Trump’s Phase Two: Ultimatum to Hamas as Egypt Warns Sudan of Breakup

Paul Riverbank, 1/15/2026US-backed plans for Gaza and Sudan push for peace and civilian protection amid ongoing violence and stalled disarmament by armed groups, with diplomacy struggling to secure lasting calm for those trapped on the ground.

The plan, in the broad brushstrokes that have become familiar, calls for shifting Gaza’s burden from armed groups to a civilian body: the National Committee for the Administration of Gaza, or NCAG, which, crucially, would be led by Palestinians seen as technocrats rather than politicians or militants. International peacekeepers would hover nearby, presumably as both shield and signal to those skeptical of this new order. Over all of it, in a twist only this administration could devise, would be a Board of Peace—chaired, in name at least, by the former president himself.

That’s the blueprint. But blueprints don’t account for the refusal of Hamas—the party inextricably linked to the region’s current chaos—to disarm. Only days ago, Witkoff insisted the US expected Hamas to release its last deceased hostage and step aside. “Failure to do so will bring serious consequences,” he declared, though it wasn’t entirely clear if anyone in Gaza’s underground corridors was listening.

So far, the plan’s first phase has done what stretches of previous international efforts could not: reduced some fighting, brought home a handful of hostages, and persuaded Israeli troops to retreat from Gaza’s most densely packed neighborhoods. But patience in Washington and Tel Aviv is growing gossamer thin. Trump, as is his wont, warned with typical bluntness that if Hamas declines to yield, “regional troops might come in.” There are, of course, few details on whose troops those might be—or whether such a threat is intended more as a lever than a real move.

Step away from the Mediterranean, and the tension does not lessen. Just across the Red Sea, Sudan’s war pushes toward its third year, with fresh diplomatic talks scheduled in Egypt. Cairo is anxious not just about the refugees trickling—sometimes flooding—across its southern frontier, but also the more profound threat of a neighbor fracturing along ethnic and tribal lines.

Egypt’s Foreign Minister, Badr Abdelatty, issued a warning likely meant for domestic and foreign audiences alike: “There is absolutely no room for recognizing parallel entities or any militias,” he announced, drawing his own lines in the sand. The priority is to keep Sudan—wobbling though it may be—as one country under its recognized institutions; for Egypt, the logic is realpolitik, colored by proximity and memory of chaos.

The quiet desperation is palpable in el-Fasher, a city in Darfur that was, until very recently, almost entirely cut off. Massad Boulos, the U.S. adviser for Arab and African Affairs, sounded almost relieved as he marked the arrival of a ton of aid there—enough, maybe, to matter to hundreds, but tragically inadequate for the thousands on the move. Just last week, 8,000 residents of North Darfur took what they could carry and fled, while others continued on, heading for the uncertain safety of Chad.

The numbers, so casually repeated—tens dead this week in Jarjira, more in Sinja after a drone strike—hint at a grinding inhumanity. For locals, the fighting, attributed variously to the Sudanese army and paramilitary Rapid Support Forces, is a terror measured less by bodies than by the growing emptiness of their villages. The Sudan Doctors Network, weary but determined, continues to catalog attacks in language that routine has rendered almost cold: “the latest crime added to the long list,” as their brief statement put it.

From the marble table in Cairo, diplomats—American, Egyptian, UN—sound almost plaintive as they plead for a humanitarian pause, just long enough for aid supplies to edge past the checkpoints and into the waiting hands of civilians. But every round of talks finishes much as the last: a ceasefire signed, yet the guns almost immediately start their staccato again.

What looms over both conflicts, Gaza’s and Sudan’s, is a simple, devastating fact: these are not just diplomatic chess matches or struggles over borderlines. The true weight rests on communities already battered by years of war, on families for whom each day is little more than a narrow escape from hunger or shellfire.

Egypt’s President el-Sissi, never much for ambiguity in matters of national interest, underlined the point to foreign reporters and regional leaders alike: Egypt “will not stand idly by” should Sudan split apart. The Americans, joined by Saudi Arabia and the UAE, continue to offer their own formulas for peace. Both of Sudan’s warring sides have, at different points, publicly nodded along. But for all the plans drawn up in capitals, the shooting persists, and with it, the unrelenting displacement and grief.

For now, the world’s diplomats keep flying in and out of conference centers, and the pundits keep parsing statements for signs of a breakthrough. On the ground, families simply hope tomorrow’s headlines do not feature them.

