At the end of July, Hamas agreed to a Board of Peace (BoP) roadmap to implement Phase 2 of the three-stage ceasefire agreement. At its core is Hamas’s willingness to decommission its weapons. This would have been unthinkable only a few years ago and offers a realistic pathway for ending the Islamist group’s governance and security control over the devastated Strip.

This process will only begin once Israel has fully complied with its Phase 1 obligations, which it has yet to do. More fundamentally, it will require Israel to accept a process to end its military presence in Gaza and ultimately engage in negotiations towards Palestinian self-determination. Netanyahu and his hardline government have rejected the roadmap out of hand and are now the main threat to the ceasefire deal.

Having been largely sidelined, Europe now has a role to play in ensuring the deal succeeds.

The unfinished phase 1

Announced in September 2025, Trump’s 20-point plan aims to end the war in Gaza in three phases. The first phase conditioned the full cessation of hostilities and emergency relief on the release of Israeli hostages held by Palestinian groups. The second phase aims to remove Hamas from power and begin reconstruction—the roadmap Hamas agreed to in July outlines how this stage will work. The final phase would end with Israel’s full withdrawal from Gaza, the return of the Palestinian Authority (PA) and the launch of a “credible pathway to Palestinian self-determination and statehood”.

So far, the plan has significantly reduced violence, secured the return of all Israeli hostages held by Palestinian factions and prompted a partial redeployment of Israeli military forces. However, in violation of the agreement, Israel has continued to strike civilians and militants in Gaza, and impede the entry of humanitarian aid. The Israeli military has also advanced beyond the Yellow Line, to which it was supposed to withdraw in the first phase.

At the same time, Israel has continued to demolish Palestinian homes and infrastructure in the 70% of Gaza that remains under its control. Israel may now be seeking to create a new de facto border with Gaza and effectively annex a large chunk of the territory, potentially preparing for the return of Israeli settlements there in the future.

The roadmap

Once Phase 1 is complete, Palestinian factions will begin handing over their heavy weapons to the Palestinian National Committee for the Administration of Gaza (NCAG), a transitional body created as part of the 20-point plan to replace Hamas governance and security control in the Strip. This will include the full alphabet soup of Palestinian armed groups—many of which are more hardline than Hamas—as well as Israeli-backed militias.

Heavy weapons will effectively be placed under lock and key, monitored by the International Stabilisation Force (ISF), which will deploy as a buffer between Israeli forces and NCAG-controlled areas. BoP officials have said Palestinian weapons could ultimately be dismantled and melted down. This would replicate how Northern Ireland’s decommissioning process dealt with weapons held by paramilitary groups. Tunnels and weapons production facilities would also be put out of action.

Small arms like AK-47s will instead be regulated by NCAG through a system of permits. NCAG will also establish a new police force made up of newly trained recruits and members of the Hamas-run civil police vetted and approved by the BoP.

Critically, the roadmap links the decommissioning process “to an Israeli withdrawal, in phases, from the areas under its control in Gaza”. According to previous understandings, Israel would withdraw to a new “Red Line” by the end of Phase 2, and from there to a “Black Line” along Gaza’s perimeter, where it would retain a narrow buffer zone until “Gaza is properly secure from any resurgent terror threat.”

While the contours of Phase 2 are now clear, the final operational details still need to be hammered out between the sides during follow-up talks. Questions also remain over the lack of funding for the NCAG and the status of the ISF, which to date has only around 200 pledged troops from Morocco, though smaller numbers may also come from countries including Kosovo and Uganda. Meanwhile, the new Palestinian police force has yet to begin training in Egypt.

Europe is right to avoid directly funding the BoP. But it has considerable expertise in disarmament and security-sector reform, including through the EU’s EUPOL COPPS mission, which was established to assist the PA police in the West Bank. Europeans should offer critical personnel and technical expertise to support both the decommissioning process and the training of the new Palestinian police force.

The spoiler

The biggest obstacle remains Israel’s opposition to any transitional political process that would eventually force it out of the Strip and into talks on Palestinian self-determination

The biggest obstacle remains Israel’s opposition to any transitional political process that would eventually force it out of the Strip and into talks on Palestinian self-determination. The Israeli government has instead vowed to remain in Gaza and continue its military attacks. It has also opposed NCAG taking over until Hamas fully disarms, and demanded the right to veto troop contributions to the ISF from “hostile” countries such as Turkey and Qatar.

