The Victory Speech That Declared Reality Obsolete
In October 2025, the President of the United States stood before the world and announced what every schoolchild, diplomat, and weary civilian in the Middle East apparently missed: the decades-long conflict in the region was officially over. In a White House document titled The Trump Declaration for Enduring Peace and Prosperity, he proudly declared that two years of suffering had given way to a “new chapter… defined by hope, security, and a shared vision for peace and prosperity.” The language was resplendent with historical gravitas — “lasting peace… dignity… mutual respect” — as though someone had accidentally posted the preamble to a utopian manifesto instead of a foreign policy achievement.

This pageantry culminated in a summit in Sharm el-Sheikh where the United States, Egypt, Qatar, and Turkey affixed their names to a declaration that the war in Gaza had ended and that a broader Middle East peace was dawning. The document trumpeted an end to “more than two years of profound suffering and loss,” and promised shared prosperity for Israelis and Palestinians alike. The president didn’t just stop at high-minded prose. In speeches echoed across capitals and media channels, he framed the ceasefire and the subsequent diplomatic rollback as the end of an age of terror and death, a turning point that would redefine the entire region.

Against this backdrop of soaring rhetoric, it’s worth noting a critical reality check from one of the world’s most respected foreign-policy think tanks: the so-called peace plan isn’t yet a peace settlement at all. What was agreed in Egypt consisted mainly of aspirational documents, broad principles lacking binding detail, and a ceasefire — not the kind of balanced, binding compromise that marks a true resolution to conflict.

In other words, the President’s claim — that he has solved the Middle East conflict — may be great theater, but it is a dramatic misdiagnosis of the facts on the ground. This speech did not resolve a centuries-old struggle; it rebranded a ceasefire as peace, and substituted hope-language for hard deliverables. To paraphrase, the war may have been paused for now, but the conflict certainly hasn’t been cured.

Ceasefire Theater: How the Deal Actually Happened
If Hollywood ever wants a screenplay about how a ceasefire became a spectacle, the 2025 Gaza truce should be a textbook study in pressure, leverage, and narrative magic. Beneath the applause for “peace achieved,” the reality is less kumbaya and more quid pro quo on a diplomatic tightrope.

The Art of Strong-Arming an Ally
Let’s get this straight: this ceasefire wasn’t some spontaneous moment of harmony between adversaries; it was the result of extraordinary American pressure on Israel. After months of Netanyahu’s reluctance on concessions, President Trump leaned into maximum leverage as Israel’s biggest military patron, reminding Israel that being beloved isn’t the same as being unaccountable. Indeed, commentators noted that Trump — after months of hesitation — finally forced Netanyahu to accept the framework that would lead, at least temporarily, to a pause in hostilities and a hostage-prisoner exchange. That was not goodwill; that was leverage.

In other words, the ceasefire unfolded less like two sides spontaneously hugging, and more like one side being told — politely, but firmly — to sit down and behave.

The Dance With Hamas: Qatar and Friends
On the other side of the negotiation table was Hamas — a non-state, armed group whose interests diverge sharply from any tidy Western peace narrative. Hamas didn’t gesture toward peace because it suddenly discovered a love for negotiated compromise. It responded to pressure — not least from Qatar and its regional partners, who have spent years cultivating influence with the organization and facilitating communication channels.  Qatar’s role as a mediator isn’t new theatre; it’s a well-rehearsed act. Doha has hosted Hamas political offices for years, brokered previous hostage exchanges, and been a go-to intermediary precisely because it has leverage with Hamas — even if that leverage is messy and politically complicated.

Which is to say: neither Israel nor Hamas came to the ceasefire table out of magnanimity. They were driven there by others with leverage, whether it was the United States applying pressure on Israel, or Qatar making sure Hamas had a path toward tactical advantage and international legitimacy.

Leverage, Not Reconciliation
Let’s underscore the blunt political truth here: the ceasefire deal was not the result of two sides deciding, in unison, that violence was no longer the answer. It was the by-product of leverage applied from outside — American leverage over Israel and Arab/Gulf leverage on Hamas. The latter leveraged its position vis-à-vis Qatar’s diplomacy and the fact that Doha could make negotiations happen at all.  And yes, the guarantees and conditions are still fractious; mediators themselves acknowledge the truce isn’t fully complete. Qatar’s own leadership has said the ceasefire remains a pause rather than a resolved peace, with a full Israeli withdrawal and real stability still very much unresolved.

