Sir Keir Starmer’s UN pledge may sound historic, but without conditions it risks being a gesture that weakens Britain’s leverage and sets a dangerous precedent.
When Sir Keir Starmer rose at the United Nations to declare that Britain would recognise a Palestinian state, he was no doubt conscious of the historic weight of his words. For a Labour leader, steeped in the law, the act of recognition is not a trifle. In international relations, recognition is precedent. And precedent, once set, cannot easily be undone.
Yet in this case, recognition risks offering little more than symbolism. Palestine, unlike the Baltic republics in Soviet exile or Kuwait under Iraqi occupation, has never existed as a functioning state with defined borders and effective institutions. Those earlier examples were of established states, their legal continuity maintained even in the darkest hours of occupation. London did not “create” a Baltic state in 1940 or a Kuwaiti state in 1990; it merely refused to let them be extinguished.
The situation with Palestine is altogether different. Here, recognition comes first, before sovereignty, before elections, and before unity of governance. This is an inversion of the normal order, and one which Starmer, as a lawyer, should appreciate carries consequences. Recognition is not just a signal; it is a legal act. By conferring the privileges of statehood upon an entity which has yet to meet the basic tests of democratic legitimacy, Britain risks making a precedent that others, less benign, may one day exploit.
The case for a Palestinian state is strong in principle. But in practice it remains fragmented. The West Bank is governed by an ageing Palestinian Authority, which has not held elections for nearly two decades. Gaza lies under the control of Hamas, proscribed in Britain as a terrorist organisation. Between the two there is no unified leadership, no common programme, and no timetable for democratic renewal.
That is why recognition could and should have been conditional. Britain might have said: we will recognise a Palestinian state when — and only when — free and fair elections are held in the West Bank, where such a process is feasible today. That recognition would then be renewed, and kept alive, by subsequent elections in Gaza when circumstances allow. In this way, statehood would be anchored not in symbolism but in the will of the Palestinian people themselves.
A timetable for West Bank elections could have been set now, in line with the urgency of the recognition granted. Such a condition would have carried genuine weight, ensuring that recognition was not a one-off flourish at the UN, but the beginning of a process of accountability and reform.
And precedent cuts both ways. If Britain can recognise a state that does not yet meet the tests of sovereignty or legitimacy, what stops Moscow, Beijing, Tehran or Pyongyang from doing the same? They could “recognise” Crimea as an independent republic, or fold occupied land into Russia with a rubber stamp. Recognition without substance becomes a tool of aggression: a way to redraw maps and disguise conquest as consent.
Instead, Britain has chosen to recognise first and ask questions later. The move will delight some, irritate others, and change little. Israel will not withdraw a single soldier; Hamas will not cede control of Gaza; the Palestinian Authority will not suddenly acquire new legitimacy. What it does do is set a precedent: that recognition can be granted where statehood is more aspiration than fact. That precedent is dangerous.
Sir Keir may believe he has sent a signal. But diplomacy is not semaphore. It is the careful weighing of words and consequences, the crafting of leverage out of law. By recognising Palestine without conditions, Britain has forfeited leverage and embraced gesture. For a lawyer-turned-prime minister, it is a strangely careless way to make law.
