As conflicts grow complex, the need for principled legal restraint has never been clearer

There was a time, not so long ago, when mid-career officers from around the world gathered in classrooms to examine the moral structure of war. I remember my time at the United States Naval War College vividly, Naval Staff Course Class 62, in 2003. We were taught by some of the finest minds in the field, including Professor Yoram Dinstein from Tel Aviv University and distinguished visiting faculty from Yale. The subject was not only about warfighting, but also about the restraint and ethical conduct in waging war.

We studied the Laws of Armed Conflict with intellectual rigour and moral seriousness. We debated jus ad bellum—the right to go to war—and jus in bello—the right to conduct war. We internalised the principle that, even in humanity’s darkest endeavour, there must remain a flicker of law, a boundary that separates civilisation from barbarism.

Later, as a faculty member at Bangladesh’s National Defence College, I had the privilege of sharing these same principles with our officers. We taught them that honour in war is not an abstract virtue but a strategic necessity. That legitimacy is a force multiplier. That perfidy, the act of deceiving an adversary under the guise of legal protection, is not merely unethical but explicitly prohibited under international humanitarian law.

The contrast between Solonian and Draconian laws in ancient Greece is instructive. Solon sought balance, proportionality, and reform. Draco, by contrast, imposed such severity that his laws became synonymous with cruelty

And yet today, nearly two decades later, one is compelled to ask: what has gone wrong? The intensifying conflicts across the Middle East, particularly the recent strike on Iran conducted in the midst of ongoing negotiations, raise profound strategic and legal concerns. In classical Clausewitzian terms, war is an extension of politics by other means; yet when force is employed in a manner that appears to contradict or conceal the very political dialogue it purports to accompany, the coherence between policy and violence begins to fracture.

This dissonance is not merely strategic; it has significant implications within the framework of the Law of Armed Conflict. At the level of Jus ad Bellum, it questions the legitimacy, intent, and good faith behind the resort to force. Meanwhile, within Jus in Bello, it borders on the problematic area of perfidy, where the manipulation of trust—especially under the guise of negotiation—risks breaching established norms of lawful conduct in war.

For those trained in the discipline of lawful warfare, this is not simply a technical infraction or a matter of procedural ambiguity. It signifies a deeper erosion: a breakdown in the alignment between political purpose and military action, a corrosion of normative restraint, and ultimately, a moral rupture in the very character of war as a regulated human endeavour.

Perfidy erodes the very possibility of trust in war. If negotiation becomes a tactic for deception rather than a pathway to peace, then the entire framework of conflict resolution collapses. The protections afforded under international law: flags of truce, ceasefires, and diplomatic engagements, become hollow instruments. And once that threshold is crossed, escalation becomes not just likely, but inevitable.

History offers us a cautionary lens. The contrast between Solonian and Draconian laws in ancient Greece is instructive. Solon sought balance, proportionality, and reform. Draco, by contrast, imposed such severity that his laws became synonymous with cruelty. Today, one fears that the laws governing armed conflict, once painstakingly developed through centuries of human suffering, are being interpreted, or ignored, in increasingly Draconian ways.

This is not merely a legal concern. It is a strategic one. When powerful states circumvent the norms they once championed, they set precedents that others will follow. The erosion of jus in bello does not remain confined to one theatre; it expands across regions and conflicts. Non-state actors, already less constrained by law, find further justification in states' hypocrisy. The result is a downward spiral where the distinction between lawful and unlawful combat fades into irrelevance.

For professional militaries—particularly those of smaller or emerging powers like Bangladesh—this creates a profound dilemma. Considerable effort has been invested in training officers to internalise and uphold international norms. Discipline, proportionality, and ethical command are not treated as abstract ideals, but as operational imperatives.

However, a critical question arises: how can this professional ethos be sustained when the broader international order itself appears to be drifting away from these very principles? When major powers act inconsistently with the norms they advocate, it places smaller militaries in a position of strategic and moral tension—caught between adherence to established standards and the realities of an increasingly uncertain global environment.

The answer, perhaps, lies in reaffirmation rather than resignation. We must continue to teach, uphold, and advocate for the Laws of Armed Conflict, not because others always do, but because it defines who we are. Professionalism in arms is not contingent on reciprocity; it is anchored in integrity. The Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him), long before modern conventions, laid down principles of restraint in warfare—prohibiting treachery, protecting non-combatants, and upholding justice even against one’s adversaries. These are not merely religious ideals; they are universal ethical imperatives.

At the same time, accountability at the international level remains essential. Institutions, however imperfect, must not be allowed to drift into irrelevance through inaction or selective enforcement. Their credibility depends on the consistent application of the rules they are meant to uphold.

In this context, scholars, practitioners, and veterans have a shared responsibility to speak out, not in the language of partisan outrage, but through measured and principled critique. Silence or indifference only deepens the erosion of norms.

This concern is further compounded by the growing perception that the very institutions entrusted with upholding international peace and security are themselves losing credibility. The United Nations, envisioned as the guardian of a rules-based order, increasingly appears constrained by political realities, where enforcement is often selective and shaped by the interests of the powerful. Nowhere is this more evident than within the United Nations Security Council, where the privileged position of the permanent five members, the United States, the United Kingdom, France, Russia, and China, often results in paralysis or inconsistency.

The use, or threat, of veto power not only limits collective action but also fuels a broader scepticism: whether international law is applied universally, or selectively in accordance with power. This erosion of trust in global governance structures further deepens the challenge for professional militaries and principled actors who seek to operate within a coherent and credible legal and moral framework.

As a retired naval officer, I do not view war through a romantic lens. I have seen enough to know its costs. But I also know that without law, war becomes something far worse than conflict; it becomes chaos unbound. And in that chaos, we all stand to lose.

 

Writer: Commodore Syed Misbah Uddin Ahmad, (C), NUP, ndc, afwc, psc, BN (retd), Director General, Bangladesh Institute of Maritime Research and Development (BIMRAD). Email: misbah28686@gmail.com