governorates under government control in recent months clearly indicate that security and military affairs have become the decisive factor in determining the course of power on the ground. Any governmental or political arrangements will be unsustainable unless the issue of security control and the unification of military command are resolved.

Nor can the escalating Saudi–Emirati rift between two allies who have militarily, politically and economically shaped southern Yemen in recent years be overlooked, given its direct impact on the balance of power and stability.

Over the past years, a complex security structure has taken shape across the southern governorates, comprising official units and others that emerged during the war. Some of these units are linked to state institutions, while others were established with Emirati support, such as the Southern Transitional Council’s forces, which number in the tens of thousands, or through local arrangements shaped by the circumstances of the conflict.

Although recent months have seen moves to restructure this landscape following the defeat of the Southern Transitional Council (STC), which declared its dissolution in Hadhramaut and al-Mahra on January 3, 2026, security control remains uneven from one governorate to another. Furthermore, the STC’s security and military formations have not disappeared entirely; some have been redeployed, while the fate of others remains unknown.

In Aden, the temporary capital, security agencies operate within a complex structure. Some units formerly affiliated with the STC have seen their personnel and weapons disappear, while others have been renamed or redeployed. However, longstanding networks of influence remain, and the transfer of leadership or redeployment of camps reflects attempts to rebalance power rather than a definitive resolution of the situation.

The same applies, to varying degrees, to Lahij, Abyan, Dhale, Shabwah and Hadhramaut, where the state’s ability to assert effective authority varies, as does the level of coordination between official security forces and the formations that emerged during the war.

The most sensitive issue at this stage is the integration of military and security formations into the Ministries of Defence and Interior. The state seeks to end parallel security authority, but the process faces complex challenges, including differing sources of funding for some units, varying political loyalties, fears among some commanders of losing local influence, and considerations related to the composition of these forces. As a result, integration appears gradual, relying more on redeployment and restructuring than on decisive measures that could risk triggering confrontation.

The government now based in Aden, southern Yemen, finds itself facing a delicate equation: it must impose its security authority without plunging the country into renewed internal conflict.

The transition from multiple armed groups to a state monopoly on the use of force requires political consensus, regional support and international backing. Any hasty move could reignite internal clashes, particularly given existing political and regional sensitivities, as well as fears that the Saudi–Emirati dispute could once again trigger confrontation on the ground.

For this reason, government efforts are focused first on establishing a stable security environment.

This trajectory cannot be understood without considering the regional dimension. Saudi Arabia views Yemen as a direct strategic depth for its national security and seeks the emergence of a stable state along its southern border.

The dispute between Riyadh and Abu Dhabi, particularly after Yemen requested the withdrawal of Emirati forces from its territory, has become a significant factor shaping the course of the crisis, especially amid Saudi accusations that Abu Dhabi continues to support the STC and consolidate its influence on the ground.

Yemen today is part of a broader regional landscape, intertwined with Red Sea dynamics and maritime routes, competition for influence in the Horn of Africa, and tensions stretching from Sudan to Somalia to the Gulf. For this reason, international actors — particularly the United States — are keen to keep the situation in Yemen under control, fearing that a security collapse could trigger intra-Gulf conflict, threaten international shipping, create space for a new wave of armed groups, or allow the Houthis to exploit the situation.

In the next phase, the government is likely to continue efforts to consolidate security control in Aden and other southern governorates, including Hadhramaut, which borders Saudi Arabia, while gradually integrating military units and maintaining political balances to prevent renewed conflict.

The success of these efforts will determine whether the country is moving towards gradual stability or another round of reshaping power centres. Given this reality, the central question remains: who truly possesses the ability to impose security on the ground, particularly as some actors continue to push the Southern Transitional Council towards escalation that could reignite the conflict?

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial stance.

President Donald Trump’s description earlier this month of the UK–Mauritius agreement on the sovereignty of the Chagos Islands as “an act of great stupidity”  briefly turned the world’s attention to the remote archipelago.

While most of the coverage and debate focused on the US military base on Diego Garcia island, little attention has been given to the sordid story of US and UK involvement in ongoing crimes against humanity against the islands’ Indigenous people – the Chagossians.

The Chagossians, whose island homeland is in the middle of the Indian Ocean, are largely descended from formerly enslaved East Africans. More than 60 years ago, US officials decided that the largest island, Diego Garcia, would be a suitable location for a remote military base.

The US saw the Chagossian population as a problem, as they wanted the island “clean” of inhabitants. Over the next decade, they secretly plotted with the UK – the colonial power governing Chagos – through a manufactured story based on racism and lies, to force the islanders from their home.

