
Macron forgets that Hamas does not want peace
Amidst the welter of controversy surrounding the Gaza crisis, one central fact seems to have been completely overlooked in the rush to blame the miserable plight of Palestinian civilians on Israel.
It was Hamas, not Israel, that was ultimately responsible for the collapse of the Trump administration's latest efforts to arrange a lasting ceasefire in the enclave.
It is hopefully a point US President Donald Trump makes abundantly clear to Sir Keir Starmer when the two leaders meet in Scotland.
Downing Street says Starmer will use the meeting to press Trump to do more to end the war in Gaza, a move that is no doubt prompted by the mounting pressure the Prime Minister is under from naive and ill-informed Labour backbenchers to recognise a Palestinian state.
Hopefully, the American president will provide Starmer with a reality check on the challenges facing anyone seeking to bring peace to Gaza, the most prominent being the absolute insistence of Hamas's terrorist leadership that it must remain in control of the enclave for any lasting cessation of hostilities to occur.
Allowing Hamas to retain any vestige of influence in Gaza is, understandably, anathema to Israel after the horrors it suffered during the October 7 attacks in 2023, which resulted in the cold-blooded massacre of 1,200 people – including women and children – at the hands of deranged Islamist fanatics.
No sane government in the world would allow such an organisation to remain intact after the trauma its citizens have suffered. It is for this reason that, since the start of the conflict, Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu has refused to waver from his insistence that, for there to be lasting peace in Gaza, Hamas's terrorist infrastructure – including the political leaders who helped to mastermind the October 7 attacks – must be completely eradicated from the enclave before any serious consideration can be given to peace.
Netanyahu has stuck to this bottom line through numerous iterations of US-sponsored ceasefire talks, starting with the Biden administration and continuing through to the current attempts by Trump to end hostilities and free the remaining Israeli hostages still held captive by Hamas terrorists.
At the same time Hamas has been equally insistent in demanding the right to remain in Gaza, claiming that it represents the enclave's legitimate government, even though it clings to power by torturing and murdering any Palestinians who are brave or foolhardy enough to voice their opposition to the terrorist organisation's brutal regime.
The Trump administration's deepening frustration with the negotiating tactics of Hamas, together with its backers in Qatar and Iran, was clearly evident in comments made by Steve Witkoff, Trump's Special Envoy to the Middle East, after he withdrew from last week's ceasefire talks in Qatar claiming that they had collapsed because Hamas was behaving in a 'selfish way.'
'While the mediators have made a great effort, Hamas does not appear to be coordinated or acting in good faith. We will now consider alternative options to bring the hostages home and try to create a more stable environment for the people of Gaza,' Witkoff said in a statement issued when he abandoned the talks.
For the fundamental truth of the Gaza tragedy, one that the legions of anti-Israel protesters across the globe wilfully ignore, is that Hamas does not want peace.
The architects of this Islamist death cult seek martyrdom, and now that it has run out of fighters to sacrifice in its increasingly futile war against Israel's superior military might, Hamas is using Palestinian civilians effectively as human shields in its quest to survive the conflict.
It has done this by trying to seize control of vital aid supplies and establishing a black market whereby only known Hamas sympathisers are provided with the basic necessities for life. As for the rest, they are left to starve, thereby providing the UN's sprawling network of aid agencies, which have an undistinguished history of collaborating with Hamas, with the ammunition they need to accuse Israel of genocide.
In such circumstances it is almost obscene that prominent Western leaders such as French President Emmanuel Macron should seek to salve their conscience by making grandstanding declarations about their intention to recognise a Palestinian state, even though a significant proportion of this supposed entity happens to be run by Islamist fanatics.
Trump, by contrast, has a far more realistic take on Hamas's mindset, one it is hoped the president will share forcefully with Starmer if our prime minister is to be prevented from following Macron's morally bankrupt gesture.
As Trump commented after the collapse of the latest Doha ceasefire talks, 'Hamas didn't really want to make a deal. I think they want to die, and it's very, very bad.'
