Geostrategic Media Political Commentary, Analysis, Security, Defense
Italy’s decision to decline participation in U.S. President Donald Trump’s proposed “Board of Peace” is more than a procedural refusal. It is a revealing moment in the evolving relationship between Europe and an increasingly personalized American foreign policy.
According to reporting by Corriere della Sera, Rome’s objections are rooted in constitutional law. Italy’s constitution permits participation in international organisations only on the basis of equality among states. A body chaired for life by a single individual — especially one requiring a $1 billion fee for permanent membership — sits uncomfortably with that principle. But behind the legal reasoning lies a deeper strategic discomfort.
The proposed Board of Peace, initially framed as a mechanism to address the Gaza conflict before expanding to other global crises, reflects a familiar Trump-era instinct: bypass slow, consensus-driven institutions in favor of centralized, leader-driven mechanisms. For parts of the international system, particularly states frustrated with the paralysis of the United Nations, such an approach may appear attractive. For Europe, it sets off alarm bells.
Italian Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni’s position is especially telling. Meloni has cultivated one of the warmer relationships with Trump among European leaders, often aligning rhetorically with his emphasis on sovereignty and national interest. Yet even this political affinity has clear limits. Reports suggest she is unlikely to attend the Davos ceremony marking the board’s launch — a symbolic absence that underscores Rome’s unease.
The concerns are not merely symbolic. A fee-based structure that allows wealthier states privileged, permanent access risks transforming conflict mediation into an exclusive club rather than a legitimate international forum. For Italy, this raises fundamental questions of fairness, accountability, and influence. Who sets the agenda? Who arbitrates disputes? And on what legal authority does such a body operate?
Italy’s refusal also highlights a growing divergence within the Western alliance. Countries such as Hungary and Israel reportedly accepted invitations with few reservations, reflecting a more transactional or politically aligned view of the initiative. Italy, by contrast, has chosen to anchor its rejection in constitutional and multilateral principles, signaling that even close U.S. partners are unwilling to subordinate established norms to ad hoc leadership structures.
At a strategic level, Rome’s decision speaks to broader European skepticism toward unilateral or personality-driven diplomacy. The fear is not only that such initiatives could undermine the United Nations, but that they could fragment the very idea of a rules-based international order — replacing shared procedures with loyalty to a chair, a sponsor, or a benefactor.
This episode also illustrates the limits of Trump’s ability to rally Western allies around personalized foreign policy projects. While his influence remains significant, especially among governments ideologically aligned with him, Europe’s legal frameworks and institutional culture impose real constraints. National constitutions, parliamentary oversight, and EU coordination mechanisms are not easily bent to fit bespoke global ventures.
Ultimately, Italy’s stance is less about rejecting peace initiatives and more about defending how peace is pursued. By invoking constitutional equality and multilateral legitimacy, Rome is making a quiet but firm argument: sustainable diplomacy cannot rest on hierarchy, exclusivity, or personal authority alone.
In doing so, Italy has exposed a widening fault line within the West — between those willing to experiment with power-centered global governance and those still committed, however imperfectly, to rules, institutions, and shared decision-making. The future of Western cohesion may depend on which vision prevails.
