Peace Without Teeth

Trump’s reckless leap into “Phase Two” of his peace plan ignores the blood on Gaza’s streets and the empty promises behind every handshake in Cairo’s spotlight

Guest article by Michael Cohen. Follow him on Substack for more by clicking here.

There’s an old saying: “You can’t build a house on quicksand.” Yet here we are again, watching President Trump do what he does best: declare victory before the game even starts, slap a “mission accomplished” sticker on a still-burning problem, and sell it as the greatest deal in the history of deals. This time, it’s not a real estate pitch or a campaign; it’s something far deadlier. Trump has declared “Phase Two” of his so-called 20-point peace plan for the Middle East has begun, even though Phase One—if we can call it that—is hanging together by little more than rhetoric, wishful thinking, and a shaky ceasefire.

Let’s start with the obvious question: Why the rush? Why declare progress where there’s barely stability? Why pretend that Hamas is ready to disarm when they’re literally executing people in the streets of Gaza as we speak? Because for Trump, optics always outrun outcomes. He’s not driven by results; he’s addicted to the headline. And “Trump Moves to Phase Two of Peace Plan” reads a hell of a lot better than “Hamas Executes 33 Amid Ceasefire Chaos.”

According to Reuters, Hamas has killed at least 33 people since the ceasefire went into effect last week—seven of them dragged into Gaza City square yesterday, bound, forced to their knees, and shot from behind in front of a crowd. That’s not peace. That’s not reconciliation. That’s the raw assertion of control by a militant, terrorist group that’s already filling the power vacuum left behind as Israel steps back. Yet Trump, from the comfort of the White House podium, announces we’re moving into the “next phase” of his peace plan, as if this is a board game and not a war-torn hellscape.

Here’s the hard truth: you don’t rush peace. You build it—slowly, deliberately, on a foundation of accountability, trust, and enforceable structure. Right now, there’s none of that. No international security force on the ground. No apolitical governing body in place. No clear document that defines what “disarmament” even means. Instead, Trump’s team is improvising foreign policy like it’s an episode of The Apprentice: Gaza Edition, with real lives hanging in the balance.

Even seasoned negotiators like Ghaith al-Omari have warned that Hamas is already reestablishing control on the ground—politically, militarily, and soon, socially. They’ll be the ones clearing rubble, reopening schools, distributing aid—because someone has to, and the international community hasn’t stepped in fast enough. The longer they run the show, the harder they are to dislodge. Which means that by skipping ahead to “Phase Two,” Trump isn’t dismantling Hamas; he’s legitimizing their grip on power.

And let’s be clear about this so-called peace plan: it’s got no teeth. No legal framework. No enforcement mechanism. Just threats and sound bites. Trump says, “If Hamas refuses to disarm, we will disarm them.” We who? The U.S. has already ruled out sending troops. The proposed International Security Force doesn’t exist yet. The United Nations hasn’t signed off on it. Even nations like Indonesia and Malaysia, who expressed willingness to contribute, have made it clear they’ll only do so under a U.N. Security Council resolution—which Trump’s team hasn’t even pursued. And yet, not one of the leaders who stood shoulder to shoulder on that stage in Egypt for the triumphant photo op seems to have thought this through. What happens when the applause fades and someone actually has to send troops from their respective countries into Gaza to monitor or control Hamas? Are Egypt, Qatar, or the UAE truly ready to risk their soldiers’ lives in a conflict that’s already spiraling? Or was that image in Cairo just another piece of political theater—unity for the cameras, and denial for the disaster waiting to unfold?

This isn’t a peace process. It’s a press release masquerading as strategy.

When Trump boasts about the release of the last 20 living hostages as proof that his approach is working, he ignores the gruesome reality: those hostages were traded for time and control. Hamas used the ceasefire to regroup, rearm, and reassert its dominance. They’re not disarming; they’re reorganizing. And as Majed al-Ansari, Qatar’s senior advisor, admitted, “The challenges ahead are not going to be easy.” Translation: We’re barely holding this thing together, and Trump just hit fast-forward.

The disarmament question alone is a minefield. What exactly counts as “heavy weapons”? Rockets? Grenades? Automatic rifles? Hamas might give up one category while keeping the others, turning compliance into an illusion. And once again, the ambiguity plays right into their hands. Without precise definitions and an on-the-ground enforcement presence, Trump’s plan is a house of cards—one strong gust away from collapse.

It’s also painfully clear that no one’s thought through what happens next. If Hamas refuses to cooperate, does Israel resume military operations? Who secures the newly “liberated” zones? Who governs them? How are civilians protected? These are not small details; they’re the difference between stability and chaos. Between life and death.

And then there’s the human cost. Every rushed decision, every half-baked announcement, every politically timed declaration of “progress” risks lives—Israeli and Palestinian alike. The people on the ground don’t need more speeches from Washington. They need security, order, and a credible plan that doesn’t crumble the moment it’s tested.

But Trump doesn’t do nuance. He does speed, spectacle, and self-congratulation. He’s turning one of the most fragile ceasefires in modern history into a political talking point—a photo op for a peace plan that doesn’t exist on paper, let alone in practice.

Hamas is executing people in public squares, parading corpses, and confiscating aid meant for civilians—and we’re talking about “Phase Two”? That’s not leadership. That’s lunacy. It’s like trying to perform surgery before you’ve sterilized the instruments.

The lesson here is simple but dangerous: rushing peace is a form of violence in itself. Because when you move too fast, you leave the truth behind. You hand power to the very forces you claim to be dismantling. And when the dust settles—if it ever does—the only thing left standing may be the same extremists you promised to disarm.

Trump’s “Phase Two” isn’t peace; it’s denial dressed up as diplomacy. And if history is any guide, the cost of his impatience will be paid not in applause, but in blood.

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