As Gaza’s hospitals ran out of oxygen and children continued to die of hunger, a new “Peace Plan” emerged from Washington. The US President Donald Trump’s 20-Point Gaza Plan was announced recently in late September 2025. It has promised to rebuild Gaza and bring “a new era of stability.” However, to many Palestinians and observers across the world, it sounded like something else: a blueprint to erase what remains of Gaza’s sovereignty. What was initially discussed with the Arab states as a cooperative humanitarian initiative was, by the time of its release, cleverly reshaped. It is rewritten to preserve occupation under a new label.

From Arab Consensus to American Control

Early drafts of a postwar Gaza plan were reportedly framed through consultations among Arab and Muslim nations. They emphasized three principles: Palestinian self-rule, unrestricted humanitarian access, and reconstruction without foreign trusteeship. Yet as negotiations evolved, the plan was absorbed by U.S. diplomacy and redrafted in a way that aligned with Israeli conditions rather than Arab consensus. Several diplomats confirmed that Washington’s version quietly removed any reference to Palestinian sovereignty, replacing it with phrases like “transitional governance” and “security oversight.”

Even before it was officially unveiled, Reuters reported growing unease among Arab delegations, who complained that the new text ignored their agreed-upon points and reflected Israel’s security agenda. Pakistan’s foreign minister stated openly that “Trump’s 20-Point Gaza Plan is not our plan.” The shift marked more than a diplomatic re-edit as it exposed the power imbalance shaping Gaza’s future.

The 20 Points: Promises and Omissions

Publicly, Trump’s 20-Point Gaza Plan claims to rest on four pillars: ceasefire, hostage release, reconstruction, and demilitarization, yet its deeper clauses reveal troubling gaps. There is no guarantee of Palestinian sovereignty, no timeline for Israeli withdrawal, and no provision for international accountability. Instead, it envisions Gaza’s future under external trusteeship, with reconstruction funds controlled by a multinational board led by Washington and oversight committees dominated by Israel and allied states.

Several points speak of creating “safe redevelopment corridors” and “security zones,” terms human rights experts warn could mask forced relocations and demographic engineering. The plan further ties aid to behavior clauses, conditions governance on foreign approval, and places border control under “temporary supervision,” a phrase that critics fear means indefinite control. Amnesty International cautioned that “reconstruction must not become a pretext for displacement or collective punishment.”

In essence, while the plan’s language of peace and rebuilding appeals to diplomacy, its structure embeds dependency and control. To rebuild Gaza without granting it freedom is, as one Palestinian analyst put it, “to rebuild the prison walls, just higher and cleaner.”

The Human Cost Hidden Behind Diplomacy

Behind every clause of this plan lies a humanitarian catastrophe. The World Health Organization confirms that more than half a million people in Gaza face famine-level hunger, and over 360 have already died from malnutrition. The UN’s humanitarian office says 80% of Gaza’s population now depends on aid that Israel continues to restrict. In this reality, talk of “redevelopment corridors” rings hollow. Gaza does not need trusteeship—it needs food, medicine, and an end to the siege.

On the streets of Rafah and Deir al-Balah, survivors of months of bombardment heard the plan’s announcement with disbelief. “They speak of building new homes,” one displaced teacher told a reporter, “but they won’t even let cement cross the border.” Another woman asked, “Who gives them the right to plan our lives while we bury our dead?” These voices reveal the heart of Gaza’s objection: no document signed abroad can substitute for the will of its people.

Resistance and Rejection

Hamas’s initial response to the plan was mixed. The group welcomed references to reconstruction and aid delivery but rejected disarmament and external trusteeship. “No peace built on surrender will last,” its spokesman said. Across Palestinian civil society, activists dismissed the plan as “occupation repackaged.” Hashtags like #NoTrusteeship and #GazaIsNotForSale flooded social media, uniting Gazans and diaspora voices in digital defiance.

Former U.S. diplomat Robert Malley, writing for Le Monde, described the plan as “a maze of ambiguities and potential pitfalls.” His analysis noted that the proposal’s vagueness is deliberate—creating space for powerful states to interpret its clauses to their advantage. It is a familiar strategy: promise reconstruction while ensuring dependency.

Reactions among Arab and Muslim nations were cautious and divided. The Arab League issued a restrained statement calling for further review, while countries like Algeria, Iran, and Pakistan warned that any plan lacking Palestinian representation was unacceptable. Meanwhile, Western governments praised the proposal as a “bold step toward stability.” For Gazans, these words offered little comfort. They have seen such language before in the Oslo Accords, the Road Map, and countless other documents that delivered control, not liberation.

International law offers a clear measure. The plan’s idea of trusteeship contradicts the principle of self-determination guaranteed by the UN Charter and multiple General Assembly resolutions. Legal scholars argue that placing Gaza under external administration without consent would constitute a new form of occupation. The International Court of Justice’s 2024 advisory opinion warned that “peace agreements cannot validate the continuation of unlawful control.” Trump’s plan, critics say, does precisely that.

What True Peace Would Look Like

A genuine peace framework would begin not with political engineering but with justice. It would:

• End the blockade entirely, allowing Gaza to trade and rebuild freely.
• Place reconstruction under Palestinian-led management, not foreign trusteeship.
• Hold accountable those responsible for war crimes and the starvation policy.
• Guarantee the right of return and compensation for the displaced.
• Empower Gaza’s people to elect their own representatives without external approval.

Anything less is not peace but an administrative occupation.

The Moral and Legal Test for the World

The 20-Point Plan is not a diplomatic breakthrough but a moral test. To accept it as written would mean endorsing a future where Gaza remains controlled by the same forces that destroyed it. It would normalize collective punishment under the banner of reform. And it would bury the core demand that Palestinians have made for decades: the right to decide their destiny.

Human Rights Watch, Amnesty International, and UN experts have all warned that Gaza’s crisis cannot be resolved through imposed governance. The path forward must restore dignity, not dependency. Yet, while the world debates corridors and committees, Gaza’s hospitals run without light, and its children die nameless in the dark.

The Bottom Line

Trump’s 20-Point Gaza Plan may speak the language of peace, but its structure carries the logic of control. For Gaza, peace cannot be built by those who silence its voice. True reconstruction will not come from Washington or Tel Aviv, but it will rise from the streets of Khan Yunis and the refugee camps that still believe in freedom.

The people of Gaza do not reject peace but subjugation disguised as diplomacy. Their message to the world remains clear: “We will rebuild, but on our own terms.” And until that right is honored, no plan, however polished, can claim the name of peace.