So What Did We Actually Get?
The ceasefire did stop some fighting, yes — but it did not arise from a deep, mutual renunciation of the logic of war. It arose from strategic adjustments under duress, with outside actors wielding influence to force acceptance on terms that still leave many foundational issues unresolved. Call it what it is: a truce engineered through leverage, not an embrace born of genuine reconciliation. Peace was declared on paper. Reality — far messier and far less clean — is still very much unfolding.

If there ever was a presidency that mistook foreign diplomacy for a corporate sales pitch, this one has now invented a new genre of governance: Autocrat Meets CEO, Mutual Admiration Tour 2025. In this worldview, peace in the Middle East is less a geopolitical objective and more a networking opportunity backed by jets, investments, and branded photo ops.

Let’s start with the visuals: President Trump welcomed Saudi Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman to the White House with a spectacle more befitting a luxury brand launch than a state visit — cavalry, jets flying overhead, candles, and a ceremonial dinner that the media described as an “unbelievable show.” The air was perfumed not with diplomacy, but with the unmistakable scent of pomp and investment pitch. The optics were those of a CEO hosting a top client, not a statesman tackling centuries-old conflicts.

But sumptuous dinners and fanfare are one thing. What’s truly telling about this “business-class” diplomacy is the flow of gifts and deals that blur the line between statecraft and personal enrichment. For months, the Trump administration publicly debated accepting a luxury Boeing 747-8 aircraft — essentially a $400 million super-jet from Qatar’s royal family — for presidential use. Critics alarmed at the idea of a president entertaining such a lavish gift from a foreign government were met with a shrug and a quip from Trump that only a “stupid” person would refuse a free plane. The plan, apparently, was to convert this jumbo jet into Air Force One, a conversion that would itself cost tens—or hundreds—of millions more and raise serious legal and ethical questions about foreign gifts under the Constitution’s emoluments clause.

Now, let’s connect the dots here with something subtler but more concerning: the entanglement of Trump’s private business network with these very same states. The Trump family’s sprawling commercial interests have been feeding off Gulf state money for years — from Qatar-linked real estate projects to Saudi-backed investments — so much so that some observers now describe these deals as quasi-state relationships rather than mere diplomatic gestures. An exposé in The New Yorker estimated that the family has been benefiting from Gulf deals worth hundreds of millions, if not more, and that this pattern of turning public office into private profit resembles “the behavior of an Arab monarch” more than an American president. Critics argue that this isn’t happenstance but a strategic alignment between foreign autocrats and a president with both political and commercial incentives to keep them close.

It gets richer — literally: during a Middle East trip earlier in 2025, the US announced billions in commercial and defense deals with Qatar, from major aircraft purchases to base upgrades and AI data center investments. Trump, for his part, seemed far more energized by these financial commitments than by addressing the festering regional conflicts that actually compel global attention. In this warped transactional worldview, friendship is measured in investment pledges and corporate spin-offs, not in the hard, unglamorous work of negotiating peace. Strategic alliances are sold like mergers, geopolitical reputations are polished like brand endorsements, and autocrats show up to Washington not as counterparts whose policies affect millions of lives, but as potential financiers. The result? A Middle East policy that feels less like realpolitik and more like Trump Inc. goes global — complete with jets, gala dinners, and business cards.

And while the president may beam about being “friends” with every ruler who writes a check, friendship in this context is not peace — it’s interest alignment, a sharply transactional relationship that has precious little to do with resolving deep-rooted conflicts and everything to do with marketing the presidency as a platform for influence, deals, and yes, self-interested networking.

If only geopolitics were like a boardroom power play: announce the problem solved, and poof — the threat vanishes in a puff of rhetoric. In reality, the so-called “enemies” of the Middle East have a habit of lingering — exactly where they always were.

