Few people realized how swiftly the Board of Peace would unite decades-long opponents when Trump took the stage in Davos to introduce it. Yet that photo of Trump flanked by Turkey’s Hakan Fidan and Saudi Arabia’s Prince Faisal bin Farhan marked a quiet but symbolic convergence.

The diplomats’ handshake lacked the formalities of signing a treaty. But it did represent a pragmatic shift—two ambitious powers entering into a new diplomatic frame. For Saudi Arabia and Turkey, this wasn’t about allegiance. It was about leverage.

The involvement of Saudi Arabia is especially strategic. Having spent years transforming its economic core through Vision 2030, the kingdom is now extending its soft-power scaffolding. By funding this board, Riyadh maintains its influence over peacebuilding without giving ground to Western institutions.

The fact that this board provides financial power a disproportionate amount of authority is no accident. Nations contributing over a billion dollars gain permanent executive seats. That phrase, surreptitiously incorporated in the charter, provides Saudi Arabia a dominant role—one won with wealth rather than consensus.

Turkey’s involvement is no less calculated. Long disgruntled with the European Union and lukewarm toward NATO, Ankara sees this as an opportunity to construct a fresh narrative—one that involves military skill, regional arbitration, and diplomatic agility. Through this board, Turkey regains prominence without diluting sovereignty.

What’s surprising is how quickly both forces have adapted to Trump’s purposefully unorthodox structure. The board is centralized, chaired by Trump, and managed through opaque subcommittees. Seats rotate but can be expanded. A small group of Gulf funders and American friends make decisions. However, neither Ankara nor Riyadh raised an objection.

since they perceive the emptiness.

With Iran struggling, Israel diplomatically isolated, and Europe distracted, there’s room for brave actors to redraw the lines. The Board of Peace is far from ideal, but it offers an exceptionally flexible mechanism—one where finance and diplomacy combine swiftly, circumventing customary obstacles.

Publicly, the board is about Gaza—about reconstructing, stabilizing, and demilitarizing the strip. But underlying the humanitarian sheen is a deeper goal. This platform enables Saudi Arabia and Turkey to shape outcomes from a distance, avoiding open confrontation while quietly recalibrating the area.

Through this arrangement, both countries achieve something very effective: influence without entanglement.

What’s particularly novel is how the board sidesteps traditional coalition dynamics. There’s no joint military command in the traditional sense, only a stability force organized through the ISF. Governance is controlled by NCAG technocrats, not state diplomats. And contributions are voluntary—structured to encourage engagement without trapping members into inflexible commitments.

It’s precisely this ambiguity that permits Saudi Arabia and Turkey to align—without binding themselves too closely.

The presence of characters like Jared Kushner and Steve Witkoff has garnered reasonable criticism, notably from NGOs leery of blurring lines between business and diplomacy. Still, neither Riyadh nor Ankara appears deterred. Their priority isn’t procedural purity—it’s strategic positioning.

Saudi Arabia’s bigger objectives are also informed by its regional rivalry. While the UAE has leaned heavily into the Abraham Accords and tech agreements with Israel, Riyadh is following a different course—assertive, richly supported, and publicly independent.

Turkey is also vying for reinstatement. Erdoğan has long oscillated between disobedience and collaboration with the U.S., but this program offers a path through which Turkey may project influence without clashing with Washington’s primary allies.

This has a feeling of propulsion.

These alignments may not be permanent, but they are timely. Both Saudi Arabia and Turkey are creating diplomatic ties that are remarkably suited to their own objectives by incorporating themselves into a U.S.-adjacent endeavor without being subservient.

On the ground, things remain unstable. Credible security and ongoing rehabilitation are more important for Gaza’s future than flashy declarations. Despite its flaws, the board provides provide a platform to start reframing talks despite its theatrical appearance.

Critically, it gives a structure that adjusts. Contributions scale. Seats rotate. Subcommittees evolve. For states like Saudi Arabia and Turkey, that flexibility is not a bug—it’s a feature.

Neither nation has committed long-term. Their involvement is constrained, their investment strategic, their tone guarded. But they are present. And their presence alone signifies a break from recent diplomatic stagnation.

In that sense, the Board of Peace is not merely a Trump-backed experiment—it’s a testing ground for regional recalibration. One where erstwhile competitors, surprisingly and perhaps momentarily, find reason to sit at the same table.

For now, that’s enough to modify the script.

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