BoP officials now appear to be altering parts of the laboriously negotiated deal (and its own press release) to accommodate Israel’s hardline stance. They now state that Israeli withdrawal beyond the Yellow Line would begin only once the decommissioning process is complete. This appears to contradict the original text and Nikolay Mladenov, the BoP’s high representative, who initially said the two would move forward “in lockstep”. The accompanying Explanatory Note also reinforces this interpretation, outlining “a step-by-step process linking withdrawal phases to verified decommissioning steps.”

Such manoeuvring risks undermining Hamas support for the agreement. Moreover, by conditioning all further Israeli withdrawals on Gaza’s full demilitarisation, the BoP is in effect giving Israel a veto over the process itself, allowing it to deepen its control over the eastern half of Gaza. Given the near impossibility of removing every single Palestinian weapon, as many are held by families, clans, criminal networks and jihadi groups, Israel could argue indefinitely that the conditions for its withdrawal have not been met.

But even BoP efforts to placate Israel have failed to satisfy prime minister Benjamin Netanyahu. He continues to demand that the deal be re-negotiated, insisting that no Israeli redeployment will take place, even to the original Yellow Line, until Hamas has fully disarmed.

The path forward

Having secured Hamas’s unprecedented agreement to decommission its weapons, the BoP now needs to show the political will to implement its own deal. US officials have already warned Israel that US president Donald Trump would be “very, very disappointed” if Netanyahu derailed it. Although the prime minister’s far-right coalition limits his room for manoeuvre, Netanyahu has invested heavily in portraying his close relationship with Trump as a political asset—which means he cannot easily afford a public rupture with him.

Mladenov has won wide international praise for brokering the deal. Rather than modifying the terms he himself negotiated and risk the diplomatic gains already achieved, he should use his current political capital and Trump’s momentary re-engagement to insist that Israel implements rather than rewrites the agreement. If necessary, he should be prepared to call out Israeli obstruction, just as he previously cast Hamas as the main obstacle. Europe can further strengthen his hand by also highlighting Israel’s non-compliance with its obligations, as the Arab and Turkish mediators have done. The EU should also resume discussions on suspending the  Association Agreement with Israel unless it complies.

Sustained diplomatic engagement before Israel’s October elections should aim to shift the terms of the domestic debate. The Israeli opposition has also been critical of the deal, accusing Netanyahu of weakness by allowing Hamas to survive, and is unlikely to chart a radical new course on Gaza if it wins. Nevertheless, opposition figures have also acknowledged that Israel’s battlefield gains need to be converted into lasting diplomatic achievements. Europe should use the political framework established by the Gaza roadmap to reinforce this logic and demonstrate how military gains can be converted into a sustainable political settlement.

Ultimately, success will depend on whether both sides conclude that diplomacy offers greater rewards than renewed war. Hamas is unlikely to complete decommissioning unless it believes that concessions today will lead to genuine political gains tomorrow towards Palestinian liberation. Equally, Israel will only embrace a durable ceasefire if it sees political transformation within Hamas that locks it into credible peace negotiations as a means of strengthening its long-term security. This makes Phase 3 every bit as important as Phase 2.

Without a credible pathway towards Palestinian self-determination, decommissioning risks becoming an end in itself rather than the foundation of a lasting Israeli-Palestinian peace. Equally, a future Israeli government will need to view full implementation of the Gaza agreement not as a concession to Hamas, but as the indispensable stepping stone towards normalisation with Saudi Arabia and deeper integration with the Arab and Islamic world. Europe should therefore work with its Arab partners to ensure that the Gaza deal is tied to a regional package. That would allow a future Israeli government to present withdrawal from Gaza and acceptance of a political process leading to a two-state solution not as unilateral compromises, but as part of a US-brokered grand bargain that underpins Israeli integration and security in the region.

Source

Brussels (enr) – European Parliament Foreign Affairs Committee Chairman David McAllister has urged Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy to support German Chancellor Friedrich Merz’s proposal for an associate membership for Ukraine as it moves towards joining the European Union.

The proposal is an opportunity that Ukraine should seize, the German centre-right lawmaker told members of the European Newsroom (enr) network in early June. Claims that it would amount to “membership light” or second-class membership were incorrect, he said.

Instead, it would allow Ukraine to become more closely integrated into the EU step by step before full membership, making the benefits of the bloc more visible to its people. One possibility would be for Ukraine to participate in the European Parliament as an observer, McAllister said.

