by Muhammad Mohsin Iqbal

History, when it repeats itself, does so with a painful consistency. The recent peace agreement signed between Israel and Palestine in Sharm el-Sheikh, though welcomed by many as a diplomatic triumph, raises more questions than it answers. The gathering of world leaders, including the President of the United States, lent the event a ceremonial weight; yet, the conspicuous absence of Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu overshadowed the symbolism of unity that such moments usually intend to convey. In international diplomacy, gestures often carry greater significance than words—and an empty chair at such a table speaks louder than a thousand signatures.

To understand the implications of this accord, one must travel through the corridors of history. The Israeli-Palestinian conflict has been punctuated by countless accords—Camp David, Oslo, Wye River, and Annapolis, among others—all draped in the language of hope, yet ultimately betrayed by the realities of mistrust and imbalance. Each agreement began with applause and optimism, only to be eroded by violence, settlements, and political expediency. The peace of Sharm el-Sheikh, therefore, is not the dawn of a new chapter; it is another verse in a long and tragic poem written in the ink of broken promises.

The fundamental question remains; what is the true enforceability of such agreements? A peace accord is not merely a collection of signatures but a covenant of trust. Without mutual respect and the will to abide by its spirit, the document is reduced to little more than parchment and ink. In the absence of clear guarantees and mechanisms for enforcement, any agreement between parties with a history of hostility becomes fragile—an arrangement that trembles at the first gust of political change. Who will hold either side accountable if one defies the clauses? The international community may issue statements and convene emergency meetings, but the world has witnessed again and again that resolutions alone cannot restrain a nation’s ambition or fear.

The presence of powerful nations at the ceremony may lend the agreement diplomatic legitimacy, but moral legitimacy comes only from sincerity and justice. No treaty, however well-drafted, can sustain peace if one party continues to occupy, oppress, or provoke. The imbalance of power between Israel and Palestine has been the central obstacle to every peace effort. The stronger party often negotiates from a position of control, while the weaker negotiates from necessity. In such a dynamic, peace becomes not a partnership, but a concession. Without equality of intent and mutual recognition of suffering, peace remains an illusion.

The absence of Netanyahu at the table invites speculation. Was it a political calculation to avoid domestic backlash, or an indication of Israel’s reluctance to accept the moral and practical obligations that peace demands? Symbolically, it echoes the hesitation that has marked Israel’s approach to genuine reconciliation. True peace requires courage—not only to sign, but to surrender certain privileges of power, to dismantle structures of occupation, and to extend the hand of humanity even when distrust lingers.

History teaches us that peace without justice is a pause, not a conclusion. The Palestinian question is not merely about borders; it is about dignity, statehood, and survival. Any agreement that does not address these core issues is merely a truce awaiting its expiry date. Similarly, any framework that allows one side to act with impunity while the other is bound by restraint cannot endure. The lessons of the past are clear; when peace is imposed rather than nurtured, it decays from within.

Philosophically, peace is not an event—it is a process of transformation. It requires not only political signatures but moral awakening. Nations must evolve beyond the mindset of victory and defeat to embrace coexistence. In this sense, the peace of Sharm el-Sheikh will only have meaning if it transforms hearts as well as policies. The children of Gaza and Tel Aviv must inherit not the bitterness of their fathers but the possibility of friendship. Yet such transformation cannot be legislated; it must be cultivated through fairness, empathy, and the humility to acknowledge past wrongs.

Academically, one might frame this as a problem of asymmetrical negotiations and enforcement theory. Without a credible external guarantor or binding arbitration mechanism, the incentives for compliance diminish over time. If the agreement lacks teeth, it cannot bite when breached. History shows that when Israel expands settlements or conducts military operations in defiance of accords, global powers rarely move beyond expressions of “deep concern.” Similarly, when extremist factions within Palestine retaliate, they too jeopardize the very peace their people long for. Thus, the failure is not only political—it is moral. The world’s silence, selective outrage, and short-lived attention have all contributed to the erosion of accountability.

In moral terms, peace demands sacrifice from both sides. It requires Israel to see beyond its security walls and Palestine to rise above its despair. It requires the world to uphold justice not through speeches but through sustained action. If the international community truly seeks to guarantee peace, it must ensure that violations are not met with indifference. Guarantees cannot exist in rhetoric—they must live in reality.

And so, as the ink dries on another agreement, the world watches—half in hope, half in doubt. The setting of Sharm el-Sheikh, a resort once associated with tranquility and diplomacy, may again witness the familiar arc of optimism fading into cynicism. Yet, perhaps, in this weary repetition, lies a glimmer of awakening: that peace cannot be gifted, it must be earned through honesty, equity, and respect for human life.

If the architects of this accord have truly learned from history, then perhaps this time the peace will hold—not because it was signed in grandeur, but because it was implemented in good faith. Otherwise, it will join the archives of unfulfilled promises, a reminder that in the pursuit of peace, words are many, but courage is rare.

By Qamar Bashir

The world has finally witnessed an extraordinary development: the guns in Gaza have fallen silent. After months of relentless bombing, destruction, and the slow suffocation of a besieged population, Donald Trump’s unprecedented peace plan has brought at least a temporary halt to the horror. Aid is now trickling into Gaza, families that had endured starvation are receiving a semblance of relief, and the hope of survival, however fragile, is returning to a battered land. Yet the relief is tempered by the rhetoric of Benjamin Netanyahu, who insists that Israel’s objectives remain unchanged. His refusal to admit defeat conceals an anger at failing to persuade Trump to bless a complete annihilation of Gaza and its annexation into Israel’s expanding dream of territorial conquest.

