Trump, Hegseth and the Language of War Crimes

Binoy Kampmark

 April 10, 2026

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Photograph Source: Official White House Photo by Molly Riley – Public Domain

He’s out of ideas, a mind running on empty.  Increasingly, he is also short of reason, zapped by geopolitical addling and meddling.  Now that US President Donald J. Trump has reached an uneasy understanding with Teheran that a two-week ceasefire should apply to the warring parties (Israel, as usual, has its own elastic interpretation as it continues attacking Lebanon), it is worth considering the warring language he has been using since February 28.  Of note is the shrill wording of various ultimata he has directed at Iran.

On April 7, the President seemed to flirt with the notion of genocide in promising that “A whole civilization will die tonight, never to be brought back.  I don’t want that to happen, but it probably will.”  With biblical promise, he was certain that “one of the most important moments in the long and complex history of the World” was about to befall humanity.  “47 years of extortion, corruption, and death, will finally end.”

On Easter Sunday, another message was posted bellowing that “Tuesday will be Power Plant Day, and Bridge Day, all wrapped up in one, in Iran.  There will be nothing like it!!!”  Strong language followed. “Open the Fuckin’ Strait, you crazy bastards,” he railed in making reference to Iran’s restrictive hold on the Strait of Hormuz, “or you’ll be living in Hell – JUST WATCH!”  Showing a mind turned to slurry, America’s commander-in-chief then praised Allah.

A few days prior, the President issued another threatening note to his adversaries.  “If there is no deal, we are going to hit each and every one of their electric generating plants, very hard and probably simultaneously.”  This came after strained suggestions that Iran’s new leadership was seeking a ceasefire but could expect nothing without the reopening of the Strait of Hormuz.  “Until then, we are blasting Iran into oblivion, or, as they say, back to the Stone Ages!!!”

No degree of lexical polishing, ducking and adjustment escapes the central tenet of such words.  They show a lack of discrimination, a lack of proportion, and can only amount to war crimes, either in terms of promised or ongoing operations.  Article 52 of the Geneva Convention Additional Protocol I, for instance, makes it abundantly clear that attacks shall only “be limited strictly to military objectives”.  Targeted objects shall only be those that “make an effective contribution to military action and whose total or partial destruction, capture, or neutralization, in the circumstances ruling at the time, offers a definite military advantage.”  Article 57 affirms that “constant care shall be taken to spare the civilian population, civilians and civilian objects.”  A number of precautionary steps to ensure that aim are enumerated, including, for instance, verifying “that the objectives to be attacked are neither civilians nor civilian objects”.

In a measured assessment of Trump’s spray of promised annihilation published in Just Security, Margaret Donovan and Rachel VanLandingham, both former uniformed military lawyers, also consider the grave effects of such statements on serving personnel.  “[W]e know the president’s words run counter to decades of legal training of military personnel and risk placing our warfighters [sic] on a path of no return.”  Such rhetoric did not merely “undermine US legitimacy and global standing” but posed “a significant risk of moral and psychic injury for servicemembers.”  They further imperilled soldiers by placing them at risk of future prosecutions for war crimes that would not fall within the statute of limitations.

To Trump’s chilling language can also be added various sinister remarks from Secretary of Defense (or War, as he prefers) Pete Hegseth, who has soiled the conventions of international humanitarian law by expressly declaring that “no quarter, no mercy for our enemies” will be shown.  That’s the Lieber Code, the Hague Conventions, and the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court out the door, perhaps unsurprising from a man who had claimed that US forces should pursue “maximum lethality, not tepid legality.”

Far from being unbecoming aberrations, these comments from Trump and Hegseth are not out of character in the history of American warfare. The no-quarter logic was habitually demonstrated during the Civil War, notably when it came to killing captured Black American soldiers.  Historian George S. Burkhardt goes as far as to suggest that an unofficial policy existed among the Confederates that they could execute Black American soldiers and their white officers captured in combat fighting for the Union.  This pattern of no prisoners and no quarter would again assert itself in such theatres of conflict as the Philippines, when, in September 1901, Brigadier General Jacob H. Smith demandedof Major Littleton Waller that no prisoners were to be taken in the aftermath of a surprise attack on the island of Samar which left 54 American soldiers dead.  “I wish you to kill and burn,” he growled, insisting that the island of Samar be turned into a “howling wilderness”.  Ditto the ferocious combat shown in the Pacific during the Second World War, when merciless no-quarterism was manifest as US forces made their way towards Japan.

