India, Oct. 16 -- The Sharm el-Sheikh summit on Monday represents a watershed in Middle East diplomacy, but its legacy is profoundly ambiguous. Co-chaired by the US and Egypt, the gathering of world leaders succeeded in brokering an end to a devastating two-year war in Gaza, securing a ceasefire, the release of all hostages and prisoners, and an unprecedented international commitment to reconstruction and oversight. Yet, beneath the celebratory atmosphere lies a framework that is both a radical diplomatic innovation and a profoundly fragile construct. The summit did not forge a path to peace; instead, it transformed a hot conflict into a managed, yet fundamentally unresolved, political standoff. The architecture of this imposed peace was a deliberate departure from decades of failed negotiations. It embraced high-stakes political theatre, exemplified by President Donald Trump's dramatic address to the Israeli Knesset, declaring the war "over" before the deal was signed. This strategy of creating political reality and momentum by weaponising public pronouncement, forcing both Israel and Hamas into a corner, where accepting the internationally-backed framework was less costly than being cast as the sole spoilers of peace. The summit's most striking feature was the calculated exclusion of Israel and Hamas, the principal adversaries, from the final stage of negotiations. By empowering a quartet of guarantors - the US, Egypt, Qatar, and Turkey - the process averted the all-too-familiar scenario in which either party could sabotage progress by refusing to compromise. While this innovative approach produced tangible results, it also revealed the agreement's fundamental structural flaw. An accord reached without the direct involvement or authority of the parties responsible for its implementation resembles an externally imposed armistice more than a mutually negotiated settlement. Hamas's acceptance was driven by overwhelming humanitarian desperation, while Israel acquiesced under the weight of American pressure. This coerced consent, rather than genuine commitment, raises serious doubts about its long-term sustainability. Such a radical approach was only possible because of a rare alignment of interests. The US, fulfilling a campaign promise, leveraged the considerable political capital it had gained through the strong support for Israel during the war to push for a ceasefire. Egypt, facing existential security and economic threats, seized the opportunity to reaffirm its vital role as a regional mediator. The final impetus came from Qatar and Turkey. Qatar, whose status as both a patron of Hamas and a US ally was threatened by an Israeli airstrike on its territory, was compelled to exert exceptional pressure on Hamas leadership. Turkey, invited by President Trump late in the day, capitalised on its distinctive influence over Hamas to secure a place at the table. In substance, the accord prioritises immediate de-escalation whilst systematically deferring all final status issues. In many ways, it represents the antithesis of the Oslo process. The Oslo Accords of the 1990s relied on cautious, step-by-step trust-building, underpinned by the hopeful assumption that postponing the most intractable questions would eventually make lasting peace possible. That approach disintegrated amid cycles of violence and the relentless expansion of Israeli settlements, erasing the potential for a viable Palestinian State. The architects of Sharm el-Sheikh have drawn a much grimmer lesson: To enshrine the political stalemate and focus narrowly on containing its most violent symptoms, with no defined process or vision for final resolution. The Herculean task of reconstruction further exposes the agreement's fragility. The estimated $50-70 billion cost over the next decade is staggering, with initial short-term needs totalling approximately $20 billion for humanitarian aid, early recovery, and infrastructure stabilisation. The history of Gaza is a cautionary tale of unfulfilled promises and donor fatigue. After the 2014 war, less than 27% of pledged aid for Gaza was disbursed within six months, with wealthy Gulf States lagging significantly. Even if the money materialises, structural barriers remain: Israeli controls on dual-use materials have long hampered rebuilding, while the deep political schism between Fatah and Hamas creates uncertainty over the management of the reconstruction effort. This intra-Palestinian division is the most significant point of potential failure. The international community is pinning its hopes on a reformed and revitalised Palestinian Authority (PA) to govern post-war Gaza, but such an entity does not yet exist. The PA, widely perceived by Palestinians as corrupt and ineffective, remains under the weakened leadership of Mahmoud Abbas, still in office after two decades of a supposed four-year term. Recent moves, such as the reinstatement of veteran diplomat Nasser al-Kidwa, Yasser Arafat's nephew and head of the Yasser Arafat Foundation, who was expelled in 2021 for challenging Abbas's leadership, to Fatah's central committee, seem less a sign of genuine reform and more a piece of political theatre for an international audience, designed to make the PA a more palatable recipient of reconstruction aid. The summit's actual impact may lie in how it reshapes the regional landscape. The Gaza war put a freeze on the Abraham Accords and fundamentally recalibrated the conditions for Israeli-Saudi normalisation. Riyadh has now made tangible, irreversible steps toward a viable Palestinian State, a non-negotiable prerequisite for any deal. This transforms the Sharm el-Sheikh framework into a litmus test for broader regional peace. The road to a historic agreement with Saudi Arabia now runs directly through the rubble of Gaza, exponentially raising the stakes for all parties. Ultimately, the Sharm el-Sheikh summit is an act of geopolitical triage - staunching the bleeding without healing the deeper wound. While it stands as a breakthrough in crisis management, it remains a facade when measured against the deeper imperatives of conflict resolution. Its true measure will not be the diplomatic pageantry on display, but whether it can create durable stability and, perhaps, in time, open the narrowest doorway for renewed diplomacy....