This war, conceived by Israel and prosecuted with staggering ferocity, has ended in exhaustion rather than triumph. For the people of Gaza and the West Bank, the devastation is almost indescribable. United Nations and World Bank assessments estimate that Gaza alone faces over fifty billion dollars in reconstruction needs, with nearly seventy billion required to restore what has been lost. More than fifty-five million tons of rubble bury homes, schools, and hospitals, enough to fill thirteen pyramids of Giza. Electricity grids, water systems, hospitals, and telecommunications have been flattened. The human cost is greater still: tens of thousands dead, many more maimed, families erased, and an entire generation displaced.

Yet despite these horrors, the end of open conflict has already produced ripples felt far beyond the Levant. Perhaps the most immediate effect has been on global energy markets. During the war, the mere fear of disruption in Middle Eastern supply lines, particularly around the Strait of Hormuz and Red Sea trade routes, added a risk premium to oil. Brent crude had soared above eighty dollars a barrel, driving fuel and shipping costs higher across the globe. With hostilities ending, oil prices have tumbled to around sixty-one dollars a barrel, their lowest in five months. In the United States, gasoline prices that averaged four dollars a gallon only weeks ago are now edging closer to two dollars in some states, a correction that promises relief not only at the pump but across every layer of the economy.

Energy is the bloodstream of modern commerce. When oil and gas prices fall, every input cost—from transport to manufacturing to food distribution—drops in tandem. Lower energy costs ease inflationary pressure, reduce the consumer price index, and expand household purchasing power. For American families struggling with high costs of living, this decline may prove transformative. The dividend will be shared across the industrialized world, lowering inflation in Europe and Asia, reducing transport costs for global trade, and calming volatile markets that had priced in the risk of an expanded Middle Eastern war.

The greatest beneficiaries, however, may be in the developing world. Countries like Pakistan, Egypt, and those across Sub-Saharan Africa, which import most of their energy needs, have been spending much of their export earnings and foreign reserves on oil bills. High prices pushed them toward debt crises, leaving little for infrastructure or social spending. Now, with energy costs receding, these economies will regain some fiscal breathing space. Foreign exchange reserves will stabilize, debt servicing will become less crushing, and scarce resources can be redirected to development and poverty alleviation. For Pakistan, Afghanistan, and India—together home to over two billion people—the respite in energy costs is no less than a lifeline. Add China, the world’s largest energy importer, and the region accounts for nearly four billion people now benefiting directly from the dividends of this peace.

Equally important is the impact on trade. During the war, insurance premiums for ships passing through Middle Eastern waters soared, freight costs climbed, and global supply chains faced unpredictable delays. The ceasefire reduces these risks almost overnight. Cheaper shipping and lower risk premiums will improve the competitiveness of exporters, stabilize imports of food and essential goods, and ultimately lower costs for consumers worldwide. The IMF has already noted that a durable peace in Gaza could improve regional growth prospects by as much as one percentage point, a significant gain for struggling economies.

Peace also reshapes politics. Governments that were facing unrest from rising food and fuel prices suddenly have a cushion. Political leaders in fragile states can buy time, enact reforms, or at least ease the burden on citizens. This in turn creates a measure of stability, the very foundation of legitimacy and governance. The dividends of peace, therefore, are not only economic but also political, strengthening societies at their weakest points.

Still, there remains the urgent question of responsibility. Who will pay for Gaza’s reconstruction? It is not enough for wealthy states to open their treasuries out of charity while those who unleashed destruction escape unscathed. International law and morality demand that blame be apportioned. Israel, Hamas, regional actors, and global powers that contributed to the devastation should be compelled to shoulder the costs. Without such accountability, the precedent would be disastrous: that any powerful nation may devastate its weaker neighbor and walk away without consequence. Gaza must not become a template for impunity. Compensation must also reach families of innocent victims—children, women, doctors, and journalists—whose lives were shattered.

The road ahead is perilous. The peace is fragile and could collapse under renewed aggression. Donor pledges may falter, leaving reconstruction incomplete. Funds may be captured by elites or foreign contractors, breeding resentment rather than renewal. Regional tensions—whether in Lebanon, Syria, or Iran—could reignite conflict and restore the risk premium to oil markets. The dividends of peace are real but remain precariously balanced on the commitments of guarantors like the United States, which must enforce its plan with vigilance.

For Donald Trump, the Gaza ceasefire is not only a diplomatic achievement but also a political claim. He has boasted of stopping eight wars and now turns his gaze toward Russia and Ukraine, pledging to end that grinding conflict as well. Should he succeed, he would enter history as the president who halted nine wars in a single year of office. Whether this is bravado or foresight remains to be seen, but the Gaza experience proves that even entrenched conflicts can yield when backed by resolve and pressure from the most powerful office on earth.

In the final analysis, the dividends of Gaza–Israel peace are vast. Lower energy costs, subdued inflation, revitalized trade, fiscal space for fragile economies, and a political reprieve for leaders facing unrest all stem from this fragile truce. But the greatest dividend may be moral: the reminder that peace, even imperfect, enriches humanity far more than war, which impoverishes all. If the world seizes this moment to rebuild Gaza with justice, fairness, and accountability, it may set a precedent that aggression must pay and that peace, not conquest, yields the truest victory.

By Qamar Bashir

Press Secretary to the President (Rtd)

Former Press Minister, Embassy of Pakistan to France

Former Press Attaché to Malaysia

Former MD, SRBC | Macomb, Michigan, USA