Gaza, Israel, and the imperative of bearing witness

Thoughts on the unfolding tragedy in the Middle East.

I was today writing a piece on a different topic, but events in the Middle East seem to have overtaken all thoughts I was dedicating to other ideas, which I will get back to in time. I found myself immersed in reading and re-reading about the tragedy unfolding in the Middle East, and, with that backdrop, working to write a note to our community about my evolving thoughts on the issue. I rework here some of that piece for today’s essay. It will be a shorter essay than usual, reflecting, in part, the inadequacy of words in the face of human suffering and the truth that, for all the words that have been used to discuss this conflict, they all fall short of what we want to hear: that the war has ended, that the hostages have been freed, and that steps are being taken towards the creation of a lasting peace.

It is indeed difficult to know what to say in the face of the rolling humanitarian crisis evolving in front of our eyes in Gaza and Israel. As I have reflected many times before, today’s conflict is an echo of centuries of injustice and atrocity. A history of competing injustices in the Middle East has been shaped by the intersecting realities of geopolitical divisions, colonial influences, the legacy of the Nazi atrocities against Jews, the expulsion of Arabs from their homes, and competing, religiously-informed claims to a relatively small geographic area. Present-day events reflect this difficult history. The status quo in the region was unstable long before the attacks of October 7, which further tore the fabric of hope for a better future.  

The viciousness of Hamas’ incursion into Israel, and the ongoing plight of the over 100 hostages still held by the organization, have both been horrendous to watch. At the same time, the extent to which Israel’s actions in Gaza since then have been about retribution rather than achieving justice for the victims of October 7 deserves serious scrutiny. It is impossible to countenance the enormous loss of life—about 30,000 people have died in Gaza since the conflict began—and the heart-wrenching living conditions in which millions of Gazans live. 

This should all push reasonable people of good conscience to say “enough,” to call for a stop to all the hostility. It is indeed true that Israel could stop their assault at any time. It is also true that Hamas could release the hostages. Yet complicating this equation, the current conflict is being driven by what is arguably a near-theocratic government in Israel—headed by a cabinet that has frequently trafficked in hateful and racist language (even as it has occasionally been willing to rein in some of its extremes)—and by Hamas, an organization whose stated purpose is the elimination of Israel. 

As an academic, my job, my privilege, is to think for a living. And yet I do not know how to appropriately think about the trauma of October 7 and the suffering of the hostages—who may be dead or alive—and the excruciating conditions and immense death toll in Gaza. In the absence of the clarity consistently denied to us by the situation and its history, we have a responsibility to bear witness, to not look away from what is happening, and to work, always, towards an ideal of justice that supports a better, safer, healthier world.

Consistent with the mission of health, this means speaking honestly about how this conflict is degrading the health and wellbeing of millions and how these effects will ripple into the future for generations to come. We similarly have a duty to do all we can in the context of an impossible situation to stand up for health and human rights. We need to say unequivocally that hostilities should stop so that a better way forward may be found. This must mean a ceasefire that allows civilians to find food, shelter, and safety. It also means the release of hostages and the surrender of those responsible for the October 7 attacks. Those who have deliberately targeted innocents should lay down their arms to face justice, those who hold hostages should free them so some measure of healing might begin.

None of this is easy. In fact, it may be the most challenging work in which human beings can engage. How does one come to terms with suffering and one’s role in it? How does a long history of injustice end in present-day peace and reconciliation? How does blind ideology give way to reason, dehumanization to reverence for our shared humanity? These questions are difficult, deeply so. But for that very reason we should never stop asking them. I say this as a continuation of prior writing on this conflict, mindful of the pain the last five months have