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What we have gone through and are still going through is an entire history that needs to be documented and taught to entire future generations.
As a journalist from the Gaza Strip, I have lived through the conditions of genocide since the first day, and I am still trying to remain just as strong, not for myself, but for the message I believe I was created and born in the Gaza Strip for, a message that goes beyond individual pain to become testimony to an entire era in which the human being is being erased before the world.
We cannot reduce what we have gone through in the Gaza Strip since October 7, until today to a set of phrases or words or even a journalistic article. What we have gone through and are still going through is an entire history that needs to be documented and taught to entire future generations. Our resilience in Gaza is no longer just passing news; it has become a human condition mentioned in international forums, not as an exception, but as a harsh test of the very meaning of humanity itself.
No family in Gaza has gone through this without experiencing displacement, hunger, fear, pain, and loss. All homes in Gaza have been touched by grief, terror, and fear without exception, even those homes that once believed they would be safe. There is no family that has not lived in tents, and has not been burned by the fire of separation, the heat of summer, the cold of winter, and the weight of a long waiting that seems endless.
In Gaza, displacement is no longer an emergency event; it has become an entire life lived on the edge. Moving from one place to another is no longer about seeking safety alone, but about a fragile chance to survive. And every time we thought we had reached a "safer place," fear followed us like an ever-present shadow.
Israel in this war has crossed all red lines, not only in the scale of destruction, but in the very nature of targeting itself, and in the insistence on continuing this scene despite its full exposure before the world.
What Israel has done to us, before the eyes and ears of the world and the international community, has made us in Gaza reorder global concepts from the beginning, word by word and meaning by meaning. Silence and complicity have made the question even more painful and profound: What does justice mean? What do international laws mean? And for whom are they written if they do not protect those being crushed before their eyes?
In Gaza, these are no longer philosophical questions; they have become daily questions asked under bombardment, among the rubble, in bread and water lines, and inside tents that protect nothing. We have begun searching for the meaning of the world itself, not merely an explanation of what is happening in it.
Journalists, doctors, ambulance workers, children, civil defense personnel, the elderly, women, and people with Down syndrome… no one has been spared from this occupation. Everyone has been inside the circle of danger, as if life in Gaza has turned into an open target without exception.
In any place in the world, is it permitted to enter hospitals, vandalize them, destroy them, and burn them in front of cameras, and then ask the world to remain silent? In any place are doctors and hospital directors arrested and tried simply for trying to fulfill their humanitarian duty? And in what world are journalists killed, and even targeted in their homes with their families, because they carried a camera instead of a weapon?
Israel in this war has crossed all red lines, not only in the scale of destruction, but in the very nature of targeting itself, and in the insistence on continuing this scene despite its full exposure before the world. And it is still continuing, as if time means nothing, as if pain can be consumed without end.
In the whole world, we had never heard of a child dying of hunger. But Israel did it in Gaza. Hunger here was not a passing feeling, but a collective state seen in faces before words, in eyes before bodies. We walked through the streets barely able to hold ourselves together from the severity of hunger, and children cried day and night from a famine imposed on us, with no choice but patience or collapse.
We complied with their orders and went to the areas they called "humanitarian," and yet we were killed there, and the tents were burned with those inside them. As if the idea of a "refuge" itself was part of the illusion, as if safety was merely a word said in statements, not in reality.
Do you remember the little girl Warda Jalal Al-Sheikh, who appeared amid flames, fire, and bodies after her tent was burned by Israeli shelling, and all her family members were killed, while she tried to survive in an unbearable scene? An image that summarizes what it means for a human being to be born in the heart of fire without choosing it.
Do you remember our colleague journalist Ayman Al-Jadi, who was waiting for his wife in the delivery room to give birth to their child, when Israel killed him while he was waiting, in a moment that was supposed to be the beginning of life, not its end? How can the world comprehend that death has reached even these smallest details?
All of this is not exceptions, but repeated scenes in a time in which exception itself has become survival.
This legendary resilience after 1,000 days of genocide cannot be read as a news item, nor summarized in a report. It must be taught in history books, not only as a sad story, but as an open indictment of the entire world, and as testimony to a people who have not stopped living despite all attempts to erase them.
