Donald Trump’s recent proposal regarding the Gaza Strip, calling for the displacement of its population and a U.S.-led occupation, has reignited one of the most volatile debates in international law, that is, the legality and consequences of forced population transfers. Rather than proposing a ceasefire or a political solution, Trump advocates for the complete evacuation of Gaza’s civilian population. Donald Trump’s recent remarks concerning the Gaza Strip reflect a strikingly transactional and dehumanized vision of the region, one that treats Gaza not as the homeland of a besieged population, but as a tract of “real estate” to be cleared and repurposed. This proposal, under the pretext of security and redevelopment, calls for the evacuation of Gaza’s civilian population, followed by the imposition of a new administrative order possibly involving Arab states or international trusteeship. Crucially, it forecloses any vision of Palestinian return, ownership, or sovereignty.

Far from being a humanitarian or legal initiative, the proposal embodies demographic engineering. It is detached from the region’s historical grievances and international legal obligations, and it ignores the moral imperatives of return, restitution, and self-determination. In doing so, it invites comparisons to past instances of forced displacement, particularly the Nakba of 1948, casting a long and ominous shadow over the future of Palestinian statehood and the international legal order itself. The notion of forcefully removing a civilian population from their territory runs counter to some of the most foundational norms of international law. The very concept of forcefully removing a civilian population from their home territory strikes at the core of accepted international legal norms, including those enshrined in the Fourth Geneva Convention which categorically forbid the forced transfer of civilians from occupied territory. At the heart of the legal analysis is the issue of the “right of return”, a principle that is recognized as a fundamental component of international human rights law. Should this measure be passed, the demographic and legal environment of the area would be permanently changed, therefore violating the long-standing legal structure meant to defend civilian populations during times of occupation and conflict.

Forced Deportation

Under international law, any action that successfully denies a population their right to return is intrinsically controversial, even if it is temporary. The broader implications of such a proposal extend well beyond the immediate context of Gaza. By proposing a policy that normalizes what many legal experts consider to be a war crime, the initiative risks undermining the entire international legal order. It creates a hazardous precedent by implying that, given national security or political goals, even the most basic safeguards given to citizens during armed conflicts can be suspended.

Forced deportation, the coerced removal of a civilian population prohibited under international humanitarian law, is classified as both a war crime and a crime against humanity. This legal standard, as articulated in the customary international law, has since been codified and reinforced through successive international instruments, which explicitly forbid such acts in occupied territory. Articles 45 and 49 of the Fourth Geneva Convention forbid such actions under any circumstance not justified by the security of the civilians involved or imperative military necessity. Moreover, Article 147 of the Fourth Geneva Convention classifies unlawful deportations and transfers of protected persons, defined to include civilians and non-combatants under occupation, as “grave breaches,” the most serious violations of humanitarian law. These grave breaches are prosecutable as war crimes, and depending on context, may also form the basis of crimes against humanity and genocide. Historical legal precedents further cement this prohibition. The Nuremberg Tribunal’s ruling, firmly established forced deportation as a war crime, a classification subsequently reinforced by the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court, which recognizes forcible transfers as both war crimes and crimes against humanity, particularly when they are ethnically, religiously, or nationally motivated.

The International Committee of the Red Cross, the authoritative guardian of the Geneva Conventions, has also stated that: “Parties to an international armed conflict may not deport or forcibly transfer the civilian population of an occupied territory, in whole or in part, unless the security of the civilians involved or imperative military reasons so demand.”

During a February 4 news conference, President Trump was unambiguous in his objective, stating that the proposal would involve transferring “all of them” from Gaza, adding, “I don’t think they’re going to tell me no”. Such remarks trivialize the rights and agency of the affected population and reveal a blatant disregard for binding legal and moral obligations.  The casual tone in which such a grave act was discussed diminishes the seriousness of displacing an entire civilian population and undermines the international consensus on the inviolability of humanitarian protections. Unsurprisingly, this proposal was met with swift and unequivocal condemnation from a wide range of international actors, including France, Germany, Ireland, Spain, Turkey, Russia, and China, each recognizing the existential threat it poses to the stability of international law and the moral legitimacy of global governance.

The Right to Return

The right of return, although less frequently enforced, is embedded in multiple international legal instruments. Article 13(2) of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights affirms that “[e]veryone has the right to leave any country, including his own, and to return to his country.” This is reinforced in Article 12(4) of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights. Many international law scholars have pointed out that such provisions, while binding in theory, lack robust enforcement mechanisms and are often dismissed by states invoking national security or sovereignty.

The case of Palestinian refugees is emblematic of this ambiguity. Despite the recognition of their right to return by UN General Assembly Resolution 194, no binding treaty or enforcement body has effectively operationalized this right in over seven decades. Mr. Trump’s remarks on Fox News, in which he unequivocally stated that he does not plan to permit the return of Gaza’s residents, effectively dismantle what might have been the most legally tenable justification for his plan. Under the customary principles governing the law of war, temporary evacuations of civilians for their safety are recognized as permissible measures. However, by foreclosing the possibility of a return, even after the restoration of safety, the proposal abandons its temporary nature, thereby stripping it of any potential legal defence grounded in humanitarian necessity.