In a small conference room just off the echoing marble corridors of a hastily assembled diplomatic hub, President Trump's envoy, Steve Witkoff, took a moment before the cameras. On display was the so-called “Phase Two” of Washington’s evolving strategy for Gaza—a place where phrases like “national committee” and “technocratic administration” have, over months, taken on outsized significance. Yet, Wednesday’s announcement felt less like a grand turning point and more like a weary step on a much longer road.The plan, in the broad brushstrokes that have become familiar, calls for shifting Gaza’s burden from armed groups to a civilian body: the National Committee for the Administration of Gaza, or NCAG, which, crucially, would be led by Palestinians seen as technocrats rather than politicians or militants. International peacekeepers would hover nearby, presumably as both shield and signal to those skeptical of this new order. Over all of it, in a twist only this administration could devise, would be a Board of Peace—chaired, in name at least, by the former president himself.That’s the blueprint. But blueprints don’t account for the refusal of Hamas—the party inextricably linked to the region’s current chaos—to disarm. Only days ago, Witkoff insisted the US expected Hamas to release its last deceased hostage and step aside. “Failure to do so will bring serious consequences,” he declared, though it wasn’t entirely clear if anyone in Gaza’s underground corridors was listening.So far, the plan’s first phase has done what stretches of previous international efforts could not: reduced some fighting, brought home a handful of hostages, and persuaded Israeli troops to retreat from Gaza’s most densely packed neighborhoods. But patience in Washington and Tel Aviv is growing gossamer thin. Trump, as is his wont, warned with typical bluntness that if Hamas declines to yield, “regional troops might come in.” There are, of course, few details on whose troops those might be—or whether such a threat is intended more as a lever than a real move.Step away from the Mediterranean, and the tension does not lessen. Just across the Red Sea, Sudan’s war pushes toward its third year, with fresh diplomatic talks scheduled in Egypt. Cairo is anxious not just about the refugees trickling—sometimes flooding—across its southern frontier, but also the more profound threat of a neighbor fracturing along ethnic and tribal lines.Egypt’s Foreign Minister, Badr Abdelatty, issued a warning likely meant for domestic and foreign audiences alike: “There is absolutely no room for recognizing parallel entities or any militias,” he announced, drawing his own lines in the sand. The priority is to keep Sudan—wobbling though it may be—as one country under its recognized institutions; for Egypt, the logic is realpolitik, colored by proximity and memory of chaos.The quiet desperation is palpable in el-Fasher, a city in Darfur that was, until very recently, almost entirely cut off. Massad Boulos, the U.S. adviser for Arab and African Affairs, sounded almost relieved as he marked the arrival of a ton of aid there—enough, maybe, to matter to hundreds, but tragically inadequate for the thousands on the move. Just last week, 8,000 residents of North Darfur took what they could carry and fled, while others continued on, heading for the uncertain safety of Chad.The numbers, so casually repeated—tens dead this week in Jarjira, more in Sinja after a drone strike—hint at a grinding inhumanity. For locals, the fighting, attributed variously to the Sudanese army and paramilitary Rapid Support Forces, is a terror measured less by bodies than by the growing emptiness of their villages. The Sudan Doctors Network, weary but determined, continues to catalog attacks in language that routine has rendered almost cold: “the latest crime added to the long list,” as their brief statement put it.From the marble table in Cairo, diplomats—American, Egyptian, UN—sound almost plaintive as they plead for a humanitarian pause, just long enough for aid supplies to edge past the checkpoints and into the waiting hands of civilians. But every round of talks finishes much as the last: a ceasefire signed, yet the guns almost immediately start their staccato again.What looms over both conflicts, Gaza’s and Sudan’s, is a simple, devastating fact: these are not just diplomatic chess matches or struggles over borderlines. The true weight rests on communities already battered by years of war, on families for whom each day is little more than a narrow escape from hunger or shellfire.Egypt’s President el-Sissi, never much for ambiguity in matters of national interest, underlined the point to foreign reporters and regional leaders alike: Egypt “will not stand idly by” should Sudan split apart. The Americans, joined by Saudi Arabia and the UAE, continue to offer their own formulas for peace. Both of Sudan’s warring sides have, at different points, publicly nodded along. But for all the plans drawn up in capitals, the shooting persists, and with it, the unrelenting displacement and grief.For now, the world’s diplomats keep flying in and out of conference centers, and the pundits keep parsing statements for signs of a breakthrough. On the ground, families simply hope tomorrow’s headlines do not feature them.