The international plan for rebuilding the Gaza Strip promised an orderly transition to stability and governance. But on the ground, those conditions don’t exist: wary patrons, active armed factions, and a reality that defies every diplomatic projection.
(Photo Credit/Nino Orto)
The plan is ambitious. It laid out a precise roadmap: a gradual ceasefire, dismantling of Hamas’ military infrastructure, the deployment of a multinational force, the reconstruction of infrastructure and institutions, and the return of normal civilian life. For months, it was hailed as the beginning of a new chapter for Gaza and a post-war blueprint that could turn the Strip into a secure, governable, and rebuilt territory. Today, it feels suspended, fragile, held together by threads too thin to support it.
On paper, the plan is intact. Phase by phase, it’s orderly, almost reassuring. But the reality on the ground tells a different story. Areas meant to be cleared are repopulated by Hamas fighters. Local clans assert their influence. Control structures that were supposed to disappear reemerge, familiar and enduring. The power vacuum the plan hoped to fill with a new administration never materialized. In Gaza, when a gap appears, someone – or something -immediately fills it.
The heart of the plan, the deployment of a multinational force, is where it starts to unravel. Arab states invited to participate raise doubts, fears, and conflicting conditions. Each sees Gaza through a different lens, shaped by history, interests, and memories. No one wants the long-term, risky, and potentially unpopular responsibility. The force that was supposed to bring stability remains an abstract idea, never materializing.
The civil administration pillar is equally fragile. Designed to be neutral and technical, it exists mainly on paper. On the ground, it would confront tribal dynamics, complex social networks, and armed groups unwilling to yield territory. In a place where legitimacy is earned locally, an external administration risks remaining a ghost institution.
Every attempt to move forward is interrupted by reality: new clashes, border tensions, reactivated armed cells. Progress requires calm and coordination: but Gaza rarely allows more than a day or two without something shattering the plan. Diplomacy moves slowly, conflict moves fast.
Initially, international negotiators approached the plan with cautious optimism. Today, fatigue is evident. Promises of a “phase two” fade into calls for patience. It’s like watching an engine idle, waiting for a push that never comes.
The most likely outcome is a frozen status quo: the Israeli army remains along control lines without advancing or withdrawing fully. Armed factions reorganize wherever gaps appear. Reconstruction stalls or occurs at a minimal level, while civil governance remains a theoretical project, unable to drive real change.
The multinational force, the heart of the plan, may never arrive. What exists is not failure, but paralysis. A plan caught between fear, indecision, and the unpredictable reality of the Strip.
The Gaza plan has not been abandoned. It still exists in documents, presentations, and diplomatic briefings. But it depends on a reality that is more stable, less fragmented, and more predictable than what currently exists. Until then, the grand project remains suspended: not failed, not forgotten, but impossible to implement in a Gaza that continues to operate by its own rules, rules no roadmap can yet contain.
