Gaza’s Endless War: A World That Chose Silence

Alanbatnews -

By Haifa Gheith

On the 675th day of the war on Gaza, the sky above the strip is not painted with the promise of dawn but with the gray smoke of airstrikes. Each day begins the same way: with the cries of survivors, with the quiet horror of bodies pulled from rubble, and with questions the world refuses to answer. Have we grown numb to the horror?

 

A Catastrophe Measured in Numbers

More than 58,000 Palestinians have been killed since October 7, 2023—18,000 of them children. Numbers that the world consumes like headlines, statistics stripped of humanity. But these were children with favorite toys and bedtime stories, young men with unspoken dreams, and mothers who would have given everything to shield their families.

A three-year-old girl succumbs to starvation in her mother's embrace. A young man’s burned body is dragged from a collapsed building. Entire families vanish in an instant because of a "mistake” in targeting coordinates.

This is not just a news cycle. It is the slow erasure of a people. Yet the global response has been reduced to hollow phrases: "We are concerned.” "We urge restraint.” Concern does not save lives. Restraint does not rebuild a child’s future.

 

Starvation as a Weapon

In Gaza, food has become more dangerous than bullets. Over 244,000 people face catastrophic food insecurity. Children are not dying from disease but from the absence of milk, medicine, and power. Hospitals have been bombed into silence. The few medical facilities still operate on the brink of collapse, with the last oxygen cylinder shared among five patients—each taking turns to breathe.

 

Displaced on Repeat

More than 700,000 people have been displaced—again. Families move from one pile of rubble to another, from one "safe zone” that is declared safe until it is obliterated. Children no longer ask, "When can we go home?”—because they have never known a home. An entire generation is growing up in the shadows of war, their childhoods defined by drones, hunger, and fear.

 

The World’s Silent Complicity

Silence is no longer a failure of moral courage. It is complicity. How can the world look away when famine grips a population, when hospitals are deliberately targeted, when the killing of civilians is broadcast live?

Global institutions have lost their urgency. Newsrooms have buried Gaza beneath other stories. Mothers screaming over their lifeless children no longer make the evening news. If silence once meant apathy, it now feels like acceptance.

 

What Remains of Gaza?

A mother clutches the soil that once cradled her child. A boy digs through debris searching for his brother, not knowing the explosion tore him apart. A generation is being raised to know nothing of safety, hope, or a future.

We deceive ourselves when we say we have "grown used to it.” We haven’t. We have simply looked away, changed the channel, and whispered prayers of helplessness.

 

But Gaza cannot look away. Gaza burns every single day. And yet, she resists. She rebuilds. She gives life. She screams:

 

"I am alive, despite everything.”

Every number from Gaza is a life—a heartbeat silenced, a dream destroyed. Every silence from the world is not neutral but betrayal.