Freddie Ponton
21st Century Wire

In May 2026, Al Jazeera published a months-long investigation built from Israeli Tax Authority records, customs documents and freedom-of-information requests, tracking who was still arming Israel while Gaza was being flattened. The reporters found that at least 51 countries and self-governing territories kept military-related goods flowing into Israel even after the International Court of Justice warned in January 2024 that there was a plausible risk of genocide in Gaza and reminded states of their duty to prevent it. Between October 2023 and October 2025, those imports were worth about $885.6 million, and most arrived after the court had already spoken.

The Number Everyone Grabbed First

Al Jazeera’s investigation landed like an indictment. That was the number many people grabbed first, and it is easy to see why. Fifty-one countries and nearly $886 million are ugly enough on their own. Worse is what the number tells you. A war wrapped in the language of law, restraint and exception was still being fed by a supply chain stretching across continents, with states that never stop sermonising about human rights, staying in the chain when it counted, and helping keep the whole thing going while publicly draping themselves in the usual moral language.

A lot of the reaction got stuck there, at the usual hypocrisy, with governments saying one thing in public and doing another out of sight. True enough, but still too shallow for what the report lays out. This is more than a case of states talking out of both sides of their mouth. It is a look at the nuts and bolts that kept the killing going after the warning had already been issued, and once those come into view, the scandal stops looking like a contradiction and begins revealing a method.

Old licences stayed alive. Goods moved under customs codes that sound bloodless until you follow where they end up. Subcontractors, rerouted cargo and components buried inside larger systems helped keep the chain intact long after any government claiming loyalty to international law should have been forced to stop and answer for what it was doing. Bureaucratic fog did the rest, giving each state just enough distance from the final blast site to deny owning the whole thing, which is exactly what makes the arrangement so useful to governments that prefer complicity thinned out across paperwork, ports and partners rather than carried openly.

No one had to stand at a podium and declare support for the destruction of Gaza because support could move through channels that looked technical, scattered and forgettable when taken one by one, whether that meant a component here, a shipment there, a contract left standing or another category labelled defensive. Reconciled, those fragments kept the machine fed and let the system keep working without any one state having to own the full shape of what it was helping sustain.

According to Al Jazeera’s analysis of Israeli Tax Authority data, 91 percent of the declared value of those military-related imports was recorded after the ICJ issued its provisional measures in January 2024, which means the world’s highest court warned of a plausible genocide, states were reminded of their obligations, and the pipeline still kept moving as though the law had become one more piece of scenery to nod at and then walk around. Once the warning came and the shipments still landed, the question was no longer whether states understood their obligations. They did. The question was whether those obligations retained any force at all once they ran into a live war backed by powerful states, deep industrial supply lines and the political will to keep everything moving under the cover of technical process.

In Gaza, the answer was brutal. The law stayed on paper while the cargo kept moving. That gap tells you a lot about how modern war is maintained, not only through alliances, declarations and ideological commitment, but through supply channels narrow enough, technical enough and scattered enough to let each state involved claim only a sliver of the final result while still helping keep the whole thing running.

The Lull That Wasn’t A Break

Ceasefire belongs inside that picture as well, because the word still carries a moral and political charge it does not always deserve. It suggests interruption, relief, maybe even a way back into politics. Sometimes it means that. Sometimes it means time, and time in war is rarely neutral. It can mean time to rearm, recoup, reroute, but also time to cool the headlines while the underlying system keeps breathing and gets itself ready for the next round.

Weapons-related imports continued after the October 2025 ceasefire, which means the timeline reads differently once you stop taking the language of de-escalation at face value. The shooting slowed while the supply system did not, and that changes the shape of the whole period. The ceasefire stops looking like a clean break in the violence and increasingly starts looking like a hinge in the operation, a lull that leaves the logistics intact and the next round within reach.

Once ceasefire is understood as a potential resupply window, diplomatic pauses can no longer be seen as a restraint. In fact, they are meant to buy time for the side with deeper supply lines, stronger backers, and a greater ability to repair, reorganize, and turn time into renewed force. That reading does not belong only to Gaza. The same sequence hangs over the present US-Israel-Iran confrontation, not because the wars are identical, but because the rhythm is familiar enough to recognise. Open combat cools, diplomacy steps forward, public language turns cautious, and states and their partners preserve options, replenish stocks and get ready for the next rupture if the pause collapses, which it often does.

The Plumbing No One Wants To See

Paperwork, shipping routes, industrial capacity, customs classifications and political discipline make up the quieter life of war, the part that rarely reaches the front page in any serious detail because it looks too dull, too technical and too administrative to carry the charge of open devastation. But this is where destruction keeps running while officials perform concern, and one of the strongest things in Al Jazeera’s investigation is that it drags that buried system into view without pretending the data can prove more than it actually does.

