The International Criminal Court (ICC) has long presented itself as the guardian of international justice, the arbiter of crimes too grave to be addressed within national jurisdictions. Yet its latest actions, issuing arrest warrants for Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and former Defence Minister Yoav Gallant, reveal a troubling undercurrent—one that raises serious questions about the court’s legitimacy, jurisdiction, and impartiality.

Israel’s response was swift and unequivocal. Rejecting the ICC’s jurisdiction outright, Netanyahu’s office branded the warrants as “absurd” and “without foundation.” It is not the first time Israel has clashed with the ICC. As a nation that is not a signatory to the Rome Statute, Israel has consistently maintained that the court has no authority over its actions or its citizens. The appeal filed this week reiterates that stance while exposing the political theatre at the heart of this legal manoeuvre.

The reaction from the international community has been predictably fragmented, underscoring not only the political nature of the ICC’s actions but also the fraught geopolitical landscape in which they unfold.

Hungary, always the maverick within European circles, invited Netanyahu for a state visit, offering assurances that he would not face arrest. France, while not as brazenly supportive, cited legal immunity for Netanyahu, recognising that the ICC’s jurisdiction simply does not extend to non-signatory states like Israel. Italy, chairing the G7, took a more diplomatic line, calling for unity among global powers while subtly questioning the practicality of enforcing these warrants.

The United Kingdom, however, has found itself in a characteristically awkward position. Foreign Secretary David Lammy affirmed that Britain would comply with its obligations as a signatory to the Rome Statute. Yet, in a telling display of realpolitik, the UK recently hosted IDF Chief of Staff Herzi Halevi for high-level meetings—a tacit acknowledgment of the enduring strategic partnership between the two nations. It is the kind of diplomatic tightrope that Britain has mastered, but one wonders how long such balancing acts can be sustained.

Across the Atlantic, the United States has taken an entirely different tack. Under previous administrations, Washington has not hesitated to challenge the ICC, especially when its investigations threatened American interests or those of its allies. In 2020, sanctions were imposed on ICC Chief Prosecutor Fatou Bensouda in response to her inquiries into Afghanistan and Palestine. Now, reports suggest that further sanctions against current Chief Prosecutor Karim Khan KC are being considered, with the incoming U.S. administration poised to deliver what it calls a “strong response to the antisemitic bias of the ICC.”

The message from Washington is clear: the ICC’s overreach will not be tolerated. And herein lies a profound irony. The very court designed to transcend politics has become entangled in it, wielded as a weapon against nations that fall outside its ideological favour.

At the heart of this saga lies a fundamental question: what is the ICC’s purpose? Is it truly an impartial body dedicated to upholding justice, or has it become a tool for the politically motivated prosecution of certain states while ignoring the transgressions of others? The focus on Israel, a democracy operating in a hostile region, stands in stark contrast to the court’s silence on egregious abuses in autocratic regimes worldwide.

For Israel, the stakes are existential. The ICC’s actions are not merely legal provocations; they are attempts to delegitimise the Jewish state on the global stage. By framing self-defence as criminality and equating acts of war with war crimes, the court risks undermining the very principles it claims to uphold.

For Britain, the ICC warrants present a moral and diplomatic conundrum. As a nation committed to international law, the UK cannot simply dismiss its obligations under the Rome Statute. Yet as a steadfast ally of Israel, Britain must also recognise the dangerous precedent these warrants set—not just for Israel, but for any democracy forced to defend itself against terrorism.

The ICC’s actions reveal a troubling bias, one that conflates legality with morality and ignores the complex realities of international conflict. If Britain fails to challenge this bias, it risks enabling the erosion of the very principles it seeks to protect.

The ICC’s pursuit of Netanyahu and Gallant is not just a test of Israel’s resilience; it is a test of the international community’s resolve to stand against the politicisation of justice. For the United States, this resolve may come in the form of sanctions and diplomatic pushback. For Britain, it must involve a critical examination of the ICC’s role and a firm defence of its ally.

History has shown us that the weaponisation of international law is a dangerous game. Today it is Israel in the dock; tomorrow it could be any nation that dares to prioritise its security over the court’s abstractions. The ICC must decide whether it will be a force for impartial justice or a pawn in the game of geopolitics. And the world must decide whether it will allow this charade to continue.