The stage was grand. The symbolism, unsettling. A “Board of Peace” chaired by the President of the United States, Donald J Trump, with Pakistan—long scrutinized for its tangled history with extremist networks—occupying pride of place. And beside Trump, Pakistani Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif, his presence on the dais framed as a diplomatic victory rather than a political question mark. The optics suggested reconciliation. The subtext suggested something far more transactional. Peace, in this setting, looked less like a principle and more like a performance. At the heart of the debate lies a deceptively simple question: What exactly is the Board of Peace? Is it a formal instrument of US foreign policy, backed by institutional mandates, congressional oversight, and diplomatic protocols? Or is it a presidential initiative—shaped primarily by Trump’s personal worldview and political style, where spectacle often precedes substance? The distinction matters. In a democracy, foreign policy is meant to be institutional, not improvisational. When a global “peace” platform appears to orbit around the personality of the President rather than the architecture of the state, it risks blurring the line between national strategy and personal diplomacy. For decades, Islamabad’s global standing has been shadowed by allegations of selective counterterrorism—praised in moments as a partner, criticized in others as a permissive host to extremist groups. Its extended scrutiny by international watchdogs and its complicated relationship with militant networks have kept it under a persistent diplomatic cloud. These are not accusations from the fringes, but concerns raised across capitals and multilateral forums. Yet on this stage, Pakistan was not a defendant. It was a guest of honor. Shehbaz Sharif’s appearance alongside Trump was more than ceremonial. It was political theatre with international implications. A leader facing domestic turbulence and international skepticism found himself elevated as a stakeholder in global peace. The handshake, the seating, the shared platform—all functioned as a form of diplomatic rebranding. For critics, this is where the Board of Peace begins to resemble a geopolitical makeover rather than a moral compass.
India’s reported decision to politely decline an invitation adds a telling counterpoint. New Delhi has consistently framed peace through the lens of accountability—especially on the question of cross-border terrorism. Its diplomacy, whether in the UN, the G20, or regional forums, has emphasized that dialogue cannot substitute for demonstrable action against violent extremism. By staying away, India signalled that peace cannot be curated through optics alone. Participation, in this view, is not a box to be ticked, but a statement of principle. Trump’s presidency has been defined by an appetite for bold, highly visible gestures on the world stage—summits, declarations, and headline-making announcements. The Board of Peace fits that pattern: a high-profile platform designed to project decisiveness and deal-making prowess. If the Board is a formal US government body, its credibility will be judged by its structure, transparency, and outcomes. Who sets the agenda? Which conflicts are prioritized? What benchmarks define success? If, instead, it is primarily a presidential initiative, its longevity and legitimacy will inevitably be tied to the political fortunes of one man. For Pakistan, the platform offers a pathway to international validation at a critical juncture. For Trump, it reinforces the image of a global power broker shaping outcomes beyond traditional diplomatic channels. For the world, however, the risk is that peace becomes performative—measured in photo opportunities rather than in the dismantling of the networks, narratives, and policies that fuel conflict. The image of Shehbaz Sharif seated beside the US President may travel well across news tickers. But in regions scarred by terrorism, symbolism without substance feels hollow. It raises an uncomfortable question: can a forum that sidesteps the hardest issues truly claim the mantle of peace? Ultimately, the Board of Peace will be judged not by who sits on its dais, but by what changes beyond it. If it becomes a space for candid reckoning, accountability, and sustained action, it may yet earn its name. If it remains a carefully choreographed stage for diplomatic theatre, history will remember it as something else entirely. Peace, after all, is not announced. It is built—patiently, credibly, and often without applause.
