A sovereign nation had no right to its own resources
Across a century of human struggle — from Mexico's church-state rupture in 1926 to Northern Ireland's fragile peace collapsing in 2001 — four moments reveal a recurring truth: that the formal structures built to resolve conflict often preserve its underlying logic rather than dissolve it. Whether through power-sharing agreements that institutionalize division, military raids that substitute killing for negotiation, legal rulings that deny sovereignty, or laws that ignite the very rebellions they sought to prevent, the state repeatedly discovers that force and framework alone cannot settle the deeper contests over who holds power and who bears the cost.
- David Trimble's resignation in 2001 exposed the Good Friday Agreement not as a peace but as a ceasefire between rival power centers, each still armed with its own demands.
- Israel's Entebbe raid killed more than 50 people to avoid a negotiation, then handed the world a template for cross-border military action dressed as humanitarian rescue.
- Iran's parliament voted to reclaim its own oil in 1951, only to face British economic strangulation, an international court that questioned its sovereignty, and a CIA-backed coup that settled the matter by force.
- Mexico's Calles Law of 1926 tried to break the Catholic Church's grip on land, money, and loyalty — and instead ignited the Cristero War, three years of bloodshed that proved the Church's roots ran deeper than any decree.
- In each case, the instrument of resolution — a peace agreement, a military operation, a court ruling, a constitutional law — became the new site of conflict rather than its end.
Four moments, separated by decades, share the same underlying grammar: state power colliding with entrenched interests, and ordinary people absorbing the consequences.
On July 1, 2001, David Trimble resigned as First Minister of Northern Ireland. The Ulster Unionist leader had staked his political survival on the IRA surrendering its weapons under the terms of the 1998 Good Friday Agreement. When the deadline passed without disarmament, he had no choice but to go. His deputy Seamus Mallon fell with him. But the resignation pointed to something deeper than broken promises. Sinn Féin was using the weapons as leverage for further concessions — police reform, British troop withdrawal. The power-sharing framework, rather than transcending sectarian division, had simply built a government on top of it, with two communities, two power centers, and no shared foundation beneath them.
A quarter-century earlier, on the night of July 3, 1976, Israeli commandos stormed Entebbe Airport in Uganda. Hijackers linked to the PFLP and a West German radical group had seized an Air France jet, holding 106 Jewish and Israeli passengers after releasing the rest. While publicly announcing it would negotiate, Israel was secretly preparing an assault. The raid killed all seven hijackers, 45 Ugandan soldiers, and three hostages caught in the crossfire. A fourth — Dora Bloch, a 75-year-old woman hospitalized in Kampala — was murdered on Idi Amin's orders in reprisal. The Western press celebrated a triumph. What had actually been established was a precedent: that a state could launch military operations hundreds of miles beyond its borders, kill soldiers of another nation, and frame the entire operation as counterterrorism.
In 1951, Iran's parliament voted to nationalize the Anglo-Iranian Oil Company, a British firm that had extracted the country's resources since 1913. Britain sued at the International Court of Justice, which ordered Iran to halt the seizure — implying, in careful legal language, that a sovereign nation had no right to its own ground. Iran rejected the ruling. Britain responded with economic siege: refinery output at Abadan was slashed, tanker captains refused to acknowledge Iranian ownership, and a warship appeared off the coast. The court eventually ruled it had no jurisdiction, but the damage was already done. In 1953, British intelligence and the CIA removed Prime Minister Mossadegh in a coup. The oil remained in foreign hands.
The oldest of the four moments came in 1926, when Mexico published the Calles Law — a sweeping measure banning priests from public dress, prohibiting religious education, and seizing church property. President Calles was enforcing the anticlerical articles of the 1917 revolutionary constitution, targeting an institution that had long served as a financial and political pillar of the landed elite. The Church ran schools, held mortgages, and extracted fees from the poor for life's most basic rituals. By July 31, the law was in force. Within weeks, Catholic rebels rose in armed resistance. The Cristero War burned for three years and left thousands dead — a reminder that institutions with deep roots in daily life do not yield to legislation alone.
Four moments separated by decades but bound by the same logic: the collision between state power, economic interest, and the people caught between them.
On July 1, 2001, David Trimble stepped down as First Minister of Northern Ireland. He was the head of the Ulster Unionist Party, the pro-British faction in a government designed to split power between unionists and nationalists. His resignation was not impulsive. It was the culmination of a promise he had made and could no longer keep. The Irish Republican Army had agreed, under the terms of the 1998 Good Friday Agreement, to hand over its weapons in exchange for a seat at the table. The deadline came and went. No guns were surrendered. Trimble had staked his political survival on this happening. When it didn't, he had to leave. His deputy, Seamus Mallon, fell with him, though he remained in a caretaker role. The Ulster Unionist Party nominated Reg Empey to take the top job.
What looked like a simple failure of one side to honor a commitment was actually something more structural. Sinn Féin, the political wing of the IRA, was using the weapons as leverage. They wanted more: reform of the police force, disarmament of British troops on Irish soil. The British government, led by Tony Blair, took Trimble's side. The Irish government, under Bertie Ahern, pressed Sinn Féin to give up the arms. But the framework itself—the power-sharing arrangement that was supposed to end sectarian division—had simply institutionalized it instead. Two communities, two power centers, each with its own demands and red lines. The Good Friday Agreement had not transcended sectarianism. It had built the state on top of it.
