On 11 March 2026 two statements emerged from the international system that together reveal more about contemporary diplomacy than any solemn lecture on international law. First, the United Nations Security Council adopted a resolution condemning Iran for missile and drone attacks across the Gulf and for actions affecting navigation in the Strait of Hormuz. On that same day, several Muslim-majority states issued a strongly worded statement condemning Israel for restricting access to Masjid al-Aqsa, one of Islam’s most sacred sites.

Placed side by side, the two responses expose the striking inconsistency and absence of principle that now characterise much of contemporary international diplomacy. In the Security Council chamber, there were votes, urgency and a binding resolution. On the question of al-Aqsa, there was a communiqués, indignation and a carefully phrased symbolic statement. One episode produced institutional action without legal consistency. The other produced rhetorical outrage aimed at domestic Muslim audiences while ensuring that no consequential institutional action that would challenge the US would follow. Between them lies a revealing portrait of the contemporary international order and the condition of Gulf monarchies tethered to the American security umbrella.

The Security Council resolution demands that Iran immediately halt its attacks on Gulf states and emphasises the sovereignty and territorial integrity of the affected countries. The language is stern and the condemnation unequivocal.

Thirteen members voted in favour while Russia and China abstained. The difficulty with the resolution, however, is not what it says about Iran. The difficulty is what it declines to say about how the crisis began.

Thirteen members voted in favour while Russia and China abstained. The difficulty with the resolution, however, is not what it says about Iran. The difficulty is what it declines to say about how the crisis began.

The chronology is straightforward. The present confrontation did not begin with Iranian missiles. It began when the United States and Israel illegally launched a large-scale military strike inside Iranian territory. The use of force came first from Washington and Tel Aviv. Iran’s attacks across the region came later as self-defence. 

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International law, at least in theory, begins with that simple sequence. Article 2(4) of the United Nations Charter prohibits the use of force against the territorial integrity or political independence of another state. Only two exceptions exist: self-defence after an armed attack or explicit authorisation from the Security Council. Neither condition existed here. There was no Council mandate for the strikes and no imminent Iranian attack that could plausibly satisfy the strict threshold required for self-defence. By the Charter’s own standards, the initial bombardment was unlawful. Iran responded militarily, striking targets associated with American and Israeli operations across the region. The Security Council has now condemned those retaliatory attacks while remaining conspicuously silent about the initiating act of force that triggered the crisis. In effect, the resolution condemns the response while politely overlooking the dog that started the fight.

The explanation lies less in law than in power.

The Security Council is not a tribunal of detached jurists applying law with clinical precision. It is a political arena dominated by five permanent members armed with veto power. Any resolution explicitly condemning the illegality of the actions of the United States and Israel would be stillborn.

The Security Council is not a tribunal of detached jurists applying law with clinical precision. It is a political arena dominated by five permanent members armed with veto power. Any resolution explicitly condemning the illegality of the actions of the United States and Israel would be stillborn.

The documents that emerge from such a system are therefore written with diplomatic care, condemning what is politically convenient while omitting what power will not permit to be said. What results is not the impartial application of international law but the careful choreography of alliances.

The behaviour of the European states deserves particular scrutiny. European governments often portray themselves as the custodians of the “rules-based international order.” When Russia invaded Ukraine, European leaders invoked sovereignty, territorial integrity and the prohibition on the use of force with admirable clarity. Yet when violations involve allies rather than adversaries, the vocabulary becomes noticeably softer. United States and Israeli aggression becomes escalation. Illegality becomes complexity. Responsibility dissolves into appeals for restraint from all sides. Principles remain eloquent in defence of allies but negotiable for perceived adversaries.

Recent European diplomacy illustrates the selectivity of this legal indignation. When Donald Trump suggested that the United States might take control of Greenland, European leaders responded with striking clarity and unity. Governments across Europe emphatically defended Denmark’s sovereignty and territorial integrity, insisting that the future of Greenland could not be determined by external pressure or strategic ambition. In that instance, the language of international law was immediate, principled and unambiguous.

Make no mistake: Iran is the victim of an illegal armed attack. Yet among European states the clarity of international law has a curious tendency to evaporate when the violator is not a rival but an ally. The pattern is familiar. It appeared during the invasion of Iraq in 2003, resurfaced during NATO’s bombing campaigns in the Balkans, and now returns in the present crisis. Europe’s self-appointed guardians of the rules-based order increasingly resemble not custodians of law but curators of alliance discipline.

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The authoritarian Gulf states occupy a different but equally revealing position. With the possible exception of Saudi Arabia, the other Gulf monarchies likely viewed the initial strike on Iran with considerable unease. Their prosperity rests on stability, energy exports and the uninterrupted flow of shipping through the Strait of Hormuz. A regional war threatens the economic arteries that sustain their wealth. Once the strikes began, those anxieties quickly materialised as Iran targeted American installations and infrastructure across the Gulf. Yet preference is often subordinate to structure. These despotic regimes are deeply embedded in the American security architecture. United States bases, intelligence cooperation and defence guarantees form the backbone of their security. At the same time, with the notable exception of Qatar, many are increasingly integrated into a broader Israeli-American regional security framework. Such strategic entanglement inevitably constrains diplomatic independence. Even governments that privately feared escalation remain structurally bound to the coalition that initiated it. That the resolution condemning Iran was introduced by Bahrain on behalf of the Gulf Cooperation Council is therefore no surprise. In the Gulf, security dependence on the United States and rivalry with Iran shape diplomacy far more than any rhetorical claims of Muslim solidarity.

Now return to the second event of that same day. Several Muslim-majority states issued a statement condemning Israel’s restrictions on access to Masjid al-Aqsa. The language was forceful and emotional. Yet none of these governments introduced a resolution before the Security Council addressing the issue. The reason requires little imagination. Such a resolution would almost certainly face an American veto and would require a diplomatic confrontation with Washington. Issuing a communiqué, by contrast, is symbolic. It costs nothing and risks even less.

The contrast is unmistakable. When the matter concerns Iran, governments move swiftly through the machinery of the Security Council. When the matter concerns al-Aqsa, a site at the spiritual heart of the Muslim world, diplomacy retreats into the comfortable theatre of statements and declarations. Words travel easily. Action seldom leaves the room.

The contrast is unmistakable. When the matter concerns Iran, governments move swiftly through the machinery of the Security Council. When the matter concerns al-Aqsa, a site at the spiritual heart of the Muslim world, diplomacy retreats into the comfortable theatre of statements and declarations. Words travel easily. Action seldom leaves the room.

The episode, therefore, reveals two uncomfortable truths about the modern international system. The first is that the rules-based order invoked so frequently by Western governments is less a universal legal principle than a geopolitical instrument deployed enthusiastically against adversaries and applied with remarkable flexibility toward allies. The second is that many Muslim governments prefer the safety of rhetorical outrage to the risks of institutional action when those risks involve confronting the power structure on which their own security depends.

The result is a curious equilibrium of convenience. Europe speaks the language of law when it is safe to do so. Many Muslim governments speak the language of outrage when it costs nothing to speak it. Between selective legality and ornamental indignation, the machinery of international accountability is lacking.

International law survives in speeches, communiqués and resolutions. In practice it is often subordinated to the oldest principle in international politics: power decides which violations are condemned, which are ignored and which are politely forgotten.

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