Ah, the Sharm el-Sheikh spectacle, where the world's self-appointed chess masters gathered under Egyptian palms to "sign" a ceasefire for Gaza, like benevolent uncles divvying up a birthday cake they baked from someone else's flour. Trump, beaming like he'd just brokered the deal of the century (spoiler: it's Phase 1 of his 20-point fever dream), flanked by el-Sisi, Qatar's royals, and a smattering of Arab suits from Riyadh to Ankara. No Hamas reps, no Israeli brass, just mediators high-fiving over a pause button on the apocalypse. Why the circus? To "throw support" behind hostage swaps (20 living Israelis freed, 2,000+ Palestinian prisoners out), IDF pullbacks to some arbitrary "yellow line" (Israel keeps 53% of Gaza for now, because why not squat on half the ruins?), and a vague promise to flood the rubble with aid trucks that won't get shot at. Relief? Sure, if your definition includes "fragile as Trump's hair in a sandstorm."

But here's the satirical gut-punch: Are we, yes, we the global peanut gallery, negotiating the future of another country? Spoiler: Abso-fucking-lutely. Gaza's not even in the room; it's the piñata we're all whacking. Phase 2? That's the real meat, Hamas disarmament (they're like, "Hell no, our guns are our vibrators"), a "technocratic" puppet regime (Tony Blair's wet dream of international babysitters, maybe with Jared Kushner as the creepy uncle), and whispers of Palestinian Authority "reform" so they can "lead" without actually leading. Trump envisions Gaza as a "beautiful" investment hub, think Dubai, but with more orphans and fewer golden showers, while Netanyahu's far-right goons eye it as eternal buffer-zone real estate. Palestinians? Oh, they'll get "protected departure certificates" if they fancy a one-way ticket out, because nothing says "peace" like ethnic Airbnb.

It's colonial bingo: US muscle, Arab cash, UN bromides, all deciding if Gaza gets a statelet or a giant open-air prison with better WiFi. Hamas caves because their tunnels are Swiss cheese and Gazans are starving for anything but more body bags (67,000+ dead, because math is the ultimate troll). Israel nods because Trump's deadline was "or else all hell", and who wants orange-tinted Armageddon? But sustainable? Please. This "ceasefire" is a Band-Aid on a guillotine blade, relief today, resentment tomorrow, rockets by Christmas.

Call me cynical, but when outsiders "save" a place by rewriting its zip code, it's not peace; it's partition with extra steps. Gaza's future? Negotiated in boardrooms, not ballots. If this holds, great, kids might play without dodging drones. If not? Back to the blood ballet. Either way, the real winners are the ones who flew private to applaud themselves.

End the charade. Let Palestinians plot their own damn map.