Ceasefire in Gaza: A fragile calm amid unending struggle

The announcement of a ceasefire in Gaza undoubtedly marks a crucial moment in this ongoing conflict. For those of us who have watched, lived, observed, mourned, and advocated from afar, the cessation of hostilities provides an opportunity to reflect on the past 15 months and the heavy cost paid for this brief respite.

As a Palestinian, receiving this news feels like standing in the eye of a storm, a moment of eerie calm amid chaos and destruction. For me, at least, it signals an end to the bloodshed, but the truth is, those we have lost will never return, and these scars will never heal. How can a ceasefire change that?

Ceasefires are often hailed as diplomatic victories, but to me, they feel more like pauses in a continuing nightmare. The latest agreement is a stark reminder that for the people of Gaza, survival often hinges on the fragility of politics. Children, mothers, and fathers endure an unbearable uncertainty. I find myself asking: is this truly a step toward peace, or merely another chapter in a story of delayed justice and prolonged suffering?

The terms of the ceasefire, reached under immense international pressure, include a halt to airstrikes and rocket attacks and the allowance of humanitarian aid into Gaza. These measures are desperately needed. But their necessity also indicts the international community for failing to act sooner to prevent the crisis that made these measures essential. Aid is crucial, but it cannot heal the wounds of oppression, wounds that are open and bleeding. A temporary peace cannot replace the right to live freely and to dream beyond mere survival.

The International Court of Justice (ICJ), the International Criminal Court (ICC), and their arrest warrants, which should address the crimes committed against our people, have been overshadowed by political inaction. When the fighting stops, will the world follow through with these mechanisms, or will justice be buried under a mountain of bureaucracy and indifference? The failure to enforce accountability before, during, and after the conflict reveals how deeply flawed these institutions are.

Aid is crucial, but it cannot heal the wounds of oppression. A temporary peace cannot replace the right to live freely and to dream beyond mere survival. This leads to another crucial question: Will Palestinians be granted the right to fully control their path to political and diplomatic justice, or will they forever be sidelined from the political stage and cast in the role of perpetual victims? While international acknowledgment of our plight is vital, we must chart an independent path free from the unreliable hands of global powers.

For Palestinians, especially those in Gaza, the siege itself is a form of warfare. It is violence without bombs, yet no less destructive. The blockade, which has lasted for 17 years, has eroded the foundations of life. It has deprived families of opportunities, denied them access to basic rights, and imposed a daily struggle that tests the limits of human endurance. How do we rebuild lives under such conditions, knowing that the ceasefire may crumble as quickly as it came? How do we dream of a future when the present feels like an eternal state of mourning?

Decisions during the war, such as halting funding to the United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees in the Near East (UNRWA), exacerbated the humanitarian crisis. The failure of the international community, including different entities such as the UN, G8, or BRICS, to intervene promptly to restore vital lifelines for Palestinians further highlights its failure to protect civilian lives and uphold humanitarian law. What happens when an already fragile safety net is arbitrarily stripped away without a strong enough global resistance to mitigate the crisis?

The international community, particularly Western powers, must confront its role in perpetuating this cycle. Statements of support for ceasefires ring hollow when they are not accompanied by meaningful action, accountability, protection of civilians, and a genuine commitment to addressing the root causes of the conflict. The imbalance of power, the brutal 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 U.S. government—currently led by Biden and soon to be led by Trump—to pressure for a ceasefire when its actions have consistently undermined peace in the region? The decision by President-elect Donald Trump’s first administration to move the U.S. embassy to Jerusalem and recognize the Golan Heights as part of Israel are stark reminders that there is an agenda that prioritizes power over justice. Furthermore, there is still concern that this administration will shift its focus to the West Bank, where it will pursue the same policies of violence and displacement. These decisions show that any pause in violence does not equate to a shift in policy or priorities.

As I process this moment, I feel both a flicker of hope and a surge of anger. Hope that this pause might save lives and anger that it took so much suffering to reach such a fragile point. The cameras will soon turn away, and the world’s attention will shift, but for us, this is not the end. Ceasefires are not peace. They are moments of calm in a never-ending storm. Until justice is served, and until dignity and equality are more than just distant dreams, this cycle will continue.

This is not to diminish the significance of the ceasefire for those whose lives hang in the balance each day. For many, it means the difference between life and death. But as a Palestinian, I cannot ignore the deeper truth: peace is more than the absence of war. It is the presence of justice. It is living freely without fear, rebuilding without the certainty of destruction, and dreaming without limits. Anything less is not peace. It is survival. And for those who deserve so much more, survival is not enough.