When I first heard about Donald Trump’s new Gaza ceasefire plan, I felt a mix of disbelief and déjà vu. Once again, the political destiny of Palestinians—whose struggle for self-determination and dignity I deeply empathize with—was being shaped not by their voices, but by external powers and billionaire interests. The plan, presented as a bold path toward peace and prosperity, reads less like a genuine peace framework and more like a real estate prospectus masquerading as diplomacy. As I delved deeper into the contents of this so-called “Trump Peace Plan for Gaza”, it became clear that the proposal was designed to serve the geopolitical and economic interests of powerful actors, not the people of Gaza who have endured unimaginable suffering. Its language of reconstruction and redevelopment hides a familiar pattern of dispossession, reminiscent of colonial “civilizing missions” repackaged for the twenty-first century.
Two Faces of the Plan: One for Netanyahu, Another for Hamas
The plan was never presented evenly. When Trump’s team introduced it to Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, the language centered on security guarantees, phased withdrawals, and the opportunity to neutralize Hamas. Israel was assured that it could still shape Gaza’s future security and control the terms of disengagement (Council on Foreign Relations [CFR], 2025). Netanyahu’s government was told that the deal would secure Israel’s borders, ensure the return of hostages, and preserve Israel’s right to act militarily if “threats reemerged” (Reuters, 2025).
To Hamas, the same plan was delivered in the form of an ultimatum—disarm, surrender political control, return hostages, and you may have reconstruction. It was a transaction, not a negotiation. As Reuters (2025) reported, Hamas was given deadlines under threat of “severe consequences” should they refuse. This asymmetry—the language of empowerment to one side and coercion to the other—betrays the fundamental bias at the heart of the proposal. It was never about reconciliation between two equal peoples; it was about consolidating power in favor of one.
In this light, Trump’s ceasefire proposal appears to be a political and economic instrument to reshape Gaza on terms favorable to Israel and global capital, not a sincere roadmap to peace.
A Real Estate Deal Masquerading as Peace
Reading through the economic section of the plan, I could not help but see the fingerprints of a billionaire developer’s worldview. Gaza’s coastline—described by Trump’s advisers as a potential “Riviera for the Middle East” (The Guardian, 2025)—is being marketed as prime real estate waiting for global investors. The plan’s promotional materials emphasize luxury tourism, smart cities, and tech parks rather than human rights, reparations, or justice for the displaced.
The Arab Center Washington DC (2025) was blunt in its critique, calling it “The Great Trust for Gaza: A Blueprint for Dispossession, not Reconstruction.” According to the analysis, the proposed development trust would manage land titles, contracts, and reconstruction funds largely through international intermediaries—effectively bypassing local Palestinian governance. This would turn Gaza’s postwar reconstruction into a “land privatization and redevelopment” project driven by global elites, many of whom have direct financial and political ties to Trump’s network of investors and allies.
I find it appalling that, in the aftermath of one of the most devastating humanitarian crises in modern history—over 67,000 Palestinians killed and millions displaced (Associated Press [AP], 2025)—the U.S. leadership’s priority is not justice or accountability, but a redevelopment plan patterned after a capitalist recovery model that enriches developers, contractors, and financial institutions.
It echoes what I have long observed as a recurring colonial logic: the conqueror destroys, then profits from the rebuilding of the conquered land.
The Illusion of Reduced Israeli Control
Trump’s ceasefire blueprint claims to reduce Israeli military presence in Gaza by proposing a “phased withdrawal to an agreed line” (CFR, 2025). At first glance, this might seem like progress. But in truth, it is a sleight of hand. A partial withdrawal without enforceable limits on Israeli air control, border authority, and sea access means nothing more than a change in form, not in substance.
As the Council on Foreign Relations (2025) noted, the plan leaves “security arrangements” to future negotiation, a loophole large enough for Israel to maintain de facto domination. Israel’s drones can still patrol Gaza’s skies; its navy can still block shipments; and its intelligence apparatus can still determine who enters or leaves. This is not sovereignty—it is supervised autonomy under the shadow of occupation.