Iran: Nuclear Program? Still There.
For a president who likes to announce total victory, there’s an awkward truth the real world keeps insisting on: Iran’s nuclear program was not eliminated. The United States and its allies launched strikes on Tehran’s uranium-enrichment facilities — Fordo, Natanz, and Isfahan — and officials proudly touted that the operations had set back the program. Pentagon briefings later estimated that the damage could delay Iran’s nuclear development by up to two years. That sounds blunt — until you realize that two years of delay is not elimination. Tehran still has centrifuges, technical expertise, and at least some enriched uranium stockpiles intact.

Early intelligence assessments even suggested a more modest setback — measured in months, not decades — with key components of the program surviving the strikes because uranium and equipment were moved before the attacks. In short: Iran’s atomic ambitions were disrupted but not obliterated.  So, while speeches may have proclaimed the nuclear menace dead, on the ground — and underground — Iran’s program plods on. The regime retains latent capability and a strategic impetus to rebuild what was damaged, precisely because its nuclear aspirations have never been fully abandoned. This is not the end of the story; it’s a dramatic interlude that postpones, not prevents, escalation.

Hezbollah: Disarmament by Deadline — or Not
Then there’s Hezbollah, the Iran-backed militia in Lebanon that refuses to vanish just because a ceasefire — with a fancy title and an even fancier White House press release — was signed. A central clause of the post-War accord called for Hezbollah’s disarmament and the transfer of its arsenal to the Lebanese state. But here’s where the peace fantasy bumps into reality:

Despite official Lebanese government plans to bring Hezbollah’s weapons under state control, the group categorically refuses to lay them down so long as Israel exists and Lebanese territory remains a flashpoint. Hezbollah’s secretary-general has repeatedly stated the militia will not surrender its weapons and insists disarmament demands serve Israel’s interests, not Lebanon’s.  Yes, there are reports of partial handovers south of the Litani River — an area closest to the Israeli border — but these are tactical adjustments, not full demilitarization. Hezbollah retains lighter arms, missiles, and drones elsewhere in Lebanon, chafing at any suggestion that it might simply evaporate.

On one hand, you have Lebanese politicians talking about state control over all arms. On the other, you have Hezbollah officials loudly rejecting disarmament unless all Israeli forces withdraw and hostilities fully cease — a precondition that means, effectively, never.

Ghosts of Conflict Still Walk
So much for the enemies having “disappeared” with the ink of a blockbuster deal. Iran’s nuclear program remains a lurking capability. Hezbollah’s weapons still exist, and the political will — if not the conditions — to disarm them is absent.

The ceasefire and peace declarations look less like a resolution and more like a cover story: an optimistic headline designed to convince audiences that the hard part is done. But in strategic substance, the hard part is far from being addressed, and the actors who matter most continue to occupy the same positions they always have — just beneath the veneer of diplomatic triumph.
The Emperor has declared peace.
The court has applauded.
And the Middle East, unimpressed, continues exactly as before — just waiting for the next announcement to pretend otherwise.

At some point, the performance must end.

What we have been presented with is not a Middle East transformed, but a Middle East rebranded. A ceasefire marketed as a settlement. Leverage repackaged as reconciliation. Old enemies renamed “stakeholders,” and armed movements reclassified as manageable inconveniences. The applause is loud, the declarations grand, and the costumes immaculate. But beneath the pageantry, nothing essential has changed. Iran is not defeated. Hezbollah is not disarmed. Hamas is not dismantled. The ideology that animates them has not been confronted, let alone uprooted. The only thing that has been decisively neutralized is the expectation that words should correspond to reality.

This administration did not solve the Middle East. It declared it solved — and mistook the declaration for the achievement. In doing so, it substituted process for outcome, optics for substance, and optimism for strategy. Peace, we are told, exists because it has been announced often enough and loudly enough. And those who notice otherwise are accused of sabotaging it. But peace is not a slogan, and history is not impressed by press releases.

When this arrangement collapses — as arrangements built on denial inevitably do — the blame will be carefully redirected. Not toward the armed actors who were indulged, nor the ideologies that were ignored, but toward the one party that insisted on living in the real world. The narrative groundwork for that accusation is already being laid. Everyone can see it. The weapons remain. The ambitions endure. The hatreds are intact. The only illusion is the belief that pretending otherwise constitutes leadership.

Peace is official, the guns just haven’t read the memo yet.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)