A new Palestinian offer for peace — And why Israel is likely to ignore it

In early July 2025, Palestinian Authority President Mahmoud Abbas quietly floated a renewed peace proposal to Israel via Arab League intermediaries. The offer, largely aligned with the 2002 Arab Peace Initiative, signaled the Palestinians’ willingness to accept Israel’s 1967 borders—with land swaps—and move toward normalization, in exchange for the recognition of a sovereign Palestinian state with East Jerusalem as its capital.

The move came as Abbas faces dwindling domestic support, increasing isolation from regional allies, and the growing irrelevance of the Palestinian Authority on the global stage. The timing appears deliberate: ahead of anticipated U.S. presidential elections, amid renewed regional diplomacy involving Saudi Arabia, and as the war in Gaza remains an unresolved humanitarian and political crisis.

Yet Israel’s reaction was swift—and dismissive. Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s office stated that “realistic peace talks must reflect current facts on the ground.” Translation: there will be no return to 1967 lines, no dismantling of settlements, and no Palestinian state as previously conceived. Hardline Israeli coalition members went further, calling the proposal “obsolete” and “delusional.”

What sounds like just another breakdown in communication is actually something deeper: a reflection of how the core mechanics of Middle East diplomacy have changed. The levers that once made peace even remotely plausible—U.S. pressure, Arab bloc unity, shared economic interest—have weakened or vanished. That’s what makes this offer so important. It isn’t just a diplomatic gesture—it’s a revealing sign of structural misalignment that now defines the Israeli-Palestinian impasse.

The Palestinian Authority’s peace initiative comes from a position of extreme weakness. It holds no leverage—military, economic, or political—that can compel Israel to return to the negotiating table.

The facts on the ground are brutal: Israel maintains de facto control over nearly the entire West Bank, governs entry and exit into Gaza, and has reshaped the demography of East Jerusalem through settlement expansion and administrative lawfare. Over 700,000 Israeli settlers now live in territory Palestinians claim for a future state. The Israeli security establishment operates with near-total freedom across the West Bank, rendering PA institutions largely symbolic.

Internally, the Palestinian Authority is fragmented and unpopular. Abbas, 89, is widely viewed as out of touch and illegitimate. His government has repeatedly postponed elections and is marred by accusations of corruption and repression. In Gaza, Hamas governs under siege but retains grassroots support among Palestinians who see resistance—not diplomacy—as the only viable path forward.

Meanwhile, Israel’s political leadership sees no strategic benefit in peace talks. Netanyahu’s governing coalition—one of the most religious-nationalist in Israeli history—depends on the support of parties that openly oppose Palestinian statehood and support annexation of the West Bank. Engaging with Abbas would not only be politically costly; it would fracture the coalition entirely.

The resulting asymmetry is absolute: Israel can act unilaterally; Palestinians cannot. Israel can wait indefinitely; the PA cannot. Any peace initiative that does not address this structural imbalance will fail—not because it’s insincere, but because the incentives no longer align.

When the original Arab Peace Initiative was launched in 2002, the logic was collective: Arab recognition of Israel would follow a fair and final resolution to the Palestinian question. That logic no longer holds.

The 2020 Abraham Accords—signed between Israel and the United Arab Emirates, Bahrain, Morocco, and Sudan—formalized a new doctrine: normalization first, Palestine later (if at all). What mattered more to Gulf states was Israeli technology, intelligence sharing, and U.S. defense guarantees. That shift sent a loud message: the Palestinian cause was no longer a regional red line.

Even Saudi Arabia, long considered the linchpin of Arab support for the Palestinian struggle, has softened. Though Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman has publicly insisted on Palestinian rights, his government has reportedly held multiple rounds of backchannel talks with Israel. Analysts expect Riyadh to normalize ties with Tel Aviv within the next 24 months—likely in exchange for a U.S. security pact and access to advanced defense technologies.

This new regional posture undermines Abbas’s offer. Without the full backing of the Arab League, the Palestinian leadership cannot credibly pressure Israel. Worse, as Arab states move forward with bilateral deals, they signal to Israel that normalization can proceed without resolving the occupation. In doing so, they erase the Palestinian leverage that once existed. Abbas’s offer, then, reads not as a confident diplomatic play—but as a strategic SOS.

Another invisible force shaping this dynamic is the retreat of U.S. engagement. The Biden administration has largely deprioritized the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, focusing its foreign policy bandwidth on Ukraine, China, and domestic polarization. When Washington does engage, it is largely reactive—aimed at containing violence, not resolving its root causes.

Since October 2023, the U.S. has provided near-unconditional support for Israel’s military operations in Gaza, even as civilian casualties soared and international pressure mounted. Though Biden officials have occasionally floated ideas for postwar “governance models” in Gaza, none have materialized—and none involved genuine Palestinian self-rule under PA leadership.

This matters because, historically, the U.S. has been the only actor with enough leverage to compel Israeli concessions. The 1979 Egypt-Israel peace, the 1993 Oslo Accords, and the 2000 Camp David summit all depended on robust U.S. diplomatic capital and aid carrots. That model no longer exists. Congress is deeply polarized on Israel policy, and public trust in U.S. impartiality has eroded in the Arab world.

Without an engaged, forceful U.S. mediator, Abbas’s offer has no external enforcer. It’s like proposing new rules in a game where the referee has left the stadium.

Suppose, against all odds, both sides returned to the negotiating table. What would a viable peace framework require in 2025?

1. Territorial Clarity: Any deal would need to reconcile the 1967 lines with the current reality of settlements—requiring land swaps, removals, or joint administration zones. This is politically radioactive in Israel.
2. Jerusalem: Both sides claim it as their capital. No Israeli government will cede sovereignty over the city; no Palestinian leader can forfeit it and survive politically.
3. Security Guarantees: Israel demands full demilitarization of a future Palestinian state. Palestinians insist on defense capacity and an end to occupation. Bridging that divide would require multinational peacekeeping—another logistical nightmare.
4. Refugees: The right of return remains a core Palestinian demand and a red line for Israel. Creative solutions—such as symbolic return paired with compensation—have been proposed, but never accepted.
5. Political Will: Above all, both sides would need leadership that is willing to risk their careers, coalitions, and legacies. At present, neither Abbas nor Netanyahu fits that description.

In other words, any “return to talks” would be purely performative without structural reforms to the conditions of negotiation. The rules, players, and incentives are all misaligned.

This latest peace offer from Mahmoud Abbas should not be dismissed as irrelevant. It is not a solution, but it is a signal—a reflection of how far the Palestinians have drifted from power and how isolated their leadership has become. But the real story here isn’t the offer itself. It’s the system around it. The incentives for peace have decayed. Arab states no longer hold out for Palestinian justice. The U.S. no longer acts as a credible broker. And Israel—flush with leverage—sees no reason to budge.

Unless those incentives change, no offer—no matter how “reasonable”—will matter. What we are witnessing isn’t just a frozen conflict. It’s the quiet unraveling of a framework that once gave diplomacy a chance. Abbas’s offer reminds us that Palestinians have not abandoned the vision of a two-state solution. But it also forces us to confront the fact that Israel, the region, and the global order may have already moved on. Not toward peace—but toward a status quo that normalizes permanent occupation and strategic denial.

In that light, this proposal is not just a cry for negotiation—it’s a final echo from a diplomacy model that may no longer exist.