It also perpetuates what scholars call “remote occupation”—a condition where a state withdraws troops but retains total control through surveillance, blockade, and economic dependency (CFR, 2025). The Trump plan fits this mold perfectly.
A Ceasefire Without Self-Determination
From a peacebuilder’s point of view, the plan fails its most basic ethical test: it excludes the Palestinians from meaningful participation in shaping their own future. There is no clear mechanism for democratic consultation or consent. The Palestinian Authority (PA) is mentioned as a potential interim partner, but even that was resisted by Netanyahu (Reuters, 2025). Hamas, meanwhile, was told to surrender power before any discussions of reconstruction could proceed.
This leaves the future of Gaza to an unelected international trusteeship—essentially a technocratic occupation managed by donors and external advisors. The Arab Center (2025) warned that this creates a “governance without sovereignty” scenario, where Palestinians may administer humanitarian relief but cannot decide their own political fate.
True self-determination, as I understand it, must include political agency, the right to elect leaders, control over borders, and the capacity to determine development priorities. The Trump plan offers none of these. Instead, it offers reconstruction in exchange for submission—a transactional peace that legitimizes subjugation.
The Deeper Geopolitical Logic
In broader geopolitical terms, Trump’s plan aligns with U.S. strategic interests in the region rather than humanitarian principles. By creating an internationally managed Gaza, Washington positions itself as the arbiter of postwar reconstruction. This preserves American influence while allowing Israel to avoid direct responsibility for occupation and war crimes. It also creates lucrative opportunities for Western corporations, contractors, and financial institutions eager to profit from Gaza’s rebuilding (Arab Center, 2025).
The resulting arrangement would stabilize the region—not for its people—but for investors, allies, and political elites. This is the hallmark of what I call neocolonial peacebuilding: a model of post-conflict reconstruction that secures markets, suppresses resistance, and brands it as “peace.”
Why This Matters to Me
As a Filipino peacebuilder who has witnessed the long arc of colonial history in my own land, I recognize these patterns too well. I have seen how “development” projects become tools of dispossession when controlled by elites and foreign investors. I have seen how the language of peace can mask the perpetuation of inequality and occupation.
When I look at Gaza today, I see not just a tragedy but a mirror. The Palestinian struggle reflects a universal truth: that without justice, there can be no peace. And justice cannot come from those who profit from war.
Trump’s ceasefire plan, in its current form, is not a step toward peace—it is a continuation of conflict by economic and political means.
What a Just Ceasefire Should Look Like
A genuine peace plan must begin with recognition: recognition of Palestinian sovereignty, of the right of return for refugees, and of accountability for those who have committed crimes against humanity. It must guarantee that reconstruction is led by Palestinians, not imposed upon them.
International aid should strengthen local governance, protect property rights, and rebuild social infrastructure—not privatize it. Economic aid should not be conditioned on political obedience. And above all, peace must be rooted in equality—equal rights for Arab, Jewish, and Christian Palestinians, and for all settlers willing to live under one democratic law.
Without this foundation, every ceasefire is temporary, and every promise of reconstruction is another chapter in the long story of colonial deception.
Conclusion
Donald Trump’s Gaza ceasefire plan may wear the language of peace, but beneath it lies the architecture of domination. Its asymmetric diplomacy, its real-estate logic, and its exclusion of Palestinian agency reveal its true nature: a project designed to reshape Gaza for the benefit of the powerful.
As I reflect on it, I am reminded that peace is not the absence of war—it is the presence of justice. And justice begins with listening to those who have been silenced for far too long.
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References
Arab Center Washington DC. (2025, September 4). The GREAT Trust for Gaza: A blueprint for dispossession, not reconstruction. https://arabcenterdc.org
Associated Press. (2025, October 13). Hamas releases all 20 remaining living hostages as part of Gaza ceasefire. https://apnews.com
Council on Foreign Relations. (2025, October). A guide to Trump’s twenty-point Gaza peace plan. https://cfr.org
Reuters. (2025, October 13). Trump suggests Hamas has approval for internal security operations in Gaza. https://reuters.com
The Guardian. (2025, February 5). ‘Waterfront property’: What are Trump’s real estate interests in Gaza? https://theguardian.com
