Donald Trump is no longer positioning himself merely as a mediator in the traditional diplomatic mold. Instead, the US president has effectively appointed himself chief restructuring officer of what he describes as a “systemically bankrupt” entity: the Gaza Strip.
Through the establishment of the Board of Peace, which convened its inaugural summit on February 19, 2026, Trump has shifted the paradigm of peacemaking from diplomatic negotiating tables to the boardroom. Gaza is no longer treated primarily as a political entity aspiring to sovereignty but as a distressed strategic asset undergoing international restructuring.
This initiative bears all the hallmarks of Trump’s governing style: transactional, skeptical of legacy multilateral institutions and focused on visible, measurable outcomes. As “chairman for life” of the Board, he wields decisive influence over more than US$5 billion in pledged reconstruction funds from donor states.
Yet beyond the headline figures and glossy promises of a “New Gaza,” modeled loosely on Dubai’s skyline, lies a deeper strategic ambition. The Board of Peace is not solely about Gaza; it represents a deliberate attempt to marginalize the United Nations and supplant it with a coalition of selectively admitted states willing to pay for influence.
For decades, the Israeli–Palestinian conflict has been mediated through familiar frameworks: Security Council resolutions, General Assembly debates and the labyrinthine diplomacy of the Quartet. Trump’s model discards much of that architecture.
Instead, the Board of Peace operates on a “pay-to-play” logic. Participation is conditional on capital contribution—either financial pledges or troop deployments to the newly formed International Stabilization Force (ISF). Influence correlates directly with investment.
This approach has divided the international community. Some states view the Board as a pragmatic solution to decades of diplomatic paralysis. Others see it as a bypassing of international law and an erosion of sovereign equality enshrined in the UN Charter.
Trump’s critics argue that this model reduces a complex historical conflict to a redevelopment project. Supporters counter that traditional diplomacy has failed to deliver tangible improvements in living conditions for Gaza’s two million residents.
The participation of Indonesian President Prabowo Subianto has provided the Board with crucial political legitimacy. Indonesia, the world’s largest Muslim-majority country, carries symbolic weight in any initiative concerning Palestinian territories.
Jakarta’s calculus is pragmatic. By committing 8,000 peacekeeping personnel to the ISF, Indonesia not only strengthens its profile as a responsible global actor but also acquires leverage in sensitive trade negotiations with Washington. Reciprocal tariff arrangements easing access for Indonesian exports such as palm oil and rubber to US markets are widely seen as part of the diplomatic equation.
Yet Indonesia’s involvement—alongside dozens of other countries—signals something broader: a growing acceptance of what analysts describe as “privatized sovereignty.” In this model, economic stabilization is offered as compensation for diminished political autonomy.
Under the Board of Peace framework, the Gaza Strip has effectively ceded what remained of its autonomous governance to external management. The creation of a National Committee for the Administration of Gaza (NCAG), staffed by Palestinian technocrats, provides the appearance of local participation.
In practice, however, the NCAG functions as a managerial layer reporting upward to decision-makers in Washington and the Board’s executive council. True authority rests with those who control reconstruction budgets and command the ISF.
Trump approaches Gaza much as he would a distressed property within a corporate portfolio. The territory is to be stabilized, rebranded and redeveloped. Infrastructure projects—ports, desalination plants, high-rise housing complexes—are prioritized over political negotiations.
This governance model sidelines the principle of self-determination and substitutes it with economic management. The underlying assumption is starkly straightforward: provide employment, modern housing and world-class infrastructure, and ideological resistance will dissipate.
Prosperity, in this vision, purchases peace.
One of the clearest signals of this new order is the sidelining of agencies long embedded in the conflict’s humanitarian framework. The United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees in the Near East has been marginalized on the grounds that it perpetuates dependency and bureaucratic inertia.
Aid flows increasingly through private contractors and market-based mechanisms. Each dollar allocated to Gaza must demonstrate a measurable return in political stability and economic productivity. Advanced surveillance systems and digital identification platforms, financed by Board contributors, have tightened oversight across the enclave.
Critics describe the result as a gilded enclosure: secure, modernized and closely monitored. Supporters argue that stringent oversight is necessary to prevent funds from being diverted to militant groups.
The philosophical divide is profound. Is stability achieved through development a substitute for political resolution? Or does it risk institutionalizing a form of managed disenfranchisement?
From a broader geopolitical perspective, Gaza under Trump’s stewardship functions as a laboratory for what some analysts call “Pax Silica”—an emerging order driven less by ideological blocs than by technological supply chains and capital flows.
