Donald Trump’s newly unveiled 20-point peace proposal for Gaza is, at first blush, a grand gesture. It speaks of ceasefire, hostage exchange, reconstruction, and a technocratic transitional government. But its promise is hollow, its coercive logic unmasked, and its starting point is one of utter asymmetry. Hamas, which was never consulted in the drafting, is handed an ultimatum: accept these terms or face a “very sad end.”
Let’s call it what it is: a blueprint for surrender, not diplomacy; for capitulation, not negotiation. Trump and Netanyahu present it as a fait accompli, with Israel’s acceptance already secured and Hamas labeled the spoiler to be broken. In this framing, the only question left is whether Hamas will submit or be pulverized. What kind of “peace” is that? It is a peace proposal built on the bones of the defeated: one-sided, coercive, lacking legitimacy in the eyes of the very people it is meant to govern.
Several features of the plan reveal its inner logic. It demands that Hamas decommission its weapons before anything else — before political inclusion, before guarantees of sovereignty. In essence, the party that holds the guns must drop them before any terms can even be negotiated. That is not disarmament; it is disempowerment masquerading as peace. Governance in Gaza would be handed over to unelected technocrats, under a “Board of Peace” chaired by Trump (with Tony Blair included) and subject to external oversight. Israeli troops would partially withdraw, but unspecified security arcs and perimeters would remain under the aegis of an international stabilization force. In effect, Gaza becomes a tutelary territory under de facto foreign control.
The plan is framed not as dialogue but as ultimatum. Hamas is given only days to respond — to accept or be crushed. Trump insists there is “not much” room for negotiation. Behind the velvet language of rescue lies the iron logic of compulsion. While hailed as bold and visionary, the initiative conspicuously excludes Hamas from the drafting table. It is a plan pushed from on high, not negotiated from below. That omission is not accidental — it is foundational. Palestinian statehood, meanwhile, features faintly and conditionally, postponed until other “reforms” are met. The proposal devotes more energy to disarmament and security architecture than to legitimacy, justice, or rights. Viewed in full, it is less a bridge to peace and more a vassalage treaty: Gaza under guardianship, its sovereignty defanged, its resistance banished.
For Hamas, the calculus is harsh but clear: accepting is tantamount to political suicide. To disarm before political guarantees means forfeiting all bargaining leverage. Once disarmed, it would be erased entirely — stripped of both credibility and capacity to protect Palestinians. A “peace” imposed from without has zero legitimacy. Its base would not accept a surrender narrative, and its leadership must maintain its standing among a populace battered by war, suffering, and humiliation. Acceptance would mean surrendering its raison d’être, ceding control, and consenting to indefinite external oversight. That is not a peace deal; it is an extinction clause.
Historical memory deepens the distrust. Decades of broken promises and unilateral Israeli actions have fostered deep skepticism. Hamas would demand credible guarantees, monitoring mechanisms, and binding oversight — not ultimatums. Beyond that, millions in Gaza and the wider Palestinian world expect resistance, not submission. To accept an externally dictated plan would be seen as betrayal. Even reports suggesting Hamas may be “leaning toward acceptance” should be read cautiously; they are likely diplomatic signaling, not true concession. Ultimately, the plan as written offers no path for survival, only terms of surrender.
To salvage any hope for a stable peace, coercion must give way to inclusivity. Deadlines and threats should be removed; a peace plan offered under gunpoint cannot last. Hamas and Palestinian leadership must be included in the process, not as stooges but as negotiating partners. Disarmament should proceed in phases, tied to political recognition, transitional safeguards, external observers, and credible enforcement. Arms cannot fall quietly into a vacuum of legitimacy. Binding guarantees must be established, with international guarantors and credible multilateral oversight. Breaches should carry consequences for all sides. Above all, the core must be addressed: statehood, rights, reparations, return or compensation for refugees. A peace built solely on security is brittle. Immediate and unfettered humanitarian aid must be allowed, followed by reconstruction grounded in human dignity rather than submission. Regional stakeholders — Egypt, Qatar, Jordan, Saudi Arabia, and the UAE — must act as guarantors, not spoilers.
This Trump-Netanyahu peace proposal is not a turning point in the conflict over Gaza; it is a turning point in its narrative. It declares that wars end not through reconciliation but through capitulation. It frames the question not as one of justice but of submission. If Hamas rejects this plan — as history, logic, and principle suggest it will — Israel’s response will determine whether it was a pathway to peace or a green light to further devastation.
But let us not be naïve: peace that excludes the people, that demands sacrifice of dignity, that enforces quiet with bombs, is no peace at all. It is simply a lull before the next storm. The world must insist instead that there be no peace without justice, no governance without legitimacy, and no ceasefire without accountability. The people of Gaza deserve no less.
