The unveiling of the US peace plan for Gaza, backed by Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, has produced a wave of anticipation mixed with suspicion, and the question now is whether Hamas will concede to a deal that demands capitulation rather than compromise. The framework calls for an immediate ceasefire, a hostage exchange, and the gradual reconstruction of Gaza under international supervision, but it also strips Hamas of any military or political role. Disarmament, dismantling of tunnels, and removal of fighters from governance are the price to be paid in return for humanitarian aid, amnesty for those who renounce violence, and the distant possibility of Palestinian self-determination. Yet these promises are layered with ambiguity. The so-called path to Palestinian statehood is vague, delayed, and contingent on conditions that few believe Israel will ever permit to materialise. Instead, Gaza would be subjected to international administration, guarded by a security force drawn from external powers, with the territory still encircled by Israeli troops who would maintain a “perimeter presence.” For Palestinians who have already endured months of devastation, the plan offers temporary relief but no certainty of dignity or sovereignty. For Hamas, it poses a bitter dilemma: to accept surrender and risk losing its base of legitimacy or to refuse and hand Israel a pretext for continuing its relentless offensive. This is not a negotiation between equals but an ultimatum disguised as diplomacy, where one side is compelled to give up everything while the other preserves both control and discretion.
The design of postwar Gaza envisioned by the plan reflects an uneasy mix of external interests rather than the aspirations of its people. A “Board of Peace” led by powerful international figures would oversee the reconstruction effort, holding the purse strings for aid and infrastructure and thus exercising effective authority over governance. Palestinian technocrats would administer day-to-day affairs, but always under external supervision, while the Palestinian Authority is promised eventual involvement after internal reforms. The catch is that Israel’s leadership, particularly the far-right elements in Netanyahu’s coalition, has no intention of allowing the Palestinian Authority to consolidate power in Gaza or to permit even a symbolic step toward statehood. That contradiction exposes the fragility of the entire arrangement. The Palestinian Authority, weak and discredited, cannot simply inherit legitimacy in a territory that has seen it as distant and ineffective. Hamas, no matter how brutalised by war, retains support precisely because it positions itself as a voice of resistance. To eliminate it on paper does not erase its resonance on the ground. The international force that is supposed to guarantee security could find itself in perpetual conflict with underground networks that refuse to dissolve. Meanwhile, Israel retains leverage by maintaining a security zone inside Gaza, effectively ensuring that the promise of withdrawal remains conditional. This arrangement risks creating a new kind of occupation, one branded as international stewardship but still denying Palestinians the agency to govern their own land. In such an atmosphere, even massive inflows of aid will not erase the resentment of a people asked to exchange sovereignty for subsistence. Reconstruction without genuine political resolution becomes a bandage over an open wound, one that may stop the bleeding for a time but cannot prevent infection from spreading.
The broader regional implications explain why the plan has been cautiously welcomed by Arab governments yet regarded with scepticism by their populations. For Egypt, Jordan, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, and others, the priority is to stop the bloodshed that has inflamed public anger and destabilised their own societies. Endorsing a ceasefire, however flawed, allows them to claim responsiveness without committing to a confrontation with Israel or the United States. For Washington, the plan represents a chance to regain diplomatic initiative in a conflict where its credibility has eroded, while for Israel, it provides a means to reframe the war as a humanitarian endeavour rather than a campaign of destruction. But for the people of Gaza, whose homes, schools, and hospitals lie in ruins, the proposal offers neither true peace nor justice. It demands that they accept an indefinite trusteeship under outsiders, a continued encirclement by Israeli troops, and a future in which their right to statehood remains theoretical. If Hamas rejects the deal, Israel will pursue its offensive with renewed justification; if Hamas accepts, Palestinians may find themselves in a rebuilt but heavily monitored enclave that functions more like an open-air ward than a sovereign territory. This is the danger of plans that prioritise stability for outsiders over self-determination for the people most affected. Without a credible path to independence and dignity, any ceasefire, no matter how comprehensive on paper, risks becoming just another pause in a cycle of violence. Sustainable peace cannot be manufactured by external custodians who prioritise security over sovereignty. It requires recognising that the Palestinians’ struggle is not simply for survival but for the right to shape their own destiny. Unless that truth is addressed, this proposal, like many before it, will falter under the weight of its contradictions.