Few awards in the world command as much prestige or controversy as the Nobel Peace Prize. Envisioned initially by Alfred Nobel with the motto of “pro pace et fraternitate gentium” -for the peace and brotherhood of nations/peoples- to honour those who “shall have done the most or the best work for fraternity between nations, for the abolition or reduction of standing armies and the holding and promotion of peace congresses,” the Peace Prize has increasingly become a political tool rather than a universal emblem of peace.
Recent history has brought this tension into sharper relief, especially with U.S. President Donald Trump’s obsessive pursuit of the award. While often the subject of satire, his fixation invites a deeper examination: What does the Nobel Peace Prize represent today, and who truly deserves it?
The Prize of Peace: From Idealism to Interests
The Nobel Peace Prize, awarded annually since 1901 by the Norwegian Nobel Committee, has honoured various individuals and institutions. However, unlike the awards in physics or chemistry, which typically recognise empirical achievement, the Peace Prize is inherently subjective. This subjectivity has rendered the award vulnerable to criticism, especially when it appears to be bestowed more for symbolic or strategic reasons than for genuine contributions to the cause of peace.
While individual omissions and controversial laureates illustrate the politicisation of the Nobel Peace Prize, these outcomes are deeply rooted in the structural and procedural design of the Nobel Committee itself. The Committee’s composition is determined by the Norwegian Parliament, with members appointed to reflect the political balance of Norway’s legislature. This arrangement means that national interests and the prevailing political climate in Norway can—and often do—influence the selection process. Although current members of the government or Parliament are barred from serving, the Committee is still primarily composed of retired politicians, not international experts or peace practitioners.
Moreover, the secrecy surrounding the Committee’s deliberations—with records sealed for 50 years—prevents meaningful public scrutiny and accountability. This lack of transparency fuels suspicions that decisions may be influenced by political considerations rather than an objective assessment of candidates’ contributions to peace.
Additionally, critics have pointed to a persistent Western or Eurocentric bias in the Committee’s choices, with a disproportionate number of laureates coming from Western nations or fitting Western narratives of peace and progress. While there have been efforts to diversify nominees, the Committee’s institutional culture and selection criteria still reflect these underlying biases.
Consequently, these structural and procedural factors underscore the validity of criticisms that, despite its prestige, the Nobel Peace Prize remains susceptible to politicisation.
Awarding Controversy: The Prize’s Most Controversial Laureates
Controversy has long shadowed the Nobel Peace Prize, with several laureates challenging the very ideals the award is meant to uphold.
Among the most glaring examples is Shimon Peres, who shared the 1994 prize despite his deep entrenchment in Israel’s military apparatus and his role in policies that caused enduring harm to Palestinians. Far from a pacifist, Peres was instrumental in developing Israel’s nuclear arsenal and advancing militarised security doctrines. As Defence Minister, he facilitated arms deals and oversaw illegal settlement expansion in the occupied territories. Most infamously, he bore political responsibility for the 1996 Qana massacre in Lebanon, where over 100 civilians were killed in an Israeli strike on a UN compound. For many, awarding Peres the Peace Prize served not as recognition of peacebuilding but as a legitimisation—if not a sanitisation—of a legacy marred by war crimes and systemic repression. The decision was widely attributed to the influence of powerful Western and pro-Israel lobbying rather than a principled evaluation of peace-making.
Similarly, in 2012, the European Union received the Nobel Peace Prize for contributing to “the advancement of peace and reconciliation, democracy and human rights in Europe.” While the EU undoubtedly played a stabilising role within its borders, the timing and rationale for the award were perplexing. During the same period, European governments were actively complicit in destabilising regions across the Global South through arms exports, exploitative foreign policies, and selective asylum practices. Critics rightly questioned whether this honour represented a contribution to “humanity” or simply to “Europe.”
Another inconvenient awarding is the 2009 Peace Prize to Barack Obama—just nine months into his first term. The Nobel Committee cited his “extraordinary efforts to strengthen international diplomacy and cooperation between peoples.” However, Obama himself admitted to confusion over the honour, stating years later that he still was unsure why he received it. During his presidency, U.S. military forces were active in Afghanistan, Iraq, Pakistan, Syria, Libya, and Yemen. Therefore, the premature award sparked widespread scepticism and led to perceptions that the Nobel Committee prioritised hope over achievement.