Zelenskyy has expressed opposition to the idea, arguing that it would be unfair for Ukraine to be present in the EU but have no say in its decisions. In a letter to EU leaders, he called for the bloc to move faster and not keep Ukraine in a waiting room until full membership.

Merz said earlier that rapid full EU accession for Ukraine, which is fighting Russia’s invasion, is not realistic. For the interim period, he has proposed allowing Ukraine to attend EU summits and ministerial meetings without voting rights.

His ideas also include an associate member of the European Commission without a portfolio or voting rights, associate members of the European Parliament and an associate judge at the European Court of Justice.

Enlargement Agenda

McAllister said EU enlargement was high on the bloc’s agenda and that the Western Balkans were at the heart of Europe. A stable region was an investment in peace and security, he said.

The CDU politician called for each candidate country to be assessed individually and on its merits rather than treating the Western Balkans as a single group. Montenegro was a clear frontrunner, he said, while North Macedonia’s accession path remained blocked by a political dispute with Bulgaria.

Eight other European countries are officially recognised as EU candidate countries alongside Ukraine: Albania, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Georgia, Moldova, Montenegro, North Macedonia, Serbia and Türkiye.

Holbrook Mohr and Mitch Weiss | The Atavist Magazine | July 2026 | 2,284 words (8 minutes)

This is an excerpt from issue no. 178, “Toxic Lies.”

---

January 3, 2026

In the isolation ward of a hospital in Birmingham, Alabama, a nurse approaches Ron Fowler’s bed, cell phone extended in her hand.

“You have a call,” she says.

Fowler’s eyes flutter open. He tugs off his oxygen tube and, with trembling fingers, accepts the phone.

“Thanks,” he whispers, before turning his attention to us—the callers.

From his voice it’s clear that something is very wrong; he sounds nothing like his usual self. He’s due the next day to meet us for an interview in Paducah, Kentucky, where he and his friend Chuck Deuschle worked at a uranium-enrichment plant that helped fuel America’s nuclear arsenal. Years ago they blew the whistle on the government and its contractors for poisoning thousands of atomic workers. “Can’t make it,” Fowler chokes out. “Blood clots. Hospital. They may have to remove some toes—if those clots don’t reach my heart first. If they do…” He trails off, the terrible ending hanging in the air.

Fowler, soon to turn 77, is desperate to talk before it’s too late—to pull up the memories one more time and commit them to the historical record. He and Deuschle had both moved to Kentucky to work at the nuclear plant, only to discover a grim secret: The facility was exposing people to dangerously high levels of radiation and toxic chemicals, and had concealed the truth about it from employees and the surrounding community. This went on for decades. Faced with a choice—either walk away or stay and sound the alarm—Fowler and Deuschle returned to work, day after day.

More than thirty years later, lying in the hospital with cancer, Fowler is certain that the plant doomed him to a slow, painful death. At 83, Deuschle is also fighting a serious health issue: an unexplained autoimmune disease. They believe their fellow whistleblowers—Deuschle’s wife, Kay, and their friend Garland “Bud” Jenkins—succumbed to illnesses caused by the plant. Still, they’d do it all again. Someone had to reveal the callous disregard the government and the plant’s operators had shown their own people.

Fowler and Deuschle have never shared their story in full—the details of what it was like to live, breathe, and possibly die from their commitment to the truth. But they want people to know, particularly in light of recent news reports: In August 2025, more than a decade after the plant was shut down, a private firm announced that it planned to revive uranium-enrichment operations there. To Fowler and Deuschle, it seems wrong to begin a new chapter in Paducah’s nuclear story. Many former employees are still seeking compensation for their exposure to radiation. Will future generations of workers be any safer?

Fowler struggles for each breath.

“Time’s up,” the nurse says gently, reaching for the phone. “You need to rest.”

Fowler grips the device tighter.

“Call tomorrow when you meet with Chuck,” he implores. “I’m staying alive until then.” He pauses for a moment. “Just make sure Chuck’s with you. Promise me.”

We promise.

1.

One morning in late 1991, Ron Fowler stood in front of the bathroom mirror, parting his hair to the side and noting the first strands of gray at his temples. His beard was neatly trimmed, his black slacks and white dress shirt crisply pressed. He was ready. Today would be his first day at the Paducah Gaseous Diffusion Plant, a uranium-enrichment facility about ten miles outside Paducah, Kentucky. This was more than just a job—it was the start of a new life.

