The announcement of the cease-fire agreement in Gaza undoubtedly marks a critical moment in the ongoing conflict. For those of us who have witnessed, experienced and then watched, mourned and advocated from afar, this pause in hostilities provides an opportunity to reflect on the past 15 months and the high price paid for this fleeting peace.
As a Palestinian, receiving this news feels like standing in the eye of the storm, in a moment of eerie calm surrounded by chaos and destruction. To me, at least, it marks the end of the bloodshed, but the fact is that those we lost will never return, and these scars will never heal. How would a ceasefire ever change that fact?
Ceasefires are often hailed as victories for diplomacy, but to me they are more like pauses in an ongoing nightmare. This latest agreement is a reminder that, for the people of Gaza, survival often depends on the fragility of politics. Children, mothers and fathers bear the unbearable weight of uncertainty. I wonder: Is this really a step towards peace or just another chapter in the story of delayed justice and prolonged suffering?
The terms of the truce, reached under immense international pressure, include a halt to airstrikes and rocket fire, along with provisions allowing humanitarian aid into Gaza. These measures are very necessary. But their necessity is also an indictment of the international community’s failure to act sooner to prevent the crises that make such measures critical. Help is vital, but it cannot heal the wounds of oppression, wide open and bleeding. Temporary peace cannot replace the right to live freely and to dream without survival.
The International Court of Justice (ICJ), the International Criminal Court (ICC) and their arrest warrants, which should have spoken about the crimes committed against our people, have been overshadowed by political inaction. Will the world follow these mechanisms when the war is over, or will justice be buried under a mountain of bureaucracy and indifference? The failure to enforce accountability before, during and after conflict reveals how deeply flawed these institutions are.
Help is vital, but it cannot heal the wounds of oppression. Temporary peace cannot replace the right to live freely and to dream without survival. This prompts another key question: Will the Palestinians ever gain their rights to be in full control of their political and diplomatic path to justice, or will they always be eliminated from the political stage and portrayed as fitting into the role of victim? While international recognition of our plight is critical, we must chart a course toward independence from unreliable global powers.
For Palestinians, especially those in Gaza, the siege is a special kind of war. It’s violence without bombs, but no less devastating. The blockade, which has been going on for 17 years, has eroded the fabric of life. It deprived families of opportunities, denied them access to basic rights and imposed a daily struggle that defies the limits of human endurance. How do you rebuild life under such conditions, knowing that this ceasefire could collapse as quickly as it came? How to dream about the future when the present feels like an eternal state of mourning?
During the war, decisions such as halting funding to the United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees (UNRWA) exacerbated the humanitarian crisis. The inability of the international community, including entities as diverse as the UN, G8 or BRICS, to intervene in time to restore such vital lifelines for the Palestinians further underscores its failure to protect civilian life and uphold humanitarian law. What happens when safety nets, which are too fragile anyway, are arbitrarily dismantled without global resistance strong enough to mitigate the crisis?
The international community, especially the Western powers, must face their role in preserving this cycle. Statements of support for ceasefires ring hollow when not accompanied by meaningful action, accountability, protection of civilians and a real commitment to addressing the root causes of this conflict. The imbalance of power, the harsh reality of the occupation, the suffocating blockade – these are not peripheral issues. They are the core of the problem.
How can we trust the same US administration – led for now by Biden and soon by Trump – that pushed for this ceasefire when its actions have consistently undermined peace in the region? Decisions by President-elect Donald Trump’s first administration to move the US embassy to Jerusalem and recognize the Golan Heights as part of Israel are stark reminders of an agenda that prioritizes power over justice. Moreover, the fear remains that this administration will shift its focus to the West Bank, bringing the same policies of violence and displacement there. Such decisions show that any lull in violence does not mean a change in policy or priorities.
As I process this moment, I feel both a glimmer of hope and a tide of rage. Hope that this break could save lives and anger that it took so much suffering to reach even this fragile point. The cameras will soon move away, the world’s attention will turn away, but for us it is not the end. Ceasefires are not peace. These are moments of silence in an endless storm. Until justice is achieved, until dignity and equality are no more than distant dreams, the cycle will continue.
This is not to diminish the importance of the ceasefire for those whose lives hang in the balance every day. For many, it means the difference between life and death. But as a Palestinian, I cannot ignore the deeper truth: peace is not just the absence of war. It is the presence of justice. It is the freedom to live without fear, to rebuild without the certainty of destruction, to dream without limitations. Anything less is not peace. It’s survival. And survival is not enough for people who deserve much more.
The views expressed in this article are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the editorial position of Al Jazeera.