And in the end, we are still here… trying to write, to bear witness, and to say that what has not yet been told is far more than what has been said.
The United States cutting off refugee resettlement domestically while waging a war that forces people to flee their homes abroad is a flagrant act of hypocrisy that is incompatible with the American Dream.
“Hip hip, hypocrisy! Hip hip, hypocrisy!” My teenage son pumped his fist in the air. I can’t remember the chain of conversation that ultimately produced this sardonic version of “hip hip, hooray!”, but the phrase has quickly become a way to get each other to smile or self-reflect, and it often leads to a bout of shared laughter. But recently, this chant has also allowed me to reflect on the fraught crossroads of my homeland and my emerging life’s work; specifically, the troubling hypocrisy of the United States’ recent actions on two interconnected global issues—forced migration and war.
I grew up in small-town Virginia, in a family that nurtured an honorable form of gratitude-based patriotism. As a doctoral student who studies refugee issues and forced migration, I have long been proud of the United States’ global leadership in refugee resettlement (while also believing that we should do more to support refugees). From the 1980s to early 2000s, the US routinelyresettled more refugees annually than all other nations combined. While this began to shift following the 9/11 attacks in 2001, there were only four years between 2002 and 2022 in which the US did not resettle the most refugees of any country in the world, coming in second to Canada in each of those four years. In 2023, our nation welcomed more than double the number of refugees resettled the previous year, and in 2024, we resettled over 100,000 refugees for the first time in 30 years. But unfortunately, US resettlement took an abrupt turn in 2025.
In an executive order issued on January 20th, 2025—the first day of President Donald Trump’s second term—the Trump presidency announced the suspension of the US refugee resettlement program. Another executive order followed on February 7, identifying South African Afrikaners as a group worthy of resettlement despite unverified claims of race-based persecution and misalignment with the globally recognized definition of refugeehood. Since October 2025, approximately 4,500 Afrikaners and three refugees from Afghanistan have been admitted under the US refugee resettlement program.
At the same time, our country’s leaders have waged war in the Middle East, creating “a new cycle of displacement” that continues to worsen. Whether or not you agree with the rationale behind this war, our country’s actions are increasing forced displacement on a global scale. Recent estimates project that this war has already forced up to 3.2 million Iranians and 1.3 million Lebanese citizens to flee their homes, and this number will almost certainly increase as the conflict continues. Furthermore, areas of the Middle East affected by the current war already host 24.3 million forcibly displaced people. As a scholar-in-training who cares deeply about both forced migrants and the United States, the hypocrisy of cutting off refugee resettlement domestically while acting in ways that force people to flee their homes abroad is excruciating.
The United States is simultaneously closing our doors to refugees and actively increasing the number of forcibly displaced people in the world.
But there’s also a double hypocrisy here, a vocal hypocrisy layered on top of this more tacit one. For years, President Trump has complained that other countries don’t pull their weight in NATO and the US shoulders an oversized portion of defense spending among the alliance. By the same logic, the US should pull our weight in supporting refugees, period—and especially when we are contributing to increases in global forced displacement. “Hip hip, hypocrisy.”
I hear you—don’t we have enough unmet needs among US citizens? Shouldn’t we fix everything in this country before we offer others permanent protection here? While there are many responses to these questions, for me the most compelling is summed up by Rabbi Sharon Braus, who maintains that “ultimately, the problem of the world is that we draw the circle of our family too small.”
The figures I’ve presented here are so much more than numbers—each one is a living, breathing person who has loved ones and a favorite color, and who also happens to have survived the harrowing experience of being forced to flee their home due to circumstances entirely outside of their control. Refugees are exceptionally resilient and resourceful people who contribute strength, wisdom, talent, tenacity, (and yes, taxes) to our society, helping us to address our collective needs together. Refugees are part of “we” and “our”—part of [the] “US.”
And yet, the United States is simultaneously closing our doors to refugees and actively increasing the number of forcibly displaced people in the world. The promise of America is not zero-sum—it is generative and generous and transformative. The American Dream I believe in includes not only those of us who were born in the US and have benefited from living here through no virtue of our own, but those who were born elsewhere and have been displaced from their home nations through no fault of their own.
As a future forced migration scholar, a deep longing for my homeland to treat refugees and other forced migrants with compassion, respect, and dignity has become a central feature of my own personal American Dream. Join me and make it an indispensable part of our collective American Dream!
Together, let’s not shy away from this needed and worthy work. Stand with me by imagining what it would be like to start over in a new place, talking about refugees and other migrants in humanizing ways, befriending a newcomer who might benefit from connection, or sharing this op-ed with a friend or loved one who might need to read it. The circle of our family grows as we expand it together, until the day we reach a full-throated “hip hip, hooray!”
One expert called the policy “an open admission of intent to commit ethnic cleansing.”
Israel is planning to use Gaza as a "model" for its expanding assault on Lebanon, its defense minister said on Sunday as he pledged to begin the demolition of homes in border villages.
In a statement Sunday, Defense Minister Israel Katz said he and Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu had ordered the Israel Defense Forces to "immediately destroy all the bridges over the Litani River that are used for terrorist activity, in order to prevent the passage of Hezbollah terrorists and weapons southward."
He also said he'd ordered the military to "accelerate the destruction of Lebanese homes in the border villages in order to thwart threats to the Israeli settlements—in accordance with the Beit Hanoun and Rafah model in Gaza."
Dylan Williams, the vice president for government affairs at the Center for International Policy, described the invocation of this "Gaza model" as "an open admission of intent to commit ethnic cleansing" in Lebanon.
The two cities Katz referred to were largely wiped off the map during the Gaza genocide.
Beit Hanoun, a city on the northeastern edge of the Gaza Strip, which once had a population of more than 50,000 people, had nearly all of its structures totally "flattened" by Israel's bombing and was totally depopulated, according to the Israeli newspaper Haaretz in mid-2025. The far-right in Israel has pushed for Jewish Israeli settlers to move in and build settlements on the territory.
Rafah has been similarly devastated, with nearly 70% of the structures "wiped out" according to an October 2025 investigation by the Center for Information Resilience.
At the time that Israeli forces moved into Rafah in mid-2024, it was the last refuge for more than 1 million Palestinians who'd been displaced from their homes elsewhere in the strip. UN experts described the attack on Rafah as a culmination of a monthslong campaign to “forcibly transfer and destroy Gaza’s population," with more than 800,000 people being forced to flee.
Human Rights Watch said on Monday that Katz's announcement demonstrated "an intent to forcibly displace residents, destroy civilian homes, and conduct strikes that could target civilians" in Lebanon as well.
Already, more than 1 million civilians in Lebanon, from the area south of the Litani River and in Beirut's southern suburbs, have become displaced following orders from the Israeli military to evacuate their homes.
Katz has said hundreds of thousands of Shiite civilians will be forbidden from returning from their south of the Litani "until the safety of Israel’s northern residents is guaranteed," and he has said Israel “will not hesitate to target anyone who is present near Hezbollah members, facilities, or means of combat.”
Human Rights Watch has said these indefinite displacements raise the concern that Israel is perpetrating the war crime of forced displacement and doing so based on religion.
“The Israeli military does not get to decide when civilians lose protections afforded by international law, nor should it be allowed to prevent displaced residents from returning to their homes based on some undefined ‘safety’ standard,” said Ramzi Kaiss, Lebanon researcher at Human Rights Watch. Deliberately targeting civilians, civilian objects, and others protected under international law would be a war crime, and countries supplying Israel with weapons need to realize they are risking complicity in war crimes too.”
Since the latest outbreak of hostilities at the beginning of March following the launch of the US-Israeli war against Iran, at least 1,024 people in Lebanon have been killed in Israeli attacks, including 79 women and 118 children, according to a report from Lebanese authorities this weekend.
Last week, the United Nations Human Rights Office reported that Israeli airstrikes in Lebanon have "destroyed hundreds of homes and civilian infrastructure, including healthcare facilities."
“For over two years, Israel’s allies and European states that purport to support and uphold human rights have buried their heads in the sand as atrocities continue in Lebanon, as in Gaza,” Kaiss said. “Atrocities flourish when there is impunity, and other countries should no longer stand by as they continue.”