Having noted all three examples, Ali Sanaei of the University of Chicago observes that such instances are not only unlawful but diagnostic.  “It appears when war is not imagined as reciprocal combat but as punitive domination over populations thought incapable of deserving the usual protections.”  Whatever gilded rhetoric on notions of freedom issue from the Trump administration when it comes to the Iran War, it has become increasingly clear that distinctions between foe and non-combatant have fogged up and vanished, leaving the sort of stubborn resistance that demands punishment.  Yet, even as statute books are blotted and conventions maligned, the stubborn continue to prevail.

Binoy Kampmark was a Commonwealth Scholar at Selwyn College, Cambridge. He lectures at RMIT University, Melbourne. Email: bkampmark@gmail.com

After Iran: Is This the Unraveling of the US-Israeli Order?

Ramzy Baroud

 April 10, 2026

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Image by Hasan Almasi.

The knives are out—and this time, they are not aimed at Tehran, but at Donald Trump and Benjamin Netanyahu.

Even the ever morally flexible Chris Christie moved quickly. The former New Jersey governor and longtime Republican insider, speaking on CNN, did not merely criticize Trump; he used the moment to indict establishment Republicans for enabling him in the first place. What was once quiet discomfort has now hardened into open political distancing.

CNN, for its part, framed the outcome through a language of selective humanitarian concern—invoking the plight of the Iranian people as victims of their own government, even as it criticized Trump’s failure. The contradiction is telling: a posture of moral superiority that condemns mismanagement, yet stops short of rejecting the underlying logic of war itself. In this framing, aggression is not questioned—only its effectiveness.

Across the Arab world, particularly within Gulf establishment circles, the reaction has been sharper—and deeply revealing. The familiar charge of “cut and run” has returned, recalling the criticism directed at Barack Obama during the US withdrawal from Iraq and the pivot to Asia.

The contradiction is striking: many of the same voices that claimed to oppose the Iraq war were equally outraged when the United States withdrew from it. Then, as now, Washington is faulted not for war itself, but for failing to see it through to a decisive conclusion.

According to Axios, Trump’s decision to pursue a settlement with Iran was made in defiance of strong opposition from key regional allies. Netanyahu resisted. So did several Arab governments whose strategic calculations depended on the continuation—and success—of the war. The pressure was not marginal; it was central. Yet it was overridden.

Netanyahu’s anger is not merely emotional—it is strategic. He understands what is at stake. If this ceasefire holds, and especially if it matures into a permanent agreement between Washington and Tehran, then his long-constructed vision of a “new Middle East” does not simply stall—it collapses.

The conditions that made this war possible—its timing, its alignments, its assumptions—are unlikely to be recreated. This was not just another confrontation. It was a convergence of political opportunity, regional ambition, and ideological fixation. And that moment has now passed.

But this raises a more uncomfortable question: why are Arab governments not welcoming this outcome?

If the war ends, their oil infrastructure is safer. Their economies are more secure. The immediate risk of regional escalation diminishes. By all conventional metrics, this should be a relief.

And yet, it is not.

To understand why, one must look beyond the war itself and into the political architecture that has been taking shape in the region for years. A quiet but powerful convergence has defined Middle Eastern politics: an Israeli-Arab alignment built around the shared objective of containing—and ultimately eliminating—the perceived Iranian threat.

This was not rhetorical. It was financial, political, and strategic.

Hundreds of billions of dollars flowed into Trump’s orbit from regional allies who viewed him as the leader willing to “finish the job.” These same actors deeply resented Barack Obama—not for his militarism, but for what they saw as his failure to go far enough against Iran.

Trump, in their view, represented correction, decisiveness, escalation, and resolution.

They elevated him accordingly, treating him less as a political leader and more as a guarantor of regional transformation. But internal chaos in Washington, followed by the transition to Joe Biden, changed the dynamics entirely.

Still, before leaving office, Trump—guided heavily by his son-in-law, Jared Kushner—engineered one of the most consequential shifts in modern Middle Eastern politics: normalization agreements between Israel and several Arab states.

These agreements did more than normalize relations. They formalized an open alliance—not only against Iran, but also against the Palestinian people and their resistance. They reshaped the region’s political logic.

For a moment, expectations surged. A new Middle East seemed within reach—one aligned with Israeli strategic priorities, one that would position Netanyahu not just as Israel’s leader, but as a central architect of regional order.

Then came October 7.

The Palestinian operation—and the subsequent Israeli genocide in Gaza—did not simply disrupt this trajectory. It exposed its fragility. While the Israeli-Arab alignment did not collapse, its momentum stalled, its legitimacy was questioned, and its future became uncertain.

The Biden administration, along with Secretary of State Antony Blinken, attempted to salvage the framework. The strategy was clear: contain Israel’s battlefield failures while using limited concessions to reignite normalization.

Under Trump’s second administration, this effort intensified. Arab-backed UN initiatives on Gaza—most notably United Nations Security Council Resolution 2803—laid out a framework for post-war governance, including the establishment of the so-called “Board of Peace” as a transitional authority.

