Peace, by invitation only

The hurried emergence of Donald Trump’s proposed Board of Peace has laid bare a deeper crisis in global governance than its proponents may have intended. Marketed as a bold corrective to multilateral paralysis, the initiative is instead exposing the dangers of substituting institutional legitimacy with personalised authority. As invitations continue to circulate and governments weigh their responses, the controversy surrounding the Board is no longer about diplomatic etiquette. It is about the future shape of peacebuilding itself.

The Board of Peace, announced in mid-January and linked to the next phase of the Gaza post war transition, is formally described as an international mechanism to support governance, reconstruction, and security arrangements. Its initial mandate is grounded in a United Nations Security Council resolution that welcomed international support for Gaza’s administration and rebuilding. That endorsement gives the initiative a degree of legal cover for its limited purpose. It does not, however, resolve the larger concerns raised by how the Board is structured, led, and politically framed.

At the heart of the unease is the question of authority. The Board is not treaty-based, nor embedded within an existing multilateral organisation. Its convening power flows primarily from American sponsorship and from Trump’s role as its proposed chair. Draft documents and invitation letters suggest that leadership is intended to be stable rather than rotational, and decision-making authority concentrated rather than dispersed. This represents a significant departure from the norms that underpin most international peace mechanisms, where legitimacy derives from collective consent, procedural safeguards, and defined accountability.

The rapid expansion of invitations has compounded this uncertainty. Around 60 countries are reported to have been invited, including allies, regional actors, and states with sharply divergent geopolitical interests. Some, such as Morocco, Hungary, Vietnam, Kazakhstan, and Argentina, have accepted. Others, including France and several European partners, have indicated reluctance or a need for further clarification. Russia has confirmed receipt of an invitation and says it is studying the details. Israel itself appears divided, with senior officials expressing reservations about the Board’s composition and the role it might play in Gaza’s future.

These mixed responses are not merely diplomatic hesitation. They reflect unresolved questions about mandate and scope. While the Board’s initial focus is Gaza, language in some invitations refers more broadly to a “new approach to resolving global conflict”. This has fuelled concern that the initiative could evolve into a parallel forum on peace and security, potentially overlapping with or competing against established institutions such as the United Nations Security Council. For countries invested in rule-based multilateralism, that ambiguity is a red flag.

The Gaza context illustrates why these concerns matter. Post-war governance is not a technical exercise alone. Decisions about administration, security, and reconstruction are inherently political. They shape who holds power, whose interests are protected, and how grievances are addressed. Any external mechanism tasked with overseeing this process must command credibility not only among donor states but also among the affected population and key regional stakeholders. A body whose leadership is personalised and whose rules remain opaque struggles to meet that standard.

Israel’s reaction highlights this dilemma. While the government has not formally rejected the initiative, senior ministers have criticised aspects of the proposed executive arrangements and the possible involvement of certain countries. The objection is not only about specific actors but about control. For Israel, Gaza’s future is directly tied to national security. For Palestinians, legitimacy depends on whether governance arrangements are seen as transitional steps towards political agency or as externally imposed administration. The Board of Peace sits uneasily between these competing imperatives.

Financial arrangements associated with the Board add another layer of controversy. Reports indicate that permanent membership may be linked to substantial financial contributions, reportedly in the region of one billion dollars, while shorter term participation carries no such requirement. Even if funds are earmarked for reconstruction, this structure introduces a transactional logic into peace governance. Influence appears to be tiered, and authority risks becoming correlated with capacity to pay. For smaller states and conflict affected societies, this reinforces perceptions that peace is negotiated above their heads.

Supporters of the initiative argue that such pragmatism is necessary. Existing institutions, they contend, are slow, politicised, and ill equipped to manage complex post conflict transitions. There is merit in the critique. The United Nations system has struggled to adapt to shifting power balances and prolonged conflicts. Yet institutional failure does not justify abandoning institutional principles. The alternative to reform is not personalised governance but fragmentation.

The danger is precedent. If powerful states or leaders increasingly opt to create bespoke peace mechanisms outside established frameworks, global governance risks becoming a patchwork of competing initiatives. Norms weaken, predictability erodes, and smaller states are forced to navigate overlapping and sometimes contradictory processes. Peacebuilding becomes contingent on alignment with particular power centres rather than adherence to shared rules.

The personalisation of the Board of Peace intensifies this risk. International institutions are designed to outlast individuals, providing continuity across political cycles. A peace framework closely associated with one political figure, particularly one known for transactional diplomacy and public confrontation, is inherently fragile. Its credibility fluctuates with political fortunes, rhetoric, and strategic priorities. Peace cannot be sustainably anchored to personality without sacrificing institutional resilience.

The humanitarian situation in Gaza underscores both the urgency and the limits of the approach. Aid operations have expanded under the ceasefire, and worst-case famine scenarios have been partially averted. Yet the situation remains precarious, with widespread food insecurity and deep social trauma. Reconstruction requires more than funding and oversight. It requires political legitimacy, inclusive governance, and a credible pathway for self-determination. No external board can substitute for that process, however efficiently it is managed.

Beyond Gaza, the Board of Peace reflects a broader erosion of confidence in multilateralism. When reform stalls and institutions appear unresponsive, personalised power fills the vacuum. Trump’s initiative is less an aberration than a symptom of that trend. It signals a world in which authority is increasingly exercised through ad hoc arrangements rather than shared frameworks. 

Criticism of the Board of Peace is therefore not opposition to innovation. New tools, faster coordination, and more effective post conflict support are urgently needed. But innovation that concentrates power, commodifies influence, and blurs accountability risks doing more harm than good. Peace built on speed and leverage may hold briefly, but it rarely endures.

The writer is a foreign policy commentator specialising in India’s engagement with the Global South, multilateral institutions, and the shifting geopolitics of a multipolar world.