When U.S. President Donald Trump introduced the “Board of Peace,” it was presented not merely as a response to the war in Gaza, but as the foundation of a broader international mechanism for managing conflict and reconstruction across the world. Official charter documents describe a dual mandate: an immediate role in stabilizing Gaza through humanitarian coordination, institutional rebuilding, and transitional security oversight, and a longer-term ambition to evolve into a standing platform capable of engaging future post-conflict environments beyond the Middle East. This framing, reinforced by policy statements and diplomatic briefings, has placed the board at the center of a debate that extends far beyond one devastated territory.
The legal and institutional anchor for the board’s Gaza mission is a United Nations Security Council resolution adopted in November, which welcomed the initiative as a transitional administration through 2027. That resolution authorized the deployment of a temporary International Stabilization Force, required regular reporting to the Council, and framed the board’s role as preparatory to the return of authority to a reformed Palestinian administration. Yet the board’s own charter language leaves open the possibility of expansion into other conflicts, effectively positioning Gaza as the first test case for a wider experiment in global peace governance.
The structure of the board reflects this ambition. The U.S. president serves as the inaugural chair, supported by a founding Executive Board and a professional secretariat responsible for policy coordination and field operations. Membership is divided into two categories. Ordinary members are appointed for renewable three-year terms and are expected to contribute diplomatic, technical, and administrative expertise to the board’s active missions. Permanent members, by contrast, secure an open-ended seat by making a substantial financial contribution—reported as up to one billion dollars—to support the institution’s long-term activities. In return, they gain a role in shaping leadership selection, budget priorities, procedural rules, and decisions about whether and where the board will operate in the future.
Supporters of this design argue that it addresses a chronic weakness in international peace efforts: the lack of predictable funding and sustained political attention. Large, upfront contributions are intended to guarantee the continuity of a professional secretariat, enable rapid deployment in emerging crises, and reduce reliance on voluntary pledges that can be delayed or withdrawn as domestic politics shift. Permanent members, having invested heavily, are expected to remain engaged over the long term, providing oversight and strategic direction.
Critics, however, see a fundamental problem in tying influence to financial capacity. From a justice-based perspective, peace is not a commodity to be purchased. The most meaningful contributions, they argue, come in the form of political risk, diplomatic labor, and technical expertise, not just capital. Governments that mediate between hostile parties, deploy engineers and administrators to fragile environments, or absorb domestic backlash for controversial peace initiatives bear costs that are not measured in dollars. To ask them to pay for the privilege of participation appears to invert the moral logic of postwar reconstruction.
An alternative vision has emerged in response: a global reconstruction fund that separates financial contributions from governance. Under this model, governments, development banks, private institutions, and civil society would contribute according to their capacity, while decision-making would be based on expertise, neutrality, and regional legitimacy rather than financial thresholds. Advocates argue that this approach broadens the funding base, enhances moral authority, and reduces perceptions of exclusivity. The trade-off is predictability. Voluntary funds are vulnerable to donor fatigue and political conditions, and without guaranteed capital, reconstruction efforts can stall and accountability can become diffuse.
Participation in the board has been broad but uneven. Official briefings indicate that roughly 35 of the approximately 50 invited governments have committed so far. The list includes Middle Eastern states such as Israel, Saudi Arabia, the United Arab Emirates, Bahrain, Jordan, Qatar, and Egypt; NATO members Turkey and Hungary; and countries across multiple regions, including Morocco, Pakistan, Indonesia, Kosovo, Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan, Paraguay, Vietnam, Armenia, and Azerbaijan. Belarus’s acceptance has drawn particular attention, given its strained relations with Western governments and its political alignment with Moscow.
Several close U.S. allies have declined or hesitated. Norway and Sweden have refused. France has indicated it will not participate, citing constitutional and institutional concerns. Canada has agreed in principle but is seeking clarification. Britain, Germany, and Japan have not taken definitive public positions. Ukraine has acknowledged the invitation while expressing unease about sharing a forum with Russia. Russia and China, both permanent members of the UN Security Council, have not committed, reflecting caution toward initiatives that could be seen as diluting the UN’s central role in global conflict resolution.
For the states that have joined, participation carries implications at home and abroad. In Israel, the prospect of a multilateral board shaping Gaza’s transition and potentially influencing security arrangements has sparked intense political debate. Some lawmakers and coalition partners view external oversight as a constraint on Israel’s freedom of action, particularly on sensitive issues such as border control and any future discussion of disarming Hamas. Others see international involvement as a way to share responsibility for Gaza’s future rather than leaving Israel isolated with the burden of governance and reconstruction.
In Iran, the board is widely interpreted through the lens of strategic rivalry with Washington. Political figures and media outlets have portrayed it as an extension of U.S. influence rather than a neutral peace mechanism, warning that participation by regional states could be read as endorsement of an American-led security architecture. This perception matters for governments in the Gulf and beyond that must balance relations with both Washington and Tehran.
One of the most sensitive issues surrounding the board’s Gaza mandate is the question of disarmament, particularly with regard to Hamas. Official frameworks emphasize stabilization and the return of governance to a reformed Palestinian authority, but they are less explicit about how armed groups would be neutralized. The reality that even the combined military and intelligence capabilities of the United States and Israel have not eliminated Hamas’s operational capacity has fueled skepticism that a multilateral board, however well-funded, could succeed where sustained kinetic campaigns have not. For member states, association with any enforcement or inspection role carries the risk of domestic backlash and regional pressure.
All of this unfolds against the backdrop of a multipolar international system. China’s emphasis on non-interference and development-led stability, the European Union’s focus on legal norms and humanitarian standards, the Global South’s sensitivity to perceived Western dominance, and the United States’ strategic framing of diplomacy shape how the board is perceived. An institution seen as aligned with a single worldview risks becoming a coalition forum rather than a neutral mediator. States that feel excluded or marginalized can respond by strengthening parallel mechanisms, from regional organizations to alternative development banks, producing a fragmented peace architecture rather than a unified one.
Formally, the Board of Peace does not replace the United Nations. It lacks treaty-based authority to issue binding resolutions or to authorize force beyond what the Security Council permits. Its influence is practical rather than juridical, flowing from its ability to coordinate funds, support transitional administrations, and shape policy frameworks through diplomacy and expertise. Yet practical influence can shift the balance of global governance if major donors and diplomatic energy flow through a selective forum rather than the UN’s universal framework. The tension is between efficiency and legitimacy, between the speed of smaller, well-funded bodies and the broad acceptance conferred by universal institutions.
Whether the board will collapse or endure is likely to depend on how it navigates this tension. Without sustained participation from all major power centers, it may find its role narrowed to technical coordination and reconstruction rather than political settlement in the world’s most contentious conflicts. A hybrid approach, pairing a transparent, multi-donor reconstruction fund with a rotating and inclusive governance structure while recognizing major contributors without granting permanent political control, offers a possible path toward balance.
The Board of Peace now stands as a test of how global governance adapts to a changing balance of power. Its legacy will not be measured only by what it achieves in Gaza, but by whether it can persuade a divided world that peace can be pursued with both effectiveness and legitimacy, rooted in cooperation rather than ownership, and in shared authority rather than exclusive influence.