Crucially, the resolution also authorized the deployment of an International Stabilization Force (ISF), tasked with securing the territory, overseeing demilitarization, and effectively disarming Palestinian resistance. Together, these measures pointed to a renewed push to impose a regional order from above.

It was within this context that the US-Israeli war on Iran must be understood.

For Netanyahu—and for several Arab governments—it was not optional. It was necessary. As long as Iran remained intact, its network of regional alliances—the axis of resistance—would continue to obstruct the realization of this ‘new Middle East’.

Some Gulf states were initially cautious, not out of restraint, but because they believed they had already secured key strategic gains they could not afford to lose. Syria had been stabilized under a pro-US president. Hezbollah appeared weakened, entangled in internal Lebanese dynamics. Ansarallah was largely held at bay. Gaza, despite its pride and defiance, was being “managed.”

But war changes calculations.

When Iran responded decisively, raising the stakes across the region, the risks became immediate and undeniable. If the war ended without Iran’s defeat, the consequences would be profound: a more emboldened Iran, a recalibrated regional balance, and expectations of major change.

It was then that hesitation gave way to advocacy. Reluctant actors became proponents of escalation—often more so than Trump himself. For them, a ceasefire is not neutrality. It is defeat.

And then Trump unraveled the narrative.

Unable to justify the war, he escalated it—threatening to erase Iranian civilization overnight. This was not bluster but a dangerous extension of an already destructive campaign, invoking the logic of total annihilation and raising the specter of catastrophic escalation.

He boxed himself in with deadlines—issuing them, breaking them, then replacing them with new ones. Each cycle weakened his position further.

The longer the war dragged on, the clearer the reality became: this was not a controlled operation, but a deteriorating campaign.

When Trump escalated his language, he did not project strength—he revealed a loss of control. The illusion of a quick, decisive victory evaporated. In its place emerged a familiar pattern: prolonged conflict, strategic drift, and diminishing returns.

This is Iran’s terrain—not America’s.

Yet two actors ultimately proved decisive: the Iranian people and the American public.

Inside Iran, the anticipated internal collapse never materialized. Instead, society consolidated. Despite immense pressure and loss, public cohesion strengthened the state’s ability to endure. The expectation—shared by Washington and Tel Aviv—of internal unrest simply did not materialize.

At that point, Trump’s rhetoric shifted again—from claiming to “save” Iranians to threatening their annihilation. This was not strategy. It revealed a profound loss of judgment.

In the United States, the outcome was equally significant. At no point did the American public demonstrate sustained support for the war. Poll after poll failed to produce the desired shift. Opposition remained consistent—and deepened, particularly against any prospect of ground invasion.

This cannot be overstated. Without public backing, prolonged war becomes politically unsustainable.

Under these conditions, the question of who “won” is, at this stage, premature—and perhaps beside the point.

Iran did not initiate the war. It remained in a position of self-defense—and succeeded in preserving its territory, its people, and its resources.

The same cannot be said for Trump or Netanyahu.

For Netanyahu in particular, the stakes were existential. This was meant to be the decisive confrontation—the moment that would eliminate his strongest adversaries, secure Israeli supremacy, and give substance to his long-articulated vision of a “Greater Israel.”

That project is now under strain.

The coming days and weeks are decisive, for an outcome of this magnitude cannot pass without major geopolitical consequences—regionally and globally.

Israel and the US will attempt to reinterpret events to save face and revive their project of dominance. Arab media—particularly in the Gulf—will work to minimize what Iran sees as victory.

But in the final analysis, none of that will matter.

What will matter is what history records:

Israel and the US failed to defeat Iran.

They failed to achieve regime change.

They failed to destabilize the country from within.

They failed to fracture the axis of resistance.

They failed—even—to impose their will by force in the Strait of Hormuz.

The question that remains is unavoidable: will Arab governments continue to anchor themselves to a failing Israeli-American project?

Or will they recalibrate—before the region is reshaped without them, and a new Middle East emerges not as Netanyahu envisioned, but as defined by the endurance of its people—from Gaza to Beirut to Tehran, to Sanaa?

Dr. Ramzy Baroud is a journalist, author, and the editor of The Palestine Chronicle. He is the author of six books. His new book, Before the Flood: A Gaza Family Memoir Across Three Generations of Colonial Invasion, Occupation and War in Palestine was published by Seven Stories Press. His other books include “Our Vision for Liberation,” “My Father was a Freedom Fighter,” and “The Last Earth.”  Baroud is a Non-resident Senior Research Fellow at the Center for Islam and Global Affairs (CIGA). His website is www.ramzybaroud.net