Trump Unleashes $112B Gaza Gamble: Vision or Mirage?

Paul Riverbank, 12/21/2025Trump’s $112B Gaza makeover pitches luxury amid chaos, but skepticism and daunting realities persist.

Presented with the kind of bravado one finds on Wall Street, the plan’s summary calls for more than rebuilding. “Gaza’s destruction has been profound,” it states, “but what lies ahead is not just restoration.” The pitch is one of complete transformation—turning a war zone into a Mediterranean showpiece powered by artificial intelligence and replete with high-speed transport. You can almost picture the new skyline they have in mind: sun-splashed towers edging a blue horizon.

Yet, hidden behind the 32 PowerPoint slides and bold architectural renderings, there are basic, sharp questions—the sort that can’t be papered over by sweeping computer graphics. First, the numbers. According to the plan, the United States would take on $60 billion of the costs, mostly through grants and debt guarantees, with the balance supposedly to be picked up by private investors, international partners—perhaps anyone with deep enough pockets and a taste for risk. However, there’s no roster of investors, no signatures on lined checks. The ambiguity is striking.

The challenges on the ground, meanwhile, are staggering. More than two million Palestinians call Gaza home, many crammed into battered high-rises or crushed neighborhoods. An estimated 68 million tons of debris block the streets. For most residents, thinking about luxury resorts feels as distant as Mars. There’s a gulf between these sky-high plans and the scarred, tumultuous present.

Then there’s the matter of mass displacement. Rebuilding at this scale means entire communities would need to move—some possibly for years. The plan makes only brief mentions of “temporary shelter” and “field hospitals” in its supporting material. These two lines, buried in a flashy presentation, ignore the profound disruption to lives and families. Rebuilding, after all, isn't just a question of pouring concrete; it's about restoring trust and connection in neighborhoods long upended by conflict.

In the corridors of Washington, the murmurs are wary. Marco Rubio—newly minted as the Secretary of State—didn’t mince his words. “Who in their right mind risks billions in Gaza, knowing war could wipe out the investment overnight?” he asked publicly. The risks aren’t merely financial; they’re painfully human.

Getting construction started isn’t just a question of clearing rubble. The plan assumes one enormous precondition: Hamas must disarm. That’s the lever on which everything turns, and most regional experts are deeply skeptical. “Unless Hamas gives up its weapons, you can forget about cranes and bulldozers,” one longtime Middle East observer told me. The logic is simple—you can’t pour foundations while rockets and gunfire remain a possibility.

Still, the geopolitics don’t pause. Greece has signaled some interest in being part of the rebuilding crews, mainly out of its desire to build Middle East clout, but only if there’s a credible peace. Israel’s position is just as fraught. The government prefers Greek crews to Turkish ones, wary of the wider power games at play in the region. “The issue for Israel is fundamental—who’s calling the shots in Gaza, who’s on the ground, and which outside players are coordinating,” a prominent adviser in Athens described to me during a conversation last week.

Diplomacy weaves its way through every line of the PowerPoint. The Trump camp has reportedly pitched the idea to Turkey, Egypt, and several Gulf capitals. Yet even after the glossy rollouts and closed-door talks, towering questions persist over money, security arrangements, and just who will govern a rebuilt Gaza. President Trump, for his part, has called this a “momentous breakthrough,” insisting that “an everlasting peace” has been secured for the region. The reality on the ground suggests otherwise.

The practical hurdles remain daunting. Before you can break ground for new roads or wire the city for next-generation internet, teams must sift through debris for bodies and unexploded bombs, sanitize entire neighborhoods, and stitch together basic services. The grand plans for smart grids and AI-powered cities feel secondary to these staggering basics.

There's talk of forming a transitional committee—part Palestinian, part international—with Trump himself as chair of a so-called “Board of Peace,” and a complete ban on Hamas or any militias in the new administration. Yet in conversations with officials and outside analysts alike, skepticism runs deep. “Slides don’t build trust,” one put it simply. “And you can’t legislate hope from a conference room.”

For now, Project Sunrise hovers in the in-between: dazzling to some, deeply suspect to others. As I've learned covering ambitious plans in uncertain places, tonight’s vision often struggles to survive tomorrow’s daylight. Gaza’s horizon, it seems, is still clouded by the hard facts of politics, history, and survival.

