These are momentous times, not only for the region but for the shifting power dynamics of the world. On July 7 and 8, 2025, Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and U.S. President Donald Trump convened in Washington, D.C., amid a rapidly evolving crisis. At the White House, flanked by their cabinets, both leaders addressed the media following back-to-back meetings where they discussed the ongoing war in Gaza, indirect ceasefire talks with Hamas, and their joint military action against Iran. The press conference that followed was revealing— not just for what was said, but for what was admitted, evaded, and conspicuously ignored.
The Israeli Prime Minister, emboldened by US backing, described recent joint military actions in strikingly clinical language, declaring that Israel and the USA had “removed two tumours”— Iran and Hamas. These were not metaphors of diplomacy or deterrence; they were declarations of conquest, affirmations of a doctrine Netanyahu proudly called “peace through strength.” He praised the B-2 American pilots who dropped massive ordnance on Iran’s underground nuclear facility, and the Israeli soldiers who, in his words, “fought like lions” and “struck like lightning.”
President Trump echoed these sentiments, confirming that the Atomic Energy Commission had verified the destruction of Iran’s nuclear infrastructure. “It is obliterated,” he stated, while adding, “They flew for 37 hours with zero problems… carrying the biggest bombs we’ve ever dropped on anybody— non-nuclear, and we want to keep it non-nuclear.” What was presented as victory, however, was also a sobering admission of escalation.
But while both leaders stood united in the language of military strength, they diverged sharply when the conversation turned to Iran’s future. Netanyahu maintained an aggressive stance, affirming that Israel would never tolerate the re-emergence of Iranian power in Syria or the region at large.
Trump, however, struck a noticeably different chord. He praised the Iranian people as “very smart, energetic people” and reiterated his desire to lift sanctions “at the right time,” suggesting a path of economic reintegration rather than perpetual war. He spoke of Iran’s “great oil power” and its “potential for peace,” offering a glimpse of a strategy built on diplomacy rather than annihilation. This contrast revealed a fundamental divide between the two leaders: one seeking permanent suppression, the other seeking calculated engagement.
Syria also emerged as a critical part of the broader plan. Netanyahu was clear that prior to their operations, “Iran was essentially running Syria.” Now, he claimed, “Iran is out of the picture.” President Trump reinforced this position, explaining that sanctions were lifted to give the post-Iranian Syrian government a chance to rebuild. “I met the new leader… I was very impressed,” he said, signalling US willingness to reconfigure the region— so long as Iran remained on the sidelines. This transformation of Syria from Iranian stronghold to Western-aligned state was offered as both a strategic victory and a sign of shifting alliances.
But amid the triumphalism, the most conspicuous silence surrounded Gaza. President Trump spoke passionately about the tragedy unfolding in Ukraine, lamenting, “These are souls… it’s appalling, it’s unforgivable.” Yet when it came to the civilian deaths in Gaza— where tens of thousands have been killed, injured, or displaced— he said nothing. No mention of the humanitarian catastrophe, the flattened hospitals, the water crisis, or the lost children. Not even a token expression of sorrow. This absence revealed a dangerous truth: that even amid international condemnation of Israel’s actions as collective punishment, ethnic cleansing, or genocide, the President of the United States dared not speak a word of dissent. This wasn’t just political— it was systemic. The silence was deafening.
If there is one thing the summit achieved, it is clarity. The clarity that this is not a war to destroy Hamas. It is a war to redefine Palestine. And in doing so, the USA and Israel have made one thing clear to the world: power is the process, peace is the packaging. And the people— their pain, their dignity, their future— remain secondary to strategic calculus.
The contradictions deepened further when the issue of Hamas entered the discussion. On one hand, Netanyahu framed Hamas as a terrorist entity that must be eradicated completely. “We still have to finish the job in Gaza… eliminate and destroy Hamas’s military and governance capabilities,” he declared. And yet, in the same breath, he revealed that negotiations were ongoing. “We accepted a proposal that came from the mediators… I think that we’ve gotten closer to it.” This paradox defies logic. If Hamas has been militarily decapitated, why is Israel still negotiating with it? Why does Hamas still hold hostages? Why is it still dictating terms at the table?
The answer lies in a reality neither leader wanted to fully admit: that despite two years of siege and destruction, despite the combined might of Israeli and US forces, Hamas still remains a central political and military actor. Netanyahu acknowledged that “on the way over here and on the way from here” discussions with Hamas and intermediaries continued. This was not a sign of weakness from Hamas— it was proof of endurance. That even after half of Gaza was reduced to rubble, Hamas still holds hostages, still retains command, and still holds diplomatic leverage, exposes the failure of Israel’s total war doctrine. Far from being eradicated, Hamas has become the de facto representative of the Gazan people in any future settlement.
What’s more telling is that the negotiations themselves are being shaped by the USA, Qatar, and other regional players, all of whom recognize Hamas as a negotiating partner. This tacit legitimacy undermines Netanyahu’s claims of destroying Hamas’s governance capacity. It affirms that any future framework for Gaza and the West Bank will, by necessity, involve Hamas— not just as a spoiler, but as a stakeholder. And if Hamas holds that space now, after facing the wrath of both Israel and the USA, it only underscores its strategic depth and societal roots in the Palestinian landscape.
In the final moments of the press conference, Netanyahu was asked about declining US public support for Israel, especially among Democrats. He blamed it on “vilification and demonization on social media,” insisting, “Nothing defeats lies like the truth.” But the truth remains painfully visible. It is in the refugee camps, in the aerial footage of destroyed neighborhoods, in the buried children and grieving mothers. It is in the contradictions between rhetoric and reality, between the promise of peace and the daily grind of occupation, siege, and military dominance.
The Trump-Netanyahu meeting, though billed as a peace coordination summit, was something altogether different. It was a show of strategic triumphalism built on the ashes of diplomacy. It revealed a dual policy of war and negotiation— bombing one day, talking the next. It praised military supremacy while denying humanitarian suffering. It treated displacement as peace, and coercion as choice. It silenced Gaza while discussing Ukraine. It admitted the centrality of Hamas while vowing its extinction. It was a performance of contradictions, wrapped in ceremony, delivered with pride, and protected by silence.
If there is one thing the summit achieved, it is clarity. The clarity that this is not a war to destroy Hamas. It is a war to redefine Palestine. And in doing so, the USA and Israel have made one thing clear to the world: power is the process, peace is the packaging. And the people— their pain, their dignity, their future— remain secondary to strategic calculus.