The problem is not just with premature awards—it is also with the Committee’s tendency to misread or miscalculate the complex dynamics of peace. In 2019, Ethiopian Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed was lauded for making peace with Eritrea. Yet within a year, Ethiopia descended into civil war, with his government accused of war crimes in Tigray. Similar dissonance marked the 1973 award to Henry Kissinger, whose role in the Vietnam ceasefire was overshadowed by his orchestration of coups and military interventions elsewhere. The backlash was so severe that two Nobel Committee members resigned, and critics derided the decision as the “Nobel War Prize.”
Similarly, Aung San Suu Kyi, long hailed as a symbol of peaceful resistance in Myanmar, was awarded the Peace Prize in 1991 while under house arrest for opposing military rule. However, after her release and rise to power, Suu Kyi refused to condemn the brutal persecution of the Rohingya Muslim minority—actions the UN later described as ethnic cleansing. Despite widespread calls to rescind her award, the Committee maintained that it bore no responsibility for a laureate’s future actions, once again raising questions about its standards of accountability.
On the other hand, equally troubling are the omissions. The Nobel Peace Prize has overlooked numerous figures whose lives epitomised its stated values, often due to political constraints. Václav Havel, who led Czechoslovakia’s Velvet Revolution, and BRAC founder Sir Fazle Hasan Abed, a transformative figure in global development, are among those conspicuously passed over. However, no omission looms larger than that of Mahatma Gandhi. Despite multiple nominations and his profound influence on nonviolent resistance, Gandhi was never awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. The Committee has since acknowledged this as its most significant historical oversight.
In subsequent years, it has, at times, sought to symbolically rectify this absence, most notably when awarding the prize to the Dalai Lama in 1989, explicitly referencing Gandhi’s legacy. However, all these symbolic confessions have ultimately fallen short of achieving genuine peace or of drawing a meaningful distinction between true peacemakers—those who embody the principles of justice, reconciliation, and the protection of fundamental human rights—and those whose actions are primarily performative, driven by political calculation and a desire for public acclaim.
Trump’s Obsession: A Mirror of the Prize’s Contradictions
In this context, Trump’s pursuit of the Nobel Peace Prize lays bare the contradictions at the heart of the award itself.
His conception of peace is performative and transactional, driven by media spectacles, symbolic agreements, and coercive diplomacy. From threatening North Korea with “fire and fury” to ordering the assassination of Qasem Soleimani, his actions often fuelled instability rather than alleviating it. His Middle East initiatives, including the Abraham Accords and recognition of Jerusalem as Israel’s capital, deepened regional divides while emboldening Israeli aggression, contradicting any genuine vision of peace.
However, Trump’s approach was not merely eccentric, it epitomised a broader trend. The post-World War II ideal of peace grounded in democratic values has increasingly given way to a model of “peace through strength”, where force and spectacle supersede dialogue and justice. This shift was recently evident in the international community’s muted response to Israel’s ethnic cleansing policies and other belligerent postures, as seen in the 12-day Israel-Iran confrontation. Military action has become a sole instrument of foreign policy, sidelining diplomacy and Modus Vivendi.
The rise of performative peace—defined by short-term optics rather than structural transformation—underscores the urgent need to distinguish image from substance. Ironically, Trump may understand the Nobel Peace Prize better than most: as an award that too often rewards power over principle. His pursuit, though jarring, is consistent with a pattern in which laureates have included those implicated in violence, repression, and occupation. In this context, Trump is less an outlier than a symptom of the prize’s erosion.
Restoring Meaning: The Nobel’s Path to Redemption
The question now is whether the Nobel Peace Prize can reclaim its moral authority. To do so, it must recommit to its founding values: recognising those who pursue peace not as a political strategy but as a principled mission rooted in justice, nonviolence, and human dignity. This undertaking demands transparency, accountability, and the courage to resist geopolitical pressures.
Peace is not achieved through drone strikes, theatrical threats of war, or media spin. It emerges through genuine reconciliation, human rights protection, and long-term social transformation. When the Nobel honours those who truly embody these ideals, it serves as a global beacon. However, when it confuses power with principle, it loses its purpose.
All in all, in an era marked by rising conflict and democratic backsliding, the world needs clarity and conviction more than ceremony. The Nobel Peace Prize can still be relevant—but only if it rises above the very forces it was created to challenge.
