Part of the Series
Struggle and Solidarity: Writing Toward Palestinian Liberation
On June 10, my brother Mohammad and my cousin Kareem set out on foot at 2 am from Rimal neighborhood in northern Gaza, walking nearly 15 kilometers to the aid distribution point located near the dividing line between the north and south of the Strip.
These aid points are under full Israeli control and are deliberately opened during the most dangerous hours — deep in the night, under relentless airstrikes, total darkness, lawlessness, and even looting and violence.
They waited there until 8:00 in the morning, but in the end, they came back with nothing. Still, we thanked God they came back alive — because that day, we heard of many who didn’t.
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But what my cousin told us was more horrifying than any airstrike. He saw a man who wasn’t killed by a bullet or a bomb — but crushed to death beneath the wheels of an aid truck itself.
Israeli forces had issued strict orders: The aid trucks must not stop for anyone — not even those standing in their path.
The scene was unthinkable: A man waiting for food was run over by the very truck that was supposed to help him — because the orders were to keep moving, no matter what.
Hope for a loaf of bread has become a path to execution!
Imagine walking all that way — through fear, exhaustion, and silence — knowing that you’ll almost certainly return empty-handed… or not return at all.
On June 17, 70 Palestinians were killed in a single day during the distribution of U.S.-Israeli aid in southern Gaza — specifically in Khan Younis and Rafah — under the same repeated justification: “protecting American troops.” That same morning, around 7 am, I was shaken by the screams of neighbors in my area of Rimal. We soon learned that a young man from the Shaqoura family had been killed while trying to collect a bag of flour for his family. Instead of returning home with food, he returned as a lifeless body. He was killed in the Zikim area in northern Gaza — what we call Al-Sudaniyya — a newly assigned point for aid distribution. But even there, the killings continue, as if death has become the price we must pay for hunger relief!
The humanitarian crisis in Gaza is not merely a human tragedy, it is a widespread catastrophe threatening every living being on this land. Since the beginning of the war, even the animals have not been spared — horses and donkeys are deliberately killed and destroyed to prevent them from assisting us in moving and surviving. This intentional targeting of animals is part of a systematic strategy to immobilize the population and deepen our suffering. These animals, once an inseparable part of our lives and a vital source of support, now teeter on the brink of death due to starvation and deliberate killing.
Hope for a loaf of bread has become a path to execution!
Hundreds die daily from hunger and thirst, just as our children, women, and men perish under relentless bombardment and destruction. Since the war’s onset, neither humans nor animals have been spared; killing, displacement, and famine have devastated all forms of life. Yet the world remains silent, watching this tragedy unfold without intervention. No one speaks of a full ceasefire, and no one breaks this staggering silence. Over 2 million Gazans are being suffocated — not just by bombs, but by a global silence that seems to wish for our demise. All we ask for is our right to live with dignity: to live on our land and eat from its blessings without fearing that food will cost us our blood.
Every time a glimmer of hope for a ceasefire appears, the U.S. veto drives a dagger straight through it coldly, casually. It kills the very decisions that might save our lives and offer us a moment to breathe. Because of this unjust veto power, the war has dragged on for over a year and a half — bleeding us dry and stealing the tears from our mothers’ eyes!
From the first veto on October 18, 2023, to the latest on June 4, 2025, the goal was never peace — it was to sustain the siege, block humanitarian aid, and let us die slowly. In Gaza today, getting a loaf of bread requires blood. Hunger has become another weapon of war — no less cruel than the missiles. The U.S. veto is not just a political decision. It has become a weapon, a partner in our destruction, a hand pressing down on our throats.
The United States continues to encourage all these crimes, fully backing the occupier. As Gazans, we keep asking: Does Donald Trump present himself to the world as a man who loves peace and wants to end the war? Or perhaps: Does he truly intend to end the war — but not when it suits his interests?
Is the United States truly this submissive to Israel? It arms, funds, and shields Israel in every political forum — pouring billions of taxpayer dollars into a military machine that buries our children under rubble. Is this weakness? Or is the U.S. simply too afraid to risk its alliance with Israel? How can a country that preaches human rights, democracy, and justice turn its back so completely on our suffering? Is maintaining political loyalty worth the lives of 2 million civilians? And yet, despite all this, we cannot ignore the voices of conscience rising from within the American people — those who stand with us, who speak out against the use of starvation as a weapon, and who see through the lies. But the question that continues to haunt us in Gaza is this: How can the American people trust a government that uses their taxes to fund our destruction? How can anyone sleep at night, knowing their money becomes bombs that fall on sleeping families?
I await the day when the sky will drape itself in clear, pure blue — like an unblemished masterpiece. A day when I’ll hear the birds’ sweet chirping weaving the melodies of life, and children’s laughter dancing through the early morning as they ride their little bikes. I await the day that peace will embrace us, letting us sleep undisturbed by the relentless roar of bombs. But when will that moment arrive not just as a dream?
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