Up until the eruption of the Al-Aqsa Flood (October 7, 2023), successive U.S. administrations—starting from Obama through to his successors—had largely concluded that the Israeli-Palestinian conflict no longer warranted political investment in the Middle East.
This assessment was rooted in the belief that the once-solid Arab front had become too soft in the face of bold and sweeping normalisation schemes, led by regimes that had emerged as the new centres of political and cultural influence in the region—those with the loudest voices and regional prestige, capable of shaping any emerging international consensus on the region’s future.
At the same time, U.S. policymakers were convinced that the resistance—prior to October 7—was too weakened to create real disruption, and that any potential flare-ups of violence could be contained through tried and tested methods.
With this in mind, the U.S. shifted its strategic focus, prioritising its “Asia Pivot” policy. Washington scaled down its political and military engagement in the Middle East to focus more intensely on the rising security challenges in the Indo-Pacific region, particularly the growing power of China—portrayed repeatedly in official U.S. discourse as “aggressive” and expansionist.
But Gaza flipped this equation on its head. The war forced the U.S. to re-engage more deeply with the region than at any point in recent years.
Washington didn’t just insert itself into the so-called “solution.” It became a full-blown partner in the genocide. Beyond providing Israel with political and diplomatic cover—shielding it from legal accountability—the U.S. also supplied logistical and intelligence support, flooding Israeli arsenals with weaponry unmatched in any American war outside its borders. It even wielded its UN Security Council veto power to block resolutions aimed at ending the bloodshed, despite the growing human toll and shocking disregard for Palestinian civilian life.
This overt role has inflicted further harm on America’s already battered image in the region. A vacuum emerged—one that, logically, should have provided space for rising global powers like Russia and China to step in, even if only to level the playing field and ease U.S. pressure on them in Ukraine and Taiwan, respectively.
Historically, China has supported the Palestinian cause since the era of Mao Zedong (1893–1976). The logic was simple: wherever the U.S. stood, China would oppose. It framed itself as a defender of the Global South, which includes the majority of Arab nations that maintain strong ties with Beijing. These ties are bolstered by Arab oil exports to China and by Beijing’s need to mitigate Islamic and Arab concerns over its treatment of Uyghur Muslims in Xinjiang. China also places the Arab world at the centre of its Belt and Road Initiative, President Xi Jinping’s grand plan to connect global markets and expand Chinese influence.
Meanwhile, the Palestinian cause has long held a prominent place in Soviet foreign policy during the Cold War—and later in Russian foreign policy—as a symbol of anti-colonial struggle and a counterweight to Western hegemony. Moscow has leveraged this legacy for decades to undermine U.S. dominance in the Arab world, maintaining carefully balanced (if sometimes strained) relationships with all key players: Israel, Palestinians, Hamas, Hezbollah, Iran, and major Arab powers.
Yet these relationships have remained shallow, lacking depth, trust, and the kind of reliability required for Russia to be seen as a credible global ally in the region.
At the onset of Israel’s brutal onslaught on Gaza, both Moscow and Beijing made calculated moves to project diplomatic legitimacy and leadership—albeit in very different ways.
Shortly after Israel launched its retaliatory campaign in late October 2023, Russian Foreign Minister Sergey Lavrov condemned the assault as a violation of international law. President Putin went further, likening Israel’s siege of Gaza to Nazi Germany’s siege of Leningrad.
Many Russian politicians and lawmakers echoed this position. Crucially, they refrained from condemning Hamas, unlike Western capitals that followed Washington’s lead to the letter—before eventually finding themselves at odds with Trump’s policies and his soft disengagement from NATO and effective sale of Ukraine to Putin.
Just three weeks after Hamas’s strike in southern Israel, Moscow hosted a senior delegation from the movement, led by founding member Mousa Abu Marzouk. While Moscow had previously hosted Hamas officials twice earlier in 2023, the timing of this visit sent a bold message in defiance of Western hysteria and its grotesque bias in favour of Tel Aviv.
Russia justified the move by arguing that maintaining open channels with all sides was essential to halting the “violence” in the occupied territories.
Although this engagement secured the release of Russian citizens held captive, it produced what many deemed a “meagre outcome” and did little to secure Russia a meaningful diplomatic role. Moscow still failed to offer constructive or innovative proposals to resolve the crisis.
While Russia etched its name in bold red under the banner of “relations with Hamas,” China’s posture remained vague and non-committal—neither for nor against. It reflected none of the ambition required to challenge U.S. dominance in a region increasingly disillusioned with Washington. China’s diplomacy was as uninspired and clunky as one of its heavy machinery exports.
Despite their broad public campaigns to woo Arab governments and shift global opinion in their favour, neither Moscow nor Beijing has demonstrated the capability to play a transformative diplomatic role or prepare the ground for a serious political resolution to the Palestinian-Israeli conflict.
It was the United States—first under Biden and Blinken, now under Trump and his team—that engaged most actively with regional governments. Not Putin. Not Xi. Not their foreign ministers.
Washington—not Moscow or Beijing—continues to work closely with Doha, Cairo, and Tel Aviv to broker ceasefires and negotiate hostage exchanges between Hamas and Israel.
And despite widespread mistrust, regional actors still see Washington—often reluctantly—as the only power capable of exerting the necessary pressure and doing the hard diplomatic work required to launch a viable peace process—if it ever chooses to do so.
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