One US admiral, Elmo Zumwalt, said the islanders “absolutely must go”. To scare them into leaving, UK and US personnel gassed their dogs. From 1967 to 1973, the UK proceeded to force all the Chagossians – as many as 2,000 people – from all the islands, not only Diego Garcia. The US built and has now operated the Diego Garcia base for more than 50 years.

Today, the Chagossians live in exile, largely in the UK, Mauritius and the Seychelles. Many remain in poverty and have been prevented by the UK and US from returning to live in their homeland, even though generations have continued to campaign to do so. The islands, apart from the US military base, remain abandoned.

The story of US involvement in this forced displacement has been gradually uncovered, including through a congressional inquiry, the work of the academic David Vine, and the indefatigable struggle of generations of Chagossians to uncover the truth and return home. In 2023, Human Rights Watch found that the UK and US were responsible for crimes against humanity and had a duty to provide reparations – an opportunity to right their wrongs.

As a result, the US State Department for the first time acknowledged “regret” for what had happened to the Chagossians. Subsequently, the UK and Mauritius agreed in principle to a treaty to recognise Mauritian sovereignty over the islands, although the UK will maintain formal control of Diego Garcia island and the US military base will remain.

Forgotten in this settlement are the Chagossians. The treaty talks about historical wrongs, but the crimes are ongoing. The Chagossians are still prevented from returning home: Their islands – apart from the base – remain empty. Some Chagossians hope that the treaty will allow them to live on some of the islands, though this will depend on Mauritius fulfilling its obligations. The treaty itself provides no guarantee of their return and says nothing about the reparations owed to the Chagossians.

The US still appears opposed to Chagossians returning to Diego Garcia, even though the base occupies at most half the island. No Chagossian we’ve spoken to wants the base to close; instead, they would like the opportunity to work there. The US has kept a very low public profile in the negotiations – at least until President Trump’s comments – hiding behind the UK.

But the agreement’s terms make it clear that the US has been influencing the negotiations. The US “regret” for the treatment of the Chagossians has yet to translate into ensuring the Chagossians can return to Diego Garcia.

The treatment of the Chagossians is a crime in which the US has been implicated for more than 50 years, and to which Trump has inadvertently drawn attention. Having acknowledged regret, the US and UK governments should now ensure that their actions align with their obligations under international law, including working with Mauritius to enable the Chagossians to return to their homeland and providing appropriate reparations. Until that happens, the injustice remains unresolved.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial stance.

More than 457,000 European citizens have signed a petition calling for the full suspension of the European Union’s partnership agreement with Israel within the initiative’s first month.

Launched on January 13 as a formally registered European citizens’ initiative, the petition must reach 1 million signatures from at least seven EU member states by January 13 next year to trigger formal consideration by the European Commission. It is not a symbolic appeal. It is a mechanism embedded within the EU’s democratic framework, designed to translate public will into institutional review.

The speed and geographic spread of this mobilisation matter. The demand to suspend the EU-Israel Association Agreement is no longer confined to street demonstrations or activist circles. It has entered the EU’s formal democratic architecture.

The petition calls for suspension on the grounds that Israel is in breach of Article 2 of the association agreement, which conditions the partnership on respect for human rights and international law. As the initiative states, “EU citizens cannot tolerate that the EU maintains an agreement that contributes to legitimize and finance a State that commits crimes against humanity and war crimes.” The text further cites large-scale civilian killings, displacement, destruction of hospitals and medical infrastructure in Gaza, the blockade of humanitarian aid and the failure to comply with orders of the International Court of Justice.

As of Monday, the initiative had gathered 457,950 signatures, more than 45 percent of the required total in just one month. Signatories come from all 27 EU member states without exception. This is not a regional surge. It is continental.

The distribution of signatures reveals more than raw numbers. France alone accounts for 203,182 signatories, nearly 45 percent of the total. That figure reflects the country’s longstanding tradition of solidarity mobilisation, sustained mass demonstrations throughout the genocidal war on Gaza and the clear positioning of major political actors, such as La France Insoumise. France has emerged as the principal engine of this institutional push.

Spain follows with 60,087 signatures while Italy stands at 54,821, a particularly striking figure given the presence of a right-wing government that openly supports Israel. Belgium has registered 20,330 signatures from a population of roughly 12 million, reflecting high relative engagement. In the Nordic region, Finland with 12,649 signatures, Sweden with 15,267 and Denmark with 8,295 show sustained participation. Ireland has reached 11,281 signatures from a population of just over five million.

Several of these countries have already exceeded their required national thresholds under EU rules. France, Spain, Belgium, Finland, Ireland, Italy and Sweden have all surpassed the minimum number needed for their signatures to count towards the seven-member-state requirement. This is a critical development. It means the initiative is not merely accumulating volume but is also already satisfying the geographic legitimacy criteria built into the European citizens’ initiative mechanism.

