Critics scoff at Trump’s “eternal peace” plan, but I call it audacious genius: he corners Hamas, restrains Israel, rallies Arabs, and reopens statehood. Flawed or not, no one else dares.
When I first read the White House’s 20-point “eternal
peace” plan for Gaza, I admit I raised an eyebrow. After years of broken
ceasefires, ruined proposals, and rising human toll, I wasn’t inclined to
applaud. And yet, as I peeled back layer by layer, I came to believe this
gambit deserves serious praise—for the very reason that it changes the terms of
the conflict by shifting the positions of the three main actors: America,
Israel, and perhaps, most surprisingly, Hamas.
To be clear: this plan is not perfect. It teeters on a
knife’s edge of collapse. But what makes it compelling is that it does
something rarely seen in the Gaza conflict: it reconfigures who holds leverage,
who must act, and who is forced to take a stand.
President Trump’s announcement alongside Prime Minister
Netanyahu on September 29 offered a bold architecture. Under the proposal,
hostages would be released quickly, Hamas would disarm and receive amnesty or
exile, a technocratic interim administration would take governance (excluding
Hamas), Israel would withdraw in phases as security passed to an international
force and vetted Palestinian police, and reconstruction could pave a path to
eventual Palestinian statehood. Eight Muslim-majority nations have expressed
support.
What’s revolutionary is not merely the plan’s contents,
but how it reflects a U-turn in policy of both Washington and Jerusalem.
Earlier in February of this year, Trump floated the idea of U.S. takeover of
Gaza and even discussed relocating Palestinians, envisioning Gaza as a kind of
Middle East “Riviera.” That vision raised alarm across the Arab world, with
critics likening it to a form of ethnic cleansing. The Vatican, for example,
publicly repudiated any plan to deport Palestinians from Gaza. But now, Trump
has explicitly rejected annexation and occupation of Gaza—a dramatic reversal
that reopens the possibility of two states.
Netanyahu, too, has pivoted. He once embraced perpetual
war in Gaza, tethered politically to hard-right coalition partners who
fantasized about settling Gaza. A peaceful outcome threatened his fragile
coalition and his political survival. But now, he is positioning this plan as
delivering Israel’s war aims—recovering hostages and removing Hamas power—while
pledging not to annex Gaza. Surveys show nearly 75% of Israelis support the
plan, a considerable base for Netanyahu to run on—even if his own popularity is
weak.
The real wild card is Hamas. The group has remained
publicly noncommittal, citing impossible demands—especially disarmament and its
exclusion from future governance. According to sources, Hamas negotiators view
the plan as biased toward Israel and unconscionable in its sequencing. But if
Hamas were to adopt, even in principle, a commitment to relinquish arms and
cede governance, it would amount to a radical recognition that it no longer
claims to represent all Palestinians.
Each actor’s change of stance carries heavy risks. Hamas
might reject the plan outright, condemning Gaza to continued carnage. Netanyahu
or future governments may backslide, swayed by hawkish demands and political
shifts. The technicalities of sequencing—who disarms first, who withdraws
first—are labyrinthine. Reconstruction in Gaza is a Herculean task, with
rubble, mines, destroyed infrastructure, and deep distrust. The Palestinian
Authority (PA), slated eventually to retake Gaza, has a poor record on reform
and could collapse under pressure. And worst of all, the public in both Israel
and Palestine show little confidence in a two-state solution. According to
polls, only 26% of Palestinians support abandoning the two-state model, yet
more than 40% favor dissolving the PA altogether.
Yet in risk lies the plan’s appeal. By shifting American
posture away from occupation, it keeps alive a political horizon where Gaza is
not annexed indefinitely. By extracting Netanyahu from his “forever war” box,
it gives Israel a more defensible exit strategy. And by forcing Hamas into a
public choice, it deprives it of the perpetual posture of resistance without
accountability.
History offers sobering lessons. Ceasefires between
Israel and Hamas in 2024 under U.S., Egypt, and Qatari mediation collapsed
after factions balked at disarmament and withdrawal conditions. In the Oslo
years, interim agreements faltered because sequencing was vague and mutual
trust minimal. Israel’s disengagement from Gaza in 2005 unraveled as security
vacuums emerged and Hamas filled them. The 2007 split between Hamas and Fatah
left Gaza isolated. In every prior plan, ambiguity killed momentum.
Yet this plan is audacious in its clarity and bold in its
demands. It asks major actors to stake reputations—and perhaps political
careers—on implementation. That’s a gamble rarely seen in recent Gaza
diplomacy, where speaking is easy and acting impossible.
Critics will say the plan is fanciful, that expecting
Hamas to disarm is dreaming, and that global powers will refuse to enforce
oversight. They will warn that an interim technocracy under Trump-led “Board of
Peace” smacks of external imposition. And they may be right. But what
alternatives remain? Occupation invites endless insurgency and war. Rule by
resurgent Hamas invites tyranny and misery. Anarchy invites collapse and
fragmentation. The White House plan, though fragile, offers direction.
If this experiment fails, it will fail spectacularly. But
even the act of making it, publicly, is worth praise. It forces truth—a
reckoning by each side that peace must come with transformation. It compels
external guarantors (Arab states, Turkey) to act as more than witnesses.
I believe this proposal is the boldest, most coherent
pathway we’ve seen in years to leave the nightmare. Its success demands
sustained pressure: Trump must hold Israel’s feet to the fire, Arab and Muslim
states must lean on Hamas, and international institutions must supply
credibility and muscle. But the alternative is worse: perpetual war, mass
suffering, occupation, or a rebuilt Hamas with weapons.
So yes, I praise this plan—not because it’s perfect, but
because it dares to transform the conversation. It dares a risk. And in a
region scarred by endless indecision and death, daring is exactly what we need.
