When Occupation Is a Crime — Except When It Isn’t

In the run-up to the Trump–Putin summit in Alaska, Washington has signalled that peace in Ukraine might require “land-swapping” — in other words, Ukraine ceding some of its territory to Russia. European leaders reacted instantly and decisively: independence, sovereignty, and territorial integrity must not be changed by force. Anything else, they warned, would set a dangerous precedent.

 

The principle sounds noble. It echoes the UN Charter, the Helsinki Final Act, and decades of post-war agreements meant to prevent stronger powers from redrawing maps at gunpoint.

 

But apply the same logic to another occupation — Gaza and the wider Palestinian territories — and the moral certainty dissolves almost instantly.

 

For a moment, let’s swap the actors. Imagine Russia is “Hamas” and Ukraine is “Israel.” Russia launches a violent incursion and seizes territory, citing security needs and historic rights. The world condemns the act, but the U.S. says: For peace, let’s give Russia some of that land permanently.

 

Now reverse back to reality. Israel occupies Palestinian land — in Gaza’s case, controlling borders, airspace, and movement, while steadily expanding settlements in the West Bank in direct violation of international law. By the very standards applied to Russia, this is a textbook case of territory held by force. And yet the U.S. position is not “Israel must withdraw unconditionally.” Instead, Palestinian statehood is made conditional: on Palestinian behaviour, on Israeli security guarantees, and — most significantly — on Israeli consent.

 

In the Palestinian case, the “land for peace” formula is inverted: the occupied, not the occupier, are the ones expected to concede.

 

Strip away the names and flags, and the scenarios are structurally identical — a powerful state holding territory in violation of international law. The difference lies not in the facts, but in the identity of the occupier and the loyalties of the superpowers.

 

This inconsistency isn’t just hypocrisy — it’s corrosive to the very system the West claims to defend. When Washington and Brussels insist that Russia cannot profit from aggression but turn a blind eye to Israel doing so, they broadcast a clear message: international law is not universal, it is selective.

 

For much of the Global South, this is not a new revelation. It is a confirmation of long-held suspicion that the “rules-based international order” is in fact a power-based international order, where rules bind adversaries but spare allies. That perception erodes Western credibility, making it harder to build global consensus against aggression elsewhere.

 

It’s clear European interests lie firmly with Ukraine — a buffer state, an energy corridor, and a test case for continental security. Hence Europe’s vocal opposition to any territorial concessions in the Trump–Putin talks.

 

American interests, however, are not identical. Washington’s strategic priority is to contain Europe as much as Russia, and if leveraging Moscow can serve that end, it is a tool worth using. The real fault line emerges when Anglo–American interests diverge: one side will suddenly rediscover the sanctity of international law, sovereignty, and borders. When they align, however, the mass killing of men, women, and children — whether in Gaza, Jenin, or Rafah — somehow does not rise to the level of a legal or moral crisis.

 

Trump’s willingness to trade land for peace with Putin alarms European leaders because it risks legitimising conquest. But the greater damage is that the West’s moral high ground was already compromised — in Palestine. If territorial integrity is truly a global principle, it must apply everywhere, regardless of which flag flies over the aggressor’s tanks.

 

Until then, the “rules-based order” will remain exactly what it is today: a set of rules for some, and privileges for others.