The Netherlands, with 20,304 signatures, is approaching its national threshold. Poland, at 22,308 signatures, reflects engagement that extends beyond Western Europe. Even in smaller states such as Slovenia with 1,703 signatures, Luxembourg with 900 and Portugal with 4,945, participation is visible and measurable.

Germany presents a revealing contrast. Despite being the EU’s most populous member state and the site of some of the largest demonstrations against Israel’s genocidal campaign in Gaza, the petition has gathered 11,461 German signatures, only 17 percent of Germany’s national threshold of 69,120. This gap between visible street mobilisation and formal institutional participation highlights the particular political and legal environment in Germany, where pro-Palestinian expression has faced restrictions and where successive governments have maintained near-unconditional support for Israel as a matter of state policy. The relatively low percentage does not signal absence of dissent. Rather, it illustrates the structural constraints within which dissent operates. That more than 11,000 citizens have nevertheless formally registered their support indicates that institutional engagement is occurring even under conditions of political pressure.

Taken together, these patterns reveal something deeper than a petition’s momentum. Over more than two years of genocidal war, ethnic cleansing and the systematic destruction of civilian life in Gaza, solidarity across Europe has not dissipated. It has moved from protest slogans and street mobilisation into a formal democratic instrument that demands institutional response.

Petitions do not automatically change policy. The European Commission is not legally bound to suspend the association agreement even if the initiative ultimately reaches 1 million signatures. But the political implications are significant. A successful initiative would formally compel the commission to respond to a demand grounded in the EU’s own human rights clause. It would demonstrate that the call for suspension is rooted in broad and measurable public support across multiple member states.

The European Union has long presented itself as a normative power committed to international law and human rights. Article 2 of its partnership agreements is foundational. If hundreds of thousands, and potentially more than a million, European citizens insist that this principle be applied consistently, EU institutions will face a credibility test.

This petition is not merely a count of signatures. It is an index of political will. It shows that across France, Spain, Belgium, Italy, Ireland, the Nordic states and beyond, citizens are invoking the EU’s own democratic mechanisms to demand accountability.

Whether the initiative ultimately reaches 1 million, one reality is already established. The demand to suspend the EU-Israel partnership has entered Europe’s institutional bloodstream. It can no longer be dismissed as marginal rhetoric. It is embedded within the union’s formal democratic process, and that marks a significant development in Europe’s response to the genocide in Gaza.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial stance.

President Prabowo Subianto’s government said on February 10 that Indonesia is preparing to deploy up to 8,000 troops to a proposed multinational Gaza stabilisation force under Donald Trump’s so-called Board of Peace (BoP). The troop proposal forms part of Jakarta’s broader decision to participate in the BoP framework, an initiative conceived and driven by Trump. Together, these steps signal a significant shift in Indonesia’s longstanding foreign policy posture. At a time of intensifying geopolitical volatility, Jakarta appears to be committing itself to a project shaped around a single, deeply polarising political figure. The decision raises a fundamental question: is Indonesia advancing its national interests and diplomatic credibility, or allowing its foreign policy direction to be shaped by an external agenda?

Geopolitics is not a theatre for symbolic proximity to power but a disciplined calculation of national interest and sovereign credibility. Indonesia’s decision to engage with the BoP appears less like a carefully calibrated strategic choice and more like a reactive impulse that risks weakening the philosophical foundations of its diplomacy, built over decades. Indonesia’s international influence has historically rested on strategic equidistance rather than personal alignment with controversial leaders.

There is a growing sense that Jakarta risks acting out of geopolitical urgency. Yet the initiative Indonesia has chosen to support is led by a figure known for transactional diplomacy and disregard for international consensus. The implications extend well beyond Middle East peace initiatives. What is at stake is Indonesia’s reputation as an independent stabilising actor in global diplomacy.

If Indonesia proceeds with troop deployment under the BoP framework, the risks become even more acute. Gaza is not a conventional peacekeeping theatre. It is one of the most volatile and politically contested conflict environments in the world, where humanitarian imperatives and hard security objectives frequently collide. Deploying thousands of troops into such an arena without an inclusive multilateral mandate risks drawing Indonesia into a conflict environment where neutrality would be difficult to sustain.

The erosion of the ‘Free and Active’ doctrine

The most serious concern is the gradual erosion of Indonesia’s “Free and Active” foreign policy doctrine, the intellectual backbone of its diplomacy since the Djuanda Declaration and the Bandung Conference. Indonesia has historically positioned itself as a mediator rather than a follower of personalised diplomatic agendas.