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New Statesman
22 minutes ago
- New Statesman
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Riot police hold back protesters near a burning police vehicle after disorder broke out on 30 July 2024 in Southport. Photo byOne year ago, as the riots that started in Southport spread across the country, people in the old coalfields started to join in the action. In Wath upon Dearne, a former pit area in the metropolitan borough of Rotherham, rioters clashed with police outside a Holiday Inn Express, leading to some of the most appalling violence of that summer. The hotel's residents, housed there by the Home Office while it processed their asylum claims, said they felt a deep terror when they saw the mob set bins alight and storm the building. It was the event that produced some of the most memorable images of the riots. For all the distinct 2020s character of the livestreamed disturbances, the clashes invoked the past too. 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Millie's anger was driven by the loss of sports facilities, the disappearance of the Sure Start centres, and the loss of the shared spaces she held dear. Everything had been 'taken away'. Even simple activities such as a family cinema trip or roller-skating at one of the few remaining leisure centres set her back more than she could afford. She would love to be able to drop her kids off to play with the pit band, as her father, a miner, had done with her. But the facilities had shut. 'When the pits started closing, they lost funding and stuff. I mean, it's still about, don't get me wrong. But it's not as rife as it used to be… My kids don't understand it because they never had it. But it hurts me, because what am I to do?' [See also: One year on, tensions still circle Britain's asylum-seeker hotels] To understand the anger of the mining towns, we need to understand the history of miners' welfare. This takes us back to Southport, long before Southport became a shorthand in the national press for the disaffected working class. The Victorian seaside resort was the preferred location for conferences of the northern working class. Its train station was easily reached from Liverpool and Manchester and grand hotels sprang up to host them. (One of these was the ornate red-brick structure of the Scarisbrick Hotel, which would much later be used as an asylum hotel for several months.) Late-19th-century accounts in regional newspapers describe a remarkable sight at one of the conferences: in the early hours of the morning, the sky above the town came alive as the miners – many of whom flew pigeons for a hobby – released their birds to fly back home, while the miners themselves remained in Southport to vote on proposals for the eight-hour working day. After the First World War, the miners met at Southport again to discuss their demands, having paused strike activity for the duration of the fighting. They wanted to be put in charge of the industry – nationalisation under worker control, as well as wage increases and a reduction in the working day. They threatened to go on strike. The government baulked at their demands, but the ensuing Sankey commission did recommend that colliery owners be charged one penny per tonne of coal, to be put towards social, cultural and medical amenities. This was promptly made law in the Welfare Fund clause of the 1920 Mining Industry Act – the clause from which welfares derive their name. Subscribe to The New Statesman today from only £8.99 per month Subscribe Sports pitches, pithead baths and social clubs sprang up around Britain's collieries, all funded by the levy, and, after nationalisation, by the state. The welfares and other amenities were not just useful for community well-being, but also helped to forge a social tie between representatives and the represented. Bolstered by social investment, MPs could prove they cared about the communities that had elected them. In reality, the Welfare Fund investment reflected the structural power of miners over the energy source upon which industry and households depended. Nonetheless, people use the provision as an example of care and recognition. When these were lost in the ravages of deindustrialisation and austerity, it was felt like a moral injury. Politicians still claim to care, but what have their constituents got to show for it? Quantitative research by the economic geography professors Maria Abreu and Calvin Jones has shown that former coal-mining areas have lower levels of political participation, a lack of political trust and a low sense of political efficacy even compared with economically and demographically similar places. Other recent research tells us that closures of GP practices, pubs and shops are all associated with elevated support for the far right. These losses of social infrastructure are all the more impactful in former mining areas because there was more to lose. The decay of amenities won by the labour movement have become a potent symbol of decline. Today, ex-miners who were once connected to hundreds of others through a dense web of social provision tell me they live increasingly private lives in their private homes. Some end up on dubious Facebook pages and YouTube channels. They come to imagine their homes as embattled fortresses, under siege from disorder and diversity outside. The Wath Main Colliery memorial in South Yorkshire is a ten-minute walk from the Holiday Inn where everything kicked off in August 2024. Fifteen minutes' walk the other way there's a large distribution centre, which regeneration officials had hoped would provide an employment alternative. It is often said that places like Mansfield or Wath were forgotten or left behind, and many of us are guilty of talking about ex-industrial areas as though time stopped shortly after the miners' strike. Nothing could be further from the truth. In Wath, like in Mansfield, there have been frantic policy interventions to lure footloose businesses and make the land productive again. As a result, many former pit areas have similar landscapes: a big Tesco, expensive newbuild housing and a waste incineration plant – if planners can get it past the local residents. Like Nottinghamshire, Wath ended up with distribution centres. Here, it is the clothing retailer Next; in Nottinghamshire it's Amazon and Sports Direct. In Wath, as in the South Wales valleys, they received call centres too. And of course, where land, rent and rates are cheap, the government will soon see an opportunity to make savings. There is never any money to keep Sure Start going or to keep the welfare alive, but people who depend on the state can be dealt with on the cheap. It is, perhaps, easier for Serco and other government contractors to house asylums seekers in one place, rather than disperse smaller groups more widely. To the surprise of no one, this is not a recipe for social cohesion. Racism and xenophobia exist everywhere, but combined with structural decline they make for a particularly toxic politics, and it is not hard to see how far-right visions of civil disorder and societal breakdown could meld with more mundane concerns and a widely shared anti-politics. In a new report for IPPR, I make the case for the return of a miners' welfare fund to combat declinism and alienation. Where it was once levied on colliery owners, it should now raise its budget from the large online businesses, such as Amazon, that have filled post-industrial Britain with gargantuan distribution centres. Private-sector-led approaches to regeneration have left mining communities with exploitative jobs and crumbling social infrastructures. Things seem only ever to get worse. Instead, the state could use a 21st-century welfare fund to revive community centres, facilitate affordable family activities and help community groups take neglected spaces into common ownership, reclaiming the mundane utopia of the sports pitch and the pit band. Memories of the affordances of the previous generation of welfare facilities speak to its understated pleasures. 'Pit bands – you really got a feel for the pit community,' Millie told me. 'Stuck together, had a laugh.' [See more: British decline is as much intellectual as it is political] Related