In the battered strip of Gaza, amid the rubble and dust, an audacious scheme has begun to circulate among policymakers and real estate moguls. They’re calling it “Project Sunrise,” a phrase at odds with Gaza’s current grim landscape. At its core, this is a $112 billion blueprint—helmed by Jared Kushner and developer Steve Witkoff, with generous support promised by the Trump team—to morph Gaza’s fractured coast into what the slides describe as a magnet for luxury: slick hotels, gleaming rail lines, and city infrastructure straight out of a science-fiction manual.Presented with the kind of bravado one finds on Wall Street, the plan’s summary calls for more than rebuilding. “Gaza’s destruction has been profound,” it states, “but what lies ahead is not just restoration.” The pitch is one of complete transformation—turning a war zone into a Mediterranean showpiece powered by artificial intelligence and replete with high-speed transport. You can almost picture the new skyline they have in mind: sun-splashed towers edging a blue horizon.Yet, hidden behind the 32 PowerPoint slides and bold architectural renderings, there are basic, sharp questions—the sort that can’t be papered over by sweeping computer graphics. First, the numbers. According to the plan, the United States would take on $60 billion of the costs, mostly through grants and debt guarantees, with the balance supposedly to be picked up by private investors, international partners—perhaps anyone with deep enough pockets and a taste for risk. However, there’s no roster of investors, no signatures on lined checks. The ambiguity is striking.The challenges on the ground, meanwhile, are staggering. More than two million Palestinians call Gaza home, many crammed into battered high-rises or crushed neighborhoods. An estimated 68 million tons of debris block the streets. For most residents, thinking about luxury resorts feels as distant as Mars. There’s a gulf between these sky-high plans and the scarred, tumultuous present.Then there’s the matter of mass displacement. Rebuilding at this scale means entire communities would need to move—some possibly for years. The plan makes only brief mentions of “temporary shelter” and “field hospitals” in its supporting material. These two lines, buried in a flashy presentation, ignore the profound disruption to lives and families. Rebuilding, after all, isn't just a question of pouring concrete; it's about restoring trust and connection in neighborhoods long upended by conflict.In the corridors of Washington, the murmurs are wary. Marco Rubio—newly minted as the Secretary of State—didn’t mince his words. “Who in their right mind risks billions in Gaza, knowing war could wipe out the investment overnight?” he asked publicly. The risks aren’t merely financial; they’re painfully human.Getting construction started isn’t just a question of clearing rubble. The plan assumes one enormous precondition: Hamas must disarm. That’s the lever on which everything turns, and most regional experts are deeply skeptical. “Unless Hamas gives up its weapons, you can forget about cranes and bulldozers,” one longtime Middle East observer told me. The logic is simple—you can’t pour foundations while rockets and gunfire remain a possibility.Still, the geopolitics don’t pause. Greece has signaled some interest in being part of the rebuilding crews, mainly out of its desire to build Middle East clout, but only if there’s a credible peace. Israel’s position is just as fraught. The government prefers Greek crews to Turkish ones, wary of the wider power games at play in the region. “The issue for Israel is fundamental—who’s calling the shots in Gaza, who’s on the ground, and which outside players are coordinating,” a prominent adviser in Athens described to me during a conversation last week.Diplomacy weaves its way through every line of the PowerPoint. The Trump camp has reportedly pitched the idea to Turkey, Egypt, and several Gulf capitals. Yet even after the glossy rollouts and closed-door talks, towering questions persist over money, security arrangements, and just who will govern a rebuilt Gaza. President Trump, for his part, has called this a “momentous breakthrough,” insisting that “an everlasting peace” has been secured for the region. The reality on the ground suggests otherwise.The practical hurdles remain daunting. Before you can break ground for new roads or wire the city for next-generation internet, teams must sift through debris for bodies and unexploded bombs, sanitize entire neighborhoods, and stitch together basic services. The grand plans for smart grids and AI-powered cities feel secondary to these staggering basics.There's talk of forming a transitional committee—part Palestinian, part international—with Trump himself as chair of a so-called “Board of Peace,” and a complete ban on Hamas or any militias in the new administration. Yet in conversations with officials and outside analysts alike, skepticism runs deep. “Slides don’t build trust,” one put it simply. “And you can’t legislate hope from a conference room.”For now, Project Sunrise hovers in the in-between: dazzling to some, deeply suspect to others. As I've learned covering ambitious plans in uncertain places, tonight’s vision often struggles to survive tomorrow’s daylight. Gaza’s horizon, it seems, is still clouded by the hard facts of politics, history, and survival.