By participating in an institution closely identified with Donald Trump, Jakarta risks legitimising unilateral approaches that often conflict with established international norms. “Free” diplomacy implies independence, and “active” diplomacy implies engagement driven by national priorities rather than external pressure.

Indonesia also risks being reduced to a symbolic endorsement of a United States-centred foreign policy outlook. If Jakarta drifts too far into this orbit, its leverage with other major actors, including China, Russia and ASEAN partners, could weaken. Indonesia’s leadership in Southeast Asia has depended on its credibility as a neutral stabilising force. That credibility may erode if it is seen as participating in great-power security agendas.

Indonesia’s respected record in United Nations peacekeeping has historically rested on internationally recognised neutrality under UN command structures. Participation in a BoP framework, which sits outside established multilateral systems, risks shifting Indonesia from neutral arbiter to participant in a political security architecture shaped beyond globally recognised peacekeeping norms.

More troubling is the precedent this sets. If foreign policy principles become negotiable in exchange for economic or strategic promises, Indonesia risks undermining the coherence of its diplomatic identity. Its constitutional commitment to promoting global peace and social justice depends on preserving policy independence.

The Palestine paradox

Indonesia’s participation in the BoP also creates a visible moral and constitutional tension. The Indonesian constitution explicitly rejects all forms of colonialism and emphasises international justice. Participation in an initiative led by the architect of policies historically skewed in Israel’s favour creates a contradiction that is difficult to reconcile.

Trump’s record in the region remains controversial. His decision to relocate the US embassy to Jerusalem altered decades of diplomatic consensus and drew widespread criticism across the Muslim world. For Indonesia, the world’s largest Muslim-majority nation and a consistent supporter of Palestinian statehood, association with this framework carries significant political sensitivity.

If the Board of Peace advances regional normalisation without firm guarantees of Palestinian sovereignty, Indonesia risks being linked to a process widely perceived as externally imposed. This would conflict with domestic public sentiment and weaken Indonesia’s moral leadership in forums such as the Organisation of Islamic Cooperation and the United Nations.

The troop deployment dimension deepens these concerns. The Gaza conflict landscape extends beyond Israeli and Palestinian actors to include broader regional power networks, including the so-called “Axis of Resistance”. Indonesian forces could be perceived by militant groups as extensions of Western-backed security arrangements, increasing the risk that peacekeeping troops become operational targets.

Strategic and economic trade-offs

Deploying 8,000 personnel overseas is not a marginal decision. For Indonesia, it represents a full brigade likely composed of some of its most capable units. At a time of rising tensions in the North Natuna Sea and intensifying Indo-Pacific competition, diverting elite forces to the Middle East risks diluting focus on core national defence priorities and stretching military readiness across distant theatres.

The financial dimension is equally significant. Sustaining thousands of troops in a devastated and heavily militarised enclave would require extensive logistical infrastructure. Even when operations receive international support, hidden costs often revert to national budgets. At a moment when Indonesia’s domestic economy requires stimulus and its defence sector seeks modernisation, allocating substantial resources to an expeditionary mission with uncertain strategic returns warrants serious parliamentary scrutiny.

Diplomatic engagement must deliver tangible dividends to the public, not impose new burdens on an already stretched state budget. Without clearly defined security or economic benefits, troop deployment risks appear as an expensive geopolitical gamble. Indonesia could find itself dependent on security arrangements shaped by shifting US domestic political priorities, creating commitments that may prove unreliable over time.

The absence of robust public debate surrounding this decision is equally concerning. Large-scale overseas military commitments require democratic oversight. Without transparency, foreign policy risks becoming an elite-driven exercise detached from national consensus.

Reputational risk and strategic myopia

Indonesia’s close association with an initiative so strongly linked to Donald Trump introduces long-term reputational risk. US politics remains deeply polarised. If future administrations distance themselves from Trump-era initiatives, Indonesia could face diplomatic exposure through no necessity of its own.

Foreign policy frameworks built around highly personalised leadership often prove unstable. Indonesia’s diplomatic partnerships have traditionally been grounded in multilateral institutions such as the United Nations and ASEAN, which provide durability precisely because they are not tied to individual leaders.

If the Board of Peace becomes politically contested or evolves into a coercive security instrument, Indonesia may struggle to disengage without reputational damage. Participation, therefore, concentrates diplomatic risk rather than diversifying it.

In a rapidly multipolar world, Indonesia does not require shortcuts to global influence. Its credibility has historically been built on independence, balance and principled diplomacy. The central question is whether Indonesia will preserve that tradition or compromise it in pursuit of geopolitical visibility and proximity to power. Indonesia deserves a far more independent role than that.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial stance.