Editor's note: Imran Khalid, a special commentator for CGTN, is a freelance columnist on international affairs. The article reflects the author's opinions and not necessarily the views of CGTN.

In January 2026, the international community finds itself at a familiar crossroads. Following the announcement of the second phase of a U.S.-backed ceasefire plan for Gaza, U.S. President Donald Trump has unveiled the "Board of Peace" – an intergovernmental body that, on paper, seeks to transform Gaza from ruins to reconstruction.

Yet, as invitations were dispatched to approximately 60 nations and organizations, the global response has been a study in profound hesitation.

To understand the skepticism, one must look at the structural DNA of the initiative. Unlike the multilateral institutions of the post-war era, the Board of Peace is a quintessentially transactional enterprise. It is a three-tiered hierarchy that places a U.S.-led board of billionaires and political loyalists at the pinnacle, while relegating Palestinian administration to a technocratic committee tasked with municipal duties.

Most strikingly, the "charter" introduces a pay-to-play model of diplomacy: A $1 billion contribution secures a permanent seat, while others are limited to three-year terms.

The logic behind the American decision to establish this board is rooted in a deep-seated frustration with the existing international order. The White House views the United Nations and its various agencies as "bureaucratic" and often biased against U.S. and Israeli interests. By creating an independent board, ostensibly authorized by a previous UN Security Council resolution but operating outside its day-to-day oversight, the Trump administration aims to bypass traditional diplomacy in favor of a commercial trusteeship model. The goal is to apply the speed of private-sector management to nation-building.

However, this new approach has met a wall of caution. As of January 18, only a handful of ideological allies, such as Hungary and Argentina, have offered endorsements. The reason for this global reticence is twofold.

First, there is the matter of institutional erosion. Diplomats in European and Asian capitals see the board not as a supplement to the UN, but as a rival structure that threatens to dismantle the principle of sovereign equality. If peace can be bought for $1 billion, the foundational logic of international law based on consensus rather than capital begins to crumble.

Second, there is a pervasive fear of the board's expansive mandate. While the immediate focus is Gaza, the so-called charter is tellingly silent on the territory itself. Instead, it describes a global authority intended to restore dependable governance in any area threatened by conflict.

For many nations, this sounds less like a peace initiative and more like a mechanism for unilateral intervention. Even regional partners like Jordan and Türkiye, whose cooperation is essential for Gaza's stability, have remained wary, sensing that the board prioritizes external oversight over genuine Palestinian self-determination.

The ultimate question is whether this move is genuinely conducive to resolving the Gaza crisis. History shows that lasting peace requires two elements: local legitimacy and political clarity. And the Board of Peace lacks both. By framing the future of Gaza as a reconstruction project to be managed by international financiers, the plan avoids the difficult political questions of occupation, borders and statehood.

In Gaza itself, the reaction has been one of deep mistrust. Residents who have survived years of conflict see a governing structure that includes no Palestinian voices at the highest level of decision-making. For a population that has long sought a credible pathway to self-determination, a board chaired for life by a foreign leader, staffed by figures often viewed as partisans, feels more like a new form of management than a liberation from war.

The financial structure of the board further complicates the prospects for a lasting settlement. While the $53 billion required for rebuilding the strip is a staggering sum, tying governance rights to billion-dollar checks creates a dangerous precedent. It transforms the act of reconstruction from a humanitarian obligation into a corporate investment.

Concerns have already been expressed by many that this framework sidelines the UN's role in favor of a private club where the rules are written and interpreted solely by the chairman.

Furthermore, the board's timing is precarious. While a ceasefire has held since October, the second phase involves the sensitive tasks of demilitarizing groups and deploying an international stabilization force. Without a broad international consensus, these steps risk sparking renewed internal conflict. If the Board of Peace is seen primarily as an instrument of U.S. power rather than a neutral arbiter, it may find it impossible to secure the cooperation of the very people it intends to govern.

We are witnessing an attempt to redefine the nature of international relations. The Trump administration is betting that the world's desire for an end to the Gaza war will outweigh its commitment to traditional multilateralism. But peace is not merely the absence of war or the presence of new infrastructure; it is a political settlement that must be lived by those on the ground.

Until the Board of Peace can move beyond its transactional roots and address the core aspirations of local people, it is likely to remain an ambitious architectural plan for a house that no one is yet willing to inhabit.

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