Even in scenarios where a cease-fire is achieved, Gaza remains a dangerous place for civilians. The risk of unexploded ordnance above the ground and remnants of war, still hidden under the rubble and underground, has kindled mass destruction of basic needs, such as shelter, water, and electricity services, creating a scenario where temporary evacuation could ostensibly be justified as a protective measure.  The principle of the “right of return” affirms that all individuals have the inherent ability to return to their homeland, and its violation carries profound legal and moral implications.  Article 8 of the Rome Statute is explicit in setting out the elements of the war crime of displacing civilians, and Art. 7 of the Rome Statute includes the forcible transfer or deportation as part of crimes against humanity. Furthermore, international human rights instruments such as the Universal Declaration of Human Rights and the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, affirm that all individuals have the right to leave and, crucially, to return to their country. Historically, debates about the right of return have been at the center of disputes arising from the conflict of 1948, during which roughly 700,000 Palestinians fled or were expelled from their homes, an ordeal referred to by Palestinians as the “Nakba”. The enduring debate over whether these refugees, along with their descendants now numbering in the millions, should be allowed to reclaim their former homes remains one of the most intractable and divisive issues in peace negotiations.

For many Palestinians, the right of return is tied to identity, dignity, and justice. For others, it raises concerns about national security and demographic balance. In this light, the Trump proposal is not simply a deviation from legal norms, it reinforces the long-standing trend of sidelining refugee claims altogether. By making no provision for return or restitution, and instead suggesting permanent relocation, the proposal effectively erases the possibility of return from the negotiating table. This is not just a legal omission but signals a larger political shift that could entrench division and prolong conflict rather than contribute to any sustainable resolution.

Academic scholarship has long critiqued the structural fragility of the right to return. Susan Akram, for instance, argues that international refugee law is systemically skewed against long-term displaced populations, particularly when political interests override humanitarian commitments. Guy Goodwin-Gill has similarly noted that states have manipulated the language of security and reconstruction to delay or deny return indefinitely. For instance, the forced displacement of the Rohingya Muslims by the Myanmar military in 2017 was roundly condemned by the international community, yet to date, few have been able to return. Despite the gravity of that exodus, accountability mechanisms have been slow and politically burdened.

Threatening Palestine’s Territorial Integrity

Donald Trump’s statements that Palestinians “have no alternative” but to leave Gaza, which he referred to as “a big pile of rubble” presents direct challenges to the notion of territorial integrity and self-determination of Palestinians. The prohibition against a nation forcibly annexing territory is one of the most important and foundational principles of international law. The question of Palestinian territorial integrity is not novel. It has been a contentious issue in international law for years. The International Court of Justice, in 2024, found that Israel’s control over East Jerusalem and the Gaza Strip is in violation of international law by breaching the principle forbidding the occupation and annexation of land from another state. This basically will bar the right to self-determined future of Palestinians.

Additionally, while the United Nations recognizes Palestine as a permanent observer state, the U.S. notably does not. This discrepancy has created palpable tension in international diplomatic circles, yet despite this divide, the UN has repeatedly called for the end of Israel’s occupation of Palestinian territories, which has endured since 1967. The acquiescence of global powers to this ongoing occupation sends an alarming message and implies that powerful states can alter borders and appropriate foreign territories with impunity. Should such moves become normalized, the troubling questions about the future of international borders and the very structure of global governance would be at stake. On the horizon of the future is the prospect of a long-term U.S. military presence in Gaza, as implied by Trump’s reference to long-term U.S. ownership of the region’s redevelopment. Such prospects would inevitably exacerbate regional tensions and seek to destabilize an already volatile situation, which threatens to unravel decades of careful diplomatic attainment.

Conclusion

What Trump’s proposal revives, then, is not just a policy debate but a dangerous precedent: that powerful states can circumvent international norms through the language of reconstruction and military necessity, all while openly rejecting the right of return. This undermines the foundational logic of post-WWII international law specifically, that displacement and occupation must be temporary and reversible, not tools of permanent demographic engineering. Moreover, the proposal suggests a new, more subtle form of annexation: one that redefines sovereignty under the pretext of humanitarian stewardship.

The broader implications for international law are dire. If Trump’s plan were to be implemented, or even normalized, it would erode the very credibility of the international legal order. The post-1945 system was built on the premise that sovereignty could not be used to justify mass displacement, and that international humanitarian law would provide safeguards against the worst impulses of wartime expediency. A proposal that openly rejects these premises while facing little international censure signals a collapse in legal consensus and an emboldening of state impunity. In essence, Trump’s approach does not merely revisit the moral wounds of 1948; it risks rewriting the rules that emerged in response to such tragedies. If allowed to stand, it may set a precedent that turns forced exodus from an aberration into a tolerated, perhaps even strategic, instrument of statecraft.

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Nittyam Modi is a Second-Year Law student at Jindal Global Law School. His research interests include Public International Law, Constitutional Law, and International Criminal Law.

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Picture Credit: Aljazeera