Peace, in this model, is secured not through protracted resolutions at the UN General Assembly but through infrastructure contracts, special economic zones and tightly controlled security architectures. Gaza is being administratively “acquired,” cleared of ideological debris and prepared for transformation into a US-supervised economic hub.
Membership in the Board of Peace offers participating states privileged access to US-centered semiconductor supply chains and emerging digital trade corridors. In this ecosystem, economic interdependence replaces ideological alignment as the organizing principle of international relations.
European allies face their own quandaries. Governments in Paris and Berlin must balance allegiance to established international legal norms with the pragmatic reality that access to lucrative reconstruction projects will increasingly flow through Trump’s structure.
The Board operates as a parallel diplomatic channel, compelling states to choose between participating in a high-value post-conflict rebuilding enterprise and adhering to a multilateral system with diminishing operational reach.
For European policymakers, the risk lies in normalizing a precedent in which sovereignty becomes conditional—subject to forfeiture if local authorities are deemed incapable of maintaining stability conducive to global markets.
In Trump’s worldview, sovereignty is not sacrosanct; it is transactional. If local actors cannot halt conflict, managerial control transfers to those with capital and military capacity to impose order.
This recalibration of sovereignty has global implications. Should the Gaza experiment be perceived as successful, similar models could be proposed for other fragile regions. Quasi-corporate governance structures, operating under the banner of peacebuilding, may proliferate.
The principle of sovereign equality—cornerstone of the post-1945 order—would gradually yield to performance-based legitimacy. Political authority would hinge less on historical rights and more on measurable outputs: GDP growth, security indices and foreign direct investment flows.
The Security–Prosperity Bargain
Trump’s wager rests on a central proposition: sustained prosperity will dilute nationalist fervor in Gaza. Economic integration into global markets will reorient aspirations from statehood to stability.
Yet history offers cautionary tales. Political aspirations deferred are rarely extinguished. Infrastructure and employment may alleviate hardship, but they do not necessarily resolve grievances rooted in identity and dispossession.
If prosperity fails to satisfy demands for political agency, the Board of Peace may amount to a sophisticated crisis-management mechanism—effective so long as funds flow and US political leadership remains committed.
A change in administration in Washington or a contraction in financial support could expose underlying tensions that infrastructure alone cannot resolve.
The Board’s emergence has deepened fissures within the international system. On one side stand states prepared to align with Trump’s architecture in exchange for tangible economic benefits. On the other remain those committed to normative frameworks of international law.
For developing nations, the implications are particularly stark. Financial and military leverage, managed with corporate efficiency, can override moral arguments advanced in global forums.
The Board of Peace embodies a shift from deliberative diplomacy toward executive-style decision-making backed by capital. Influence accrues not to those with persuasive speeches but to those underwriting reconstruction budgets.
Viewed through a managerial lens, diplomacy becomes indistinguishable from deal-making. For Trump, the Israeli–Palestinian conflict resembles a protracted land dispute requiring decisive redevelopment.
The proposed “Gaza Riviera”—a Mediterranean commercial corridor anchored by tourism, logistics and technology parks—captures this ethos. Success will be measured in occupancy rates, export figures and investor confidence rather than in the language of historical justice.
This is real estate diplomacy on a global scale.
The long-term risks are substantial. When sovereignty is exchanged for economic guarantees, political legitimacy may erode. The appearance of local participation through technocratic committees cannot fully substitute for democratic accountability.
Should Gaza evolve into a thriving Mediterranean hub under this governance model, Trump will claim validation for a corporate approach to geopolitics. It would mark a profound recalibration of international norms.
If, however, instability persists beneath the veneer of prosperity, “Gaza Incorporated” may be remembered as one of the most audacious—and potentially costly—restructuring ventures in modern geopolitical history.
At stake is not only the future of a narrow strip of land along the Mediterranean coast. The deeper question is whether sovereignty in the 21st century remains an inviolable political principle or whether it is becoming a conditional asset—subject to acquisition, restructuring and performance metrics set by those who command capital and force.
Gaza is merely the first test case.
The outcome of this experiment will resonate far beyond its borders, shaping debates about the future of peacebuilding, the relevance of multilateral institutions and the balance between economic pragmatism and political rights.
In the boardroom logic of the Board of Peace, conflict is a liability to be managed, territories are assets to be optimized and diplomacy is a transaction to be closed.
Whether this corporate doctrine can deliver durable peace—or whether it will deepen the very fissures it seeks to contain—remains one of the defining geopolitical questions of our time.