That caution strengthens the piece. The report notes that an origin country is not always the direct exporter, acknowledges that customs data does not identify final end users, and excludes categories where the military nature of the goods could not be established with enough confidence. None of that weakens the case. To the contrary, it hardens it, because what is visible here is documented, limited and already bad enough.

States that backed the ICJ’s authority still turned up in the chain, states that talked about restrictions still turned up in the chain, and states that claimed to have halted certain exports still turned up through loopholes, earlier approvals or goods sitting in the grey zone between public declarations and trade systems that kept running quietly. How can anyone see this as an accidental leak in the machinery when it is the machinery itself behaving exactly as systems of organised impunity are built to behave?

Perhaps it is a mistake to believe that the international order collapsed into open lawlessness. A closer look indicates that it has learned how to keep the rules on paper while draining them of force in practice, which is, in some ways, worse because the appearance of restraint remains in place, even as the machinery of destruction stays in place. Declarations still come, officials still mutter about duty, caution and concern, and states still know how to look restrained while staying permissive and condemning the consequences while helping preserve the means.

That is why the number 51, however shocking it is, still does not capture the full scandal, because the machinery kept running after the warning had been delivered, after the court, after the outrage and after all the solemn invocations of international law. Gaza was destroyed in full view of the world and supplied in full view of the rules supposedly meant to stop that from happening.

Al Jazeera’s investigation deserves to travel far beyond the audiences already following Palestine closely because it says something broader and nastier about the world that has taken shape around permanent war. Universal public support is no longer required, and clean moral cover is no longer required either, because a supply chain spread widely enough to dissolve responsibility is often enough. Split the contracts, scatter the components, route them through enough ports and partners, hand every state a technical alibi and every ministry a document to hide behind, and the war can keep going.

The report tracks more than who armed Israel during the destruction of Gaza. It tracks how contemporary violence stays supplied after the moral cover has already gone, not by smashing international law head-on, but by stepping around it, thinning responsibility across the map and using each pause in the fighting to make sure the system is primed for the next round.

War no longer needs to announce itself so openly. Much of it now disappears into freight codes, subcontractors and the kind of deniability states have learned to weaponise. Once that supply system is in view, the next ceasefire is no longer secured to entertain peace talks (through strength), but to buy time for whatever comes next.

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Freddie Ponton
21st Century Wire

For a week now, Albania’s streets have been screaming a story the headlines refuse to print. On paper, the Kushner–Trump resort at Sazan and Zvërnec is a tasteful argument about “development” and biodiversity, flamingos versus luxury villas, wetlands versus “jobs and growth.” On the asphalt in Tirana and on the sand of the Zvërnec–Narta beach outside Vlorë, nobody is marching for flamingos. They are shouting “Albania is not for sale,” “Israel out of our country,” “Israel, America, get out,” “Our land in Albania is not for sale.” What they are describing is not a planning dispute. It is a slow, deliberate capture of land, labour and the Albanian state itself.

When Albanian anti-corruption prosecutors froze the bank accounts of a Qatari-owned land company on June 2, 2026, the glossy version of the Sazan story finally shattered. Those accounts belonged to Albania Land Development, controlled by the Al-Khayyat brothers. Inside them sat roughly 195 million dollars wired specifically for the purchase of disputed Zvërnec beachfront plots. That land is the mainland anchor of the planned 1.4-billion-euro luxury mega-resort that is supposed to stretch across Sazan Island and the Zvërnec coastal zone.

IMAGE: Jared Kushner and Ivanka Trump (source: Via Getty Images)

For months, the public story had been effortless and sun-drenched. Jared Kushner and Ivanka Trump supposedly discovered an uninhabited island during a Rothschild yacht tour, fell in love with it, and decided to build up to ten thousand hotel rooms and villas. Saudi and Qatari money would pour in, jobs would appear, and Albania would finally get its sparkling new tourism landmark on the protected Adriatic shoreline.

That narrative collapsed the moment SPAK, Albania’s Special Prosecution Against Corruption and Organised Crime, stepped in. The frozen money wasn’t a side payment. It was the financial fuel behind the very land on which the resort is being built. Titles and court records were never clean to begin with, and trace straight back to a documented 2018 forgery conviction. To anyone following the paper trail, it quickly stops feeling like just another tourism venture and reveals itself as something carefully pieced together, one that started with forged Ottoman-era documents in a provincial courthouse, moved through disgraced judges and Miami-based operators, and culminated in strategic-investor status handed down by Prime Minister Edi Rama’s government, just five days before Donald Trump’s second inauguration.

The story does not simply begin with Kushner buying an island,  but with tainted land titles, opaque corporate vehicles, post-administration influence networks, Gulf sovereign capital, and a former nuclear garrison at one of Europe’s most sensitive maritime chokepoints, all stitched together into something meant to look entirely legitimate.

DOCUMENT: Visual network diagram from the June 2026 investigative dossier showing the connections from convicted forger Pellumb Petritaj through original land claimant Artur Shehu, disgraced judge Alaudin Malaj, the Qatari buyer Albania Land Development (assets frozen June 2, 2026), and onward to Kushner-linked entities and Prime Minister Edi Rama’s approvals.(Source: Created by Author)
Albania Resort Controversy Stakholder Map

The Contaminated Foundation

The trouble did not start on a yacht in the Mediterranean. In fact, it started years earlier amid the messy aftermath of Albania’s post-communist property restitution near Vlora.

IMAGE: Superyacht Planet Nine, owned by Nathaniel Philip Rothschild, the “friend’s boat” on which Ivanka and Jared Kushner were reportedly aboard when she discovered the private island of Sazan, Albania (Source: Luxury Launches)

Court records show that on April 3, 2018, the Vlora Court convicted local businessman Pellumb Petritaj, who served as legal proxy for the Shehu family, of forging an Ottoman-era document to seize 181 hectares of Zvërnec land. He received a three-year prison sentence. Prosecutors laid out a scheme that involved fabricating court-archive files, attributing them to real judges (one killed in a 2011 mafia-style explosion, another long gone from Albania), then pushing the paperwork through state offices, subdividing the plots, and selling them, sometimes through Petritaj’s own daughter. Three officials from the Vlora Property Restitution and Compensation Agency, today known as Agjencia e Trajtimit të Pronave (ATP),  were convicted with him. The alleged fraud eventually covered up to 500 hectares across Zvërnec, Uji i Ftohtë, Karaburun, and Palas. Petritaj was arrested again in 2019 on fresh forgery and money-laundering charges involving another 100 hectares. Albania’s Supreme Court upheld the core forgery conviction in 2024.

The main beneficiary, according to a 2018 judicial commission, was Artur Shehu, a Vlora-born businessman who fled Albania in 1999 after a fatal gunfight at his bar, won U.S. asylum in 2001, and settled into a multimillion-dollar Miami villa. Italian anti-mafia investigators in Lecce once alleged he funnelled about a million euros in Albania on behalf of a senior figure in the Sacra Corona Unita crime syndicate. Albanian officials called him a key player in coastal land grabs around Vlora. In February 2026, just days before Ivanka Trump’s visit, Shehu applied for a duplicate ownership certificate covering 51,944 square metres of disputed forest inside the resort footprint, claiming the original document had been lost. Villagers immediately filed objections.

Those contested titles gained extra legitimacy through rulings by Judge Alaudin Malaj, then president of the Tirana Court of Appeal. In a 2013 civil case, he sided with the Shehu family on 156 hectares. In 2019, he sat on a panel that tossed out forgery charges against Petritaj. Both decisions were later overturned by the Supreme Court. Malaj never disclosed that a family member had bought land from Shehu, a clear conflict of interest. He resigned in July 2020, right before mandatory anti-corruption vetting and was banned from the justice system for fifteen years. Local media still call him the richest former judge in Albania.

Once cleaned up through this judicial and administrative pipeline, the titles were passed to the Qatari-owned Albania Land Development controlled by brothers Moutaz and Ramez Al-Khayyat. SPAK is now investigating whether those titles are fraudulent, whether the 2024 reclassification of protected Vjosa-Narta land amounted to improper favoritism, and how Kushner-linked entities won strategic-investor status without the usual requirements.

Viewed against that history, one conclusion is hard to avoid. The land was never clean. The development machine simply treated the contamination as part of the plan.

IMAGE: Moutaz (left) and Ramez Al-Khayyat, accused of using their accounts at Doha Bank to fund Al-Nusra Front, an Al-Qaeda-affiliated group (Source: Arab News)

DOCUMENT: Detailed corporate and personnel mapping compiled in June 2026 of Kushner and Affinity vehicles in Albania, including Atlantic Incubation Partners LLC, Sazan Real Estate Development LLC, the Dutch trust structure behind Zvërnec South Adriatic Development, and local intermediaries such as Musa Kastrati. ( Source: Created by Author)
VKIS_Resorti_Turistik_Ishulli_i_Sazanit_.sq.en

Further down the chain the structure becomes harder to see. Sazan Real Estate Development LLC names long-time Kushner associate Asher Abehsera, CEO of Affinity Global Development, as chairman. On the Zvërnec shoreline side, Zvërnec South Adriatic Development sh.p.k. sits inside a Dutch-administered trust involving Blue Industries Investment Holding B.V. and Dutch Trust Management B.V. Ultimate beneficial owners Nikita Maximovich Vinogradov and Zoya Georgieva Gyurova hold fifty-fifty control of the parent vehicle. Five unnamed Albanian shareholders together own twenty-four percent, just under the usual threshold for public disclosure. Local intermediaries including Redi Struga through South Adriatic Development and Musa Kastrati, son of powerful oligarch Shefqet Kastrati, have been linked to land negotiations and key meetings with Ivanka Trump and Rama. SPAK has already raided premises connected to Struga.