By any measure, Gaza’s devastation demands urgent and serious reconstruction. Homes, hospitals, schools, farms, cultural heritage, and basic infrastructure lie in ruins. Entire neighbourhoods have been erased. The humanitarian need is undeniable. But urgency should never become an excuse for illusion, spectacle, or political shortcuts.
The contrast between rhetoric and reality could not be sharper. While United States President Donald Trump and a group of world leaders gathered in Davos, Switzerland, to sign the charter of the so-called Board of Peace and unveil glossy reconstruction plans, the killing in Gaza continued.
Since the ceasefire came into effect on October 10, no fewer than 480 Palestinians have been killed. Four of them were killed on the very day the charter was signed by 19 ministers and state representatives, many of whom were less interested in the issue of Gaza and much more in being seen alongside Trump.
Against that backdrop, the board’s carefully staged optimism feels like performance rather than transformation. It resembles a sandpit where those signing up get to build sandcastles with Trump that will wash away with the first real wave.
The proposals may look impressive and sound hopeful, but structurally, they are hollow. They sidestep the real drivers of the conflict, marginalise Palestinian agency, privilege Israeli military priorities over civilian recovery, and align uncomfortably with longstanding efforts to maintain the occupation, displace Palestinians, and deny the right of return for the population uprooted in 1948 and 1967.
Gaza is not a real estate prospectus
The glossy vision of presidential adviser and son-in-law Jared Kushner treats Gaza not as a traumatised society emerging from catastrophic violence, but as a blank investment canvas for luxury housing, commercial zones, data hubs, beachfront promenades, and aspirational gross domestic product (GDP) targets.
It reads less like a recovery plan and more like a real-estate prospectus. Development language replaces political reality. Sleek presentations replace rights. Markets replace justice.
But Gaza is not a failed start-up looking for venture capital. It is home to more than two million Palestinians who have endured siege, displacement, repeated wars, and chronic insecurity for decades. Reconstruction cannot succeed if it is detached from their lived experiences or if it treats Gaza primarily as an economic asset open to speculative investment, including by extreme Zionists, rather than as a human community struggling to preserve its identity and social fabric.
For many families, even modest homes in Gaza’s formal refugee camps represented a fragile bridge worth holding on to as a step towards an eventual return to places from which they were forced to flee, in what is today known as Israel.
These homes were valued not for their comfort or market worth, but for the social networks they sustained and their symbolic links to continuity, memory, and political claims. Palestinians are therefore unlikely to be swayed by offers of glitzy towers, luxurious villas, or promises of a “market economy” under siege. Their experience over the past decades has taught them that no level of material improvement can substitute for deeper aspirations tied to dignity, rootedness, and the right of return.
A future designed without Palestinians
A glaring flaw of Trump’s plan is the systematic exclusion of Palestinians themselves from shaping the vision of their future. These plans are unveiled in elite conference halls, not debated with the people whose neighbourhoods have been flattened.
Without Palestinian ownership, legitimacy collapses. Experience from