Fowler was a health physicist, an expert in the science of radiation protection. For years he’d traveled the country to train workers at nuclear plants in safety protocols. The pay was great, but being on the road weeks at a time had worn him down. When he moved to Paducah in his early forties, Fowler had already lived in Illinois, Pennsylvania, Maryland, Virginia, and Arkansas. Paducah promised stability: the perfect place to settle through retirement. His wife’s parents even moved from Illinois to be nearby.

After eating breakfast—a sausage patty and a scrambled egg—he kissed his wife, Sandi, goodbye and slipped out the door. He steered his green Oldsmobile Delta 88 through the country roads outside Paducah and let his mind drift back to his childhood in Florence, South Carolina. Life there had been simple. His father, who dropped out of school in the fourth grade, supported the family by working on the railroad. Florence was a place where men had jobs, women tended to the home and children, everyone went to church, and neighbors helped neighbors who fell on hard times. Paducah felt just as close-knit. Folks looked out for one another, and honest labor was rewarded.

Situated on the Ohio River where it meets the Tennessee, Paducah owes its origins to trade; it was founded in 1827 by William Clark of the Lewis and Clark expedition and named for a powerful Native American tribe. The area is naturally beautiful—the city is surrounded by rolling hills and sprawling plains dotted with ponds. For Fowler, a keen fisherman, it was paradise. Paducah had about 27,000 residents when he arrived. It was big enough to have all the right shops, yet small enough that restaurant owners knew whether regulars preferred barbecue or fried catfish, the local staples.

As Fowler drove, the plant appeared in the distance. It spread over some 3,500 acres—750 of them secured by fences and gates—and sat amid modest homes and farms. The community was proud of this place because of its long history supporting the military. Originally, it was a TNT munitions factory, built during World War II. Later, as Cold War tensions escalated, officials scouted locations for a uranium feed facility to supply weapons-production sites in Piketon, Ohio, and Oak Ridge, Tennessee, with the material required to make nuclear bombs. Paducah native Alben Barkley leveraged his position as Harry S. Truman’s vice president, campaigning aggressively to repurpose the munitions factory in his hometown. He recognized that the project likely would inject billions into the local economy and transform living standards for the region’s blue-collar workforce.

Construction of the nuclear plant began in 1951. By the following year, it was enriching uranium for atomic bombs and the Navy’s nuclear fleet. Rising from the countryside, the gleaming buildings looked like modern marvels, and the economic windfall lifted Paducah residents’ spirits. Meanwhile, employees at the plant—everyone from nuclear technicians to welders, cooks, and janitors—were united in patriotic pride. Their jobs paid well, and the workers believed that they were helping fend off communism. It was no wonder Life magazine printed a photo spread of the site.

As the Cold War thawed, the mission changed but the jobs remained. The plant began recycling materials—gold, among other things—extracted from dismantled atomic weapons while continuing to enrich uranium, now for nuclear power plants instead of bombs. Wages allowed families to buy homes and cars and afford vacations—the American middle-class dream. The plant operated like a self-contained town for its 1,700 employees: It had its own security force, fire department, library, post office, and health clinic. A shuttle service ferried employees around the plant’s grounds. Workers participated in golf leagues and fishing tournaments. The Uranium Enrichment News kept everyone informed about goings-on at the site.

Though the plant was owned by the Department of Energy, it was run by contractors. Union Carbide initially oversaw operations, followed by Martin Marietta, which later merged with Lockheed to become Lockheed Martin. Management changed, but to employees that just meant a different name on their paychecks. The people on the ground were like family—fiercely loyal to one another and to the plant they called the Atomic City.

Fowler smiled as he drove through a security gate into a sprawling lot. He parked by the administrative building and checked in with a secretary, who called someone to escort him to his department. From there he would lead health and safety training sessions. The federal government had known as early as 1944 that radiation was hazardous and had issued policies to limit worker exposure. It was Fowler’s job to help ensure that regulations were enforced, to protect both employees and the surrounding community from contamination.

He had barely settled in when a coworker poked his head in.

“Want to see the place?”

