Following the Middle East summit in Sharm el-Sheikh, Donald Trump’s Gaza ceasefire deal has been compared in the media to the Good Friday agreement, which brought an end to the conflict in Northern Ireland, and the Dayton accords, which achieved a (so far) lasting peace in the Balkans. The fact is that Trump’s deal differs significantly from both.

It is largely imposed from the outside. It’s highly transactional in nature. And it lacks a clear blueprint as to what happens next.

But it’s worth noting that one of the defining things about the US president as a politician is the way that he will typically make an exaggerated claim about an achievement, which then sets the framing for the rest of the world to react to. So he boasted of his ceasefire deal that it was “not only the end of war, this is the end of the age of terror and death.”

Others have run with the Good Friday agreement comparison. The Christian Science Monitor asserted on October 2, the day after the US president unveiled his 20-point plan: “Mr. Trump’s blueprint rests on the hope that what worked in Northern Ireland will work in Gaza, and on one assumption above all: that Israelis and Palestinians are ready to accept that continued violence won’t get either of them what they want.”

This, of course, is no small assumption, nor is there anything to suggest it has any foundation.

What has been agreed between Israel and Hamas is an end to the fighting and the release of prisoners and hostages. But serious obstacles remain. The disarmament of Hamas is by no means a done deal (in fact it looks less likely by the day).

Meanwhile, the withdrawal of Israeli troops from Gaza also looks to be a non-starter and the plan’s text remains very vague as to the extent the Israel Defense Forces will move out of Gaza, if at all. Questions of governance, the agreement of a process towards a Palestinian state and the cost of reconstruction have yet to be resolved.

But the most important hurdle in the way of this ceasefire deal holding firm is the profound lack of trust between the parties.

Set against these obstacles, the ceasefire and return of the hostages and release of Palestinian prisoners, momentous though these two things have been, represent the low-hanging fruit of any end to the conflict. They should be seen as the first steps on a difficult and uncertain diplomatic path that has been characterized by decades of setbacks and political failure.

By contrast, the Dayton and Northern Ireland peace processes that led to those agreements were painstakingly negotiated between all the parties in advance through detailed diplomacy and resulted in complex power-sharing arrangements. They were guaranteed by intricate governing structures that addressed the long-standing sectarian divisions through detailed constitutional changes and new institutions.

Aspiration is not agreement

No such details are part of “The Trump Declaration for Enduring Peace and Prosperity.” This, it turns out, is a 462-word document signed in Egypt by a hastily arranged group of international leaders that notably did not include representatives from Hamas or Israel.

It states: “We, the undersigned, welcome the truly historic commitment and implementation by all parties to the Trump Peace Agreement, ending more than two years of profound suffering and loss – opening a new chapter for the region defined by hope, security, and a shared vision for peace and prosperity.”

While laudable, aspiration is no substitute for detailed agreement, and at this point, Trump’s claims appear to be a case of premature congratulation.

Given how tentative the peace agreement is and the fact that October’s ceasefire looks remarkably similar to that which was agreed and then breached in January 2025, why is this being treated with such fanfare? Is it really, to quote Trump, “the historic dawn of a new Middle East”?

Beyond the obvious fact that Trump loves the adulation that has come with this peace process, there are also other political calculations in play. For the US to be openly and obviously committed to the peace process makes it more difficult for the opposing parties to reopen hostilities without the risk of incurring US displeasure for ruining their achievement.

The more it is hyped as part of this theater, the more violators might reap the wrath of a president who felt his achievement and chances of a Nobel Peace Prize had been undermined.

What’s in it for other leaders?

The presence of so many world leaders at Trump’s peace summit requires a different explanation. The French president, Emmanuel Macron, UK prime minister, Keir Starmer and Canada’s Mark Carney might be forgiven for wondering why their presence was required as extras in this performative political theater.

Behind their smiles and applause, they must have been acutely aware that such optics are damaging to the way they are viewed by their domestic public and press – and that their presence there will be criticized as evidence of supplication to Trump’s adulation.

The presence in Sharm el Sheikh of Hungary’s Victor Orban added to the impression that Trump had gathered what he considers his fan club in Egypt.

But why they were willing to attend is equally revealing. As well as being seen to be supportive of the peace process and being keen to add to its momentum to raise the cost of its failure, Carney, Macron and Starmer are also playing a longer game. They perhaps hope to nudge Trump in the direction of further acts of international leadership.

Most notably, they are keen for Trump to embrace his self-identification as a “peacemaker” in order to pressure Russian President Vladimir Putin to end his aggressive war against Ukraine.

Like most second-term US presidents, Trump is concerned for his legacy. If flattering his ego into directing his energies towards this end achieves this goal, then their part in this iteration of the Trump Show should probably be judged by history as worthwhile.

David Hastings Dunn, Professor of International Politics in the Department of Political Science and International Studies, University of Birmingham

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.