Fifty years earlier, on the night of July 3, 1976, Israeli commandos landed at Uganda's Entebbe Airport. A week before, hijackers linked to the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine and a West German radical group had seized an Air France passenger jet. They wanted the release of 53 political prisoners held across five countries, including 40 in Israel. The plane landed in Uganda with the permission of dictator Idi Amin. The hijackers released the non-Jewish passengers but kept 106 Jewish and Israeli hostages. On July 1, the Israeli government announced it would negotiate. This was a lie. While the hijackers waited for a response, the Israeli military prepared an assault. Just after 11 p.m. on July 3, C-130 transport planes touched down at Entebbe. About 100 commandos stormed the terminal. They killed all seven hijackers and 45 Ugandan soldiers. They destroyed 11 of Uganda's fighter jets—roughly half the country's air force. Three hostages died in the gunfire. A fourth, a 75-year-old woman named Dora Bloch who had been hospitalized in Kampala before the raid, was murdered on Amin's orders as punishment.
The Western press called it a heroic rescue. But the logic was worth examining. The hijackers had made a demand: release prisoners or people die. The Israeli government chose a third option: kill everyone involved and call it salvation. Over 50 people died so that a negotiation would not have to happen. The raid also established something new in international practice: the idea that a state could launch a military operation hundreds of miles from its borders, kill soldiers and civilians of another nation, and justify it as counterterrorism. Israel would use this precedent again two years later in Lebanon.
Seventy-five years before that, on July 5, 1951, the International Court of Justice in The Hague issued a ruling that would shape the next two decades of Middle Eastern politics. Iran's parliament had voted to nationalize the Anglo-Iranian Oil Company, a British firm that had been extracting wealth from Iranian soil since 1913. The British government sued. The court ordered Iran to return the company's property and to stop any seizure of the money Iran claimed it was owed. The language was careful: Iran had "purported" to nationalize the oil. In the eyes of international law, a sovereign nation apparently had no right to its own resources.
Britain did not wait for courts. By early July, the Anglo-Iranian Oil Company had cut refinery production at Abadan—the world's largest oil refinery—by 40 percent, then to one-fifth. British tanker captains refused to sign documents naming Iran as the owner of the oil. A British cruiser appeared off Iran's coast. Fighter jets and paratroopers stood ready. Iran rejected the court's ruling as interference in its internal affairs. The court would eventually agree, ruling in 1952 that it had no jurisdiction. But by then the damage was done. Britain imposed oil boycotts and blockades. In August 1953, British intelligence and the CIA orchestrated a coup that removed Prime Minister Mohammad Mossadegh from power. The oil stayed in foreign hands.
One hundred years before that, on July 2, 1926, Mexico published a law that would reshape the relationship between church and state. President Plutarco Elías Calles had signed it weeks earlier. The Calles Law would ban priests from wearing clerical robes in public, forbid religious education, and seize church property. It was meant to enforce articles of the 1917 Constitution written after the Mexican Revolution, when figures like Pancho Villa and Emiliano Zapata had fought to break the power of the landed elite and the institutions that sustained them. The Catholic Church was one of those institutions. It ran schools and hospitals. It loaned money to the wealthy landowners and held mortgages on their estates. It extracted tithes and fees from the poor for marriages, baptisms, and funerals. By crushing the Church, Calles aimed to eliminate a rival power center and ensure that Mexicans' loyalty flowed to the state, not to Rome. The law took effect on July 31. Within a month, Catholic rebels rose up. The Cristero War would last until 1929, and thousands would die.
Citas Notables
The claims that this was a last resort to save Israelis is the most cynical Zionist propaganda— Bulletin of the Workers League, on the Entebbe raid
Iran rejected the ICJ ruling as an intervention in our internal affairs and declared it null and void— Iranian government response to the 1951 court decision
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why does Trimble's resignation matter now, a quarter-century later?
Because it shows that you can write a power-sharing agreement on paper and still have it collapse the moment one side won't give up leverage. The Good Friday Agreement didn't end sectarianism—it just gave it a formal structure. Trimble had promised his voters that the IRA would disarm. When they didn't, he had no choice but to leave. But that left the whole system unstable.
And the Entebbe raid—that was a rescue, wasn't it?
That's what the newspapers said. But look at the math. Over 50 people died so that a negotiation wouldn't happen. The hijackers had a demand. Israel chose violence instead of talking. And then it worked—the world called it heroic. That set a precedent that still matters.
What about Iran? Why did the court rule against them?
Because international law, in 1951, was written by the countries that had already stolen the resources. A sovereign nation couldn't nationalize its own oil because the court said so. But Britain didn't even wait for the ruling. They just strangled the economy until the government fell.
And Mexico's church law—was that about religion?
Not really. The Church was a power center that rivaled the state. It had money, schools, hospitals, the loyalty of millions. Calles wanted to consolidate power in the government. The Church fought back, and people died for it.
So these are all about who gets to hold power?
Yes. And what happens when institutions refuse to surrender it, or when states decide they want it back.