The complex was huge—more than five hundred buildings connected by nearly twenty miles of access roads. Fowler was impressed until, as he rounded a corner on his tour, a yellow triangular sign with the radiation symbol caught his eye. There was no step-off pad in sight. In a nuclear facility, a step-off pad is a buffer zone between a hazardous area and a clean one. Workers at the Paducah site were supposed to remove radiation-tainted clothing and footwear before crossing through these zones to ensure they didn’t unwittingly transfer dangerous materials to other parts of the plant or transport it home with them.

Fowler flagged down a worker leaving the building where the warning sign was posted. “You don’t have a step-off pad down here,” Fowler said. The worker shrugged and said there was nothing to worry about.

“That sign says otherwise,” Fowler said. He explained that protocol required a pad and training for workers so they knew how to use it.

The worker’s expression was unchanged as he walked away.

Fowler’s pulse quickened as he imagined invisible particles on boot soles spreading throughout the plant or, worse, tracking onto kitchen floors or into rooms where children played. He hurried to his division manager’s office. The supervisor listened, then leaned back in his chair and tapped a pen on his desk calendar. He said he’d call a meeting about the issue.

That night at home, Fowler sat at the kitchen table watching Sandi cook. Normally, he’d have been joking with his wife about her limited culinary range—she often made breakfast for dinner—but tonight his mind was elsewhere. The sizzle from the stove filled the silence between them.

Sandi knew something was wrong. In the years since they first met at a bar in Joliet, Illinois, she’d become attuned to her husband’s moods. Despite his imposing frame—six foot two, 245 pounds—Fowler had always been the gentle sort and quick to laugh. Their courtship progressed quickly, and within four months of meeting Fowler had moved in to her family’s home in Aurora. They married there so her father, a former school principal paralyzed from a stroke, could attend.

“What is it, Ron?” Sandi asked, spatula in hand.

He sighed. “Something’s not right at work.”

“What do you mean?”

“The way they treat radiation—like it can’t hurt them. No precautions,” Fowler said.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Sandi replied, frowning.

“I know.” Fowler shook his head. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Uranium is a silvery-white radioactive metal. More than 99 percent of it found in nature is U-238, and the rest is U-235, an isotope that can sustain the chain reactions needed to fuel nuclear power production and atomic weapons. Enrichment is the process of increasing the concentration of U-235 in a supply of uranium. At different points, enrichment produces one powder Paducah workers called black oxide—not to be confused with the coating of the same name applied to some metals to improve corrosion resistance—and another, uranium tetraflouride, that’s known as green salt. Eventually, uranium hexafluoride, a colorless crystalline solid, is heated into a gas that’s pushed through microscopic porous barriers. This process, called gaseous diffusion, separates U-235 from U-238; at plants like the one in Paducah, it’s done hundreds of times in a cascade until the desired enrichment level is reached.

Uranium enrichment is hazardous business. Fowler knew that any leak, spill, or accident at the Paducah plant could damage kidneys and lungs, irritate skin, and increase cancer risk. More insidiously, simple mistakes or oversights by workers could have that same result. During his first few weeks on the job, Fowler explored the plant on his own, and what he found unsettled him. Employees worked in radioactive areas without protective suits or masks. Some couldn’t read and might not understand warning signs. People left the site after their shifts without changing clothes or showering, likely conveying radioactive dust home to their families. Some workers even warmed their lunch on top of machines in hazardous areas.

Fowler knew that things needed to change, and quickly. He took his concerns to the plant manager, Steve Polston, who heard him out and then called a meeting about step-off pads—the very issue Fowler had flagged on his first day. At the meeting, Fowler outlined the safety gaps he’d observed at the plant, but it seemed to him as though the senior managers in the room could barely feign interest. He heard what would become something of a refrain: “We’ve been doing it this way for years.” He was also told that Department of Energy officials visited the site regularly and hadn’t raised concerns.

More worried than ever, Fowler spent the next several months developing new safety protocols. He beamed with satisfaction as he handed the plan to Polston. In the period that followed, however, he became frustrated with how officials implemented the measures. Even when company-issued safety equipment was made available, Fowler noticed that much of it was obsolete. And he watched in disbelief as employees poked holes in respirator masks to smoke while working.

“I’m not making progress,” he told Sandi one night between sips from a can of Miller Lite. “No one is listening.” He likened his work to “scooping water out of the ocean.”

Sandi, who had studied his training manual to understand his work, gently touched his arm. “Be patient,” she suggested. “Maybe you just have to get to know the people better.”

Fowler’s shoulders dropped. “It seems like more than that,” he said.