After watching hours of footage and interviews with doctors who’ve served in Gaza — many of whom had the heartbreaking task of operating on children, women, and the elderly during Israel’s relentless and devastating military offensives — I was shaken to my core.
One doctor from the U.S. said something that made me question whether we, as a global society, have any compassion left. He described the so-called ceasefire by the Zionist forces — which, predictably, was not honored — as they continued bombing residential areas heavily populated with children. He said every single patient he saw was clearly suffering from PTSD.
(Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder is a mental health condition triggered by witnessing or experiencing terrifying events — like war, assault, or natural disasters. It can leave lasting psychological scars.)
He described how, in a makeshift ward — now exposed under open skies after bombings — they would hear sudden screams. Grown adults cried out, and children screamed as if reliving the horrors all over again.
Even if the entire world were to unite and pour funds into rebuilding Gaza’s healthcare and psychological support systems, he said, it would take decades — perhaps generations — to heal. Many survivors suffer not just mentally, but physically. Children who now have no concept of love or safety. Girls whose reproductive systems are irreparably damaged. The trauma is not only deep — it’s life-defining.
When asked about Israel’s claim that it doesn’t target children, the doctor responded with chilling clarity: “We treated many children shot in the head by snipers. These were not accidents. They were targeted. And yes — hospitals were deliberately bombed.”
He recounted how children, too exhausted to process their grief, would fall asleep amid rubble, only to be buried alive when weakened buildings collapsed. Imagine that. Imagine it being your child.
This made me realize: even though this genocide has been happening for decades, and the recent wave of attacks began months ago, most of us haven’t done nearly enough. Some people still hesitate over whether they should even wear a keffiyeh or a Palestinian pin — afraid of how they’ll be perceived in the West. Afraid of discomfort.
But is that who we’ve become?
While Israel kills thousands of Palestinians — including children, journalists, doctors — we’re worried about awkward stares on the bus or backlash at work. Do you think your small act of public support doesn’t matter? Think again. Your action could inspire someone else to stand up, someone louder, someone with more reach. And maybe together, that voice will echo further.
You may not be on the ground in Gaza — but wearing a pin, carrying a bag, sharing the truth — these are the least we can do. If someone glares at your Palestinian pin, that is a small price to pay for standing with those who have lost everything.
