The news trickling out of the Middle East this week carries a familiar, unsettling echo: another American envoy, another high-stakes meeting, another ‘peace plan’ being floated for Gaza. This time, it’s Jared Kushner, former President Trump’s son-in-law, reportedly sitting down with Hamas leadership, just days after Israel itself rejected the very plan he’s ostensibly championing. For those of us who watch the Global South, particularly from the vantage point of communities often sidelined by grand geopolitical gestures, this scene is less about diplomacy and more about a recurring narrative: powerful outsiders dictating terms for a future they haven’t lived.
It’s crucial to understand who gets to define "peace" in these conversations. When we speak of Gaza, we’re not speaking of abstract political entities, but of two million human beings, half of them children, living under blockade, enduring unimaginable hardship. Their lives, their dreams, their daily struggles for electricity, clean water, and safety – these are the fabric of any genuine peace. Yet, so often, the “plans” unveiled by Washington or other capitals read like corporate mergers, focusing on land swaps and security protocols, while the dignity and self-determination of the Palestinian people become footnotes, if they appear at all.
My work often takes me to places where foreign policy is felt most acutely on the ground, in the marketplaces, in the refugee camps, in the homes where families gather. I’ve seen how quickly promises of development can dissolve when tied to political agendas that don’t align with local needs. I’ve heard the exasperation in the voices of community leaders who are asked to "cooperate" with solutions designed thousands of miles away, often by people who have never set foot in their villages, let alone shared their experiences. The pattern is stark: those who suffer the consequences of conflict are rarely the ones designing the path out of it.
This latest iteration, with Kushner at the helm, feels particularly disconnected. The "Abraham Accords," once hailed as a triumph of Trump-era diplomacy, largely bypassed the core issue of Palestinian self-determination. They normalized relations between Israel and several Arab states, an important step for regional stability, perhaps, but one that left the deepest wound festering. To then present a "peace plan" for Gaza that is immediately rejected by one of the primary parties, and pursued by an envoy with a deeply controversial track record, only reinforces the impression of an exercise in power projection rather than genuine humanitarian concern.
Where are the Palestinian voices in this latest initiative? Not just those representing political factions, but the countless teachers, doctors, farmers, artists, and parents in Gaza who wake up each day facing a future dictated by external forces. Any meaningful path to peace must begin with a profound respect for their experiences, their history, and their aspirations. It must address the systemic issues of occupation, blockade, and displacement that fuel despair, rather than simply seeking to manage the symptoms.
We talk about debt in the Global South, and it’s not just financial. There’s a moral debt owed when powerful nations consistently fail to acknowledge the agency and humanity of the people whose lives they seek to orchestrate. Gaza is not a chessboard for international strategists; it is a home for millions. And until that fundamental truth is embedded at the heart of every peace initiative, we will continue to see these cycles of grand announcements and hollow outcomes.
The wire story, brief as it is, speaks volumes. It’s a stark reminder that true peace cannot be imposed from above or brokered in secret meetings that exclude the very people whose lives are at stake. It must be built from the ground up, brick by painful brick, with justice, empathy, and recognition of human dignity as its cornerstone. Anything less is not peace; it is merely a temporary pause in a much longer struggle for self-determination.