On 29 September 2025, the White House published a 20-point peace plan aimed at ending the war in Gaza and rebuilding the territory as a “New Gaza”. At the centre of the proposal is a transitional architecture overseen by an international body called the “Board of Peace”. According to the text, Gaza would be governed by a “technocratic, apolitical Palestinian committee”, with the board itself chaired by US President Donald J. Trump and including figures such as former UK Prime Minister Tony Blair.
The plan lays out a series of commitments: humanitarian corridors, the demilitarisation of Gaza, an internationally supervised committee, and the establishment of a “special economic zone”. It pledges that “no one will be forced to leave Gaza,” but reconstruction will depend on meeting externally defined “standards, milestones and timeframes.” Only then would Israel withdraw and transfer authority.
Supporters view these details as practical steps. Yet scepticism runs deep, and history explains why it is more than rhetorical. External settlements that have traded political rights for technical fixes have a long history in Palestine. In 1917 the “Balfour Declaration” promised a “national home for the Jewish people” while adding that nothing should prejudice “the civil and religious rights of existing non-Jewish communities.” Decades later, Palestinians point to those words as hollow. Similarly, the “Oslo Declaration of Principles (or Oslo Accord)” in 1993 created interim institutions but deferred the decisive questions of borders, refugees and statehood — issues still unresolved today.
Present-day realities add to doubts. The United States remains Israel’s principal diplomatic and military partner, providing multibillion-dollar security assistance and regular arms transfers. US vetoes at the UN Security Council on ceasefire resolutions have reinforced perceptions of Washington’s intention. Diplomatically, the refusal to grant Palestinian President Mahmoud Abbas a visa to attend the UN General Assembly — forcing him to address it remotely — was seen by many as a symbolic restriction of Palestinian agency at the very moment their future is being negotiated.
The personalities attached to the plan have drawn particular attention. Trump’s proposal to chair the board himself and to involve Blair surprised many observers. Trump described Blair as a “good man”, yet his record divides opinion. In much of the region, Blair is remembered less as a technocrat than as a central figure in the 2003 Iraq War. The Chilcot Inquiry condemned the decision-making and intelligence that led the UK into that conflict, whose aftermath left decades of instability and destruction of Iraq.
For Mustafa Barghouti, general secretary of the Palestinian National Initiative, the symbolism is stark: “We’ve been under British colonialism already. If you mention Tony Blair, the first thing people mention is the Iraq War.” UN special rapporteur Francesca Albanese was blunter still, writing on social media: “Tony Blair? Hell No,” and suggesting he should face the International Criminal Court.
Others point to Blair’s mixed legacy in the Middle East. As envoy of the Quartet—the UN, US, EU and Russia—from 2007 to 2015, he was tasked to develop the Palestinian economy and institutions. He spent eight years and achieved a little, as the Palestinian Authority’s former chief negotiator, Nabil Shaath, said he had “achieved so very little because of his gross efforts to please the Israelis.”
Mustafa Barghouti of the Palestinian National Initiative told CNN: “I think it’s preferable that he stays in his own country and lets Palestinians rule themselves by themselves. And most importantly, let Palestinians have free democratic elections to elect their leaders freely and democratically, rather than subjecting us to another colonial rule.”
Still, deeper historical shadows hang over such appointments. British colonial rule in Palestine, known as the “Mandate for Palestine”, from 1920 to 1948 entrenched divisions that continue to fuel conflict even today. Against that backdrop, Blair’s reappearance in a US-led initiative carries heavy symbolic weight.
Meanwhile, the humanitarian situation in Gaza is catastrophic. The Integrated Food Security Phase Classification, alongside UN health agencies, has confirmed famine. UN humanitarian updates document mass displacements, collapsed services, and critical shortages of water, fuel, and medical supplies. At the same time, the UN’s Independent International Commission of Inquiry has concluded that Israeli actions in Gaza meet the threshold of genocide. These findings have triggered urgent calls for accountability from human rights groups and UN member states.
Proponents of the White House plan argue that transitional technocracy, rigorous benchmarks and international stabilisation forces are necessary after mass destruction. They stress the immediate promise of aid and provisions, such as the commitment that “all hostages, alive and deceased, will be returned within 72 hours” of agreement.
Critics counter that reconstruction without justice risks failure. Donor-driven projects detached from investigation, redress and enforceable guarantees may institutionalise displacement and erase accountability. Rebuilding without redress is rebuilding on sand. New housing and hospitals, while vital, cannot substitute for mechanisms to investigate alleged crimes, to secure refugee rights under UN Resolution 194, or to restore a credible path to Palestinian self-determination.
A more credible framework would require independent international investigations into war crimes and crimes against humanity; firm guarantees for the protection and participation of Gazans; reparations and treatment of refugee claims; and transitional structures accepted by Palestinians themselves. Reconstruction funds should be tied not just to milestones but to accountability and should strengthen rather than replace existing Palestinian institutions.
None of this denies the urgency of food, water, shelter and medical care. But urgency must not become a pretext to bypass justice. The historical record — from the ambiguities of the Balfour Declaration to the deferrals of Oslo — shows that technical fixes have repeatedly failed to resolve the root causes of conflict.
The White House plan combines concrete, auditable commitments with conditions and external supervision that many Palestinians and regional observers find hard to accept on trust alone. Its central test is whether reconstruction is conceived as sovereign restoration — a step towards rights and self-government — or whether it becomes a form of managerial control over a population whose political claims remain unresolved.
If the world is to avoid yet another cycle of broken promises, the conversation about aid, security and reconstruction must be anchored in enforceable steps on accountability, rule of law and political rights. That is what humanitarian agencies, legal experts and victims’ groups are demanding and what the past century has shown to be essential. No plan — however ambitious its vision of a “New Gaza” — will be sustainable otherwise.
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Azmat Ali is a student at the School of Language, Literature and Culture Studies, Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi. He writes in both English and Urdu, with a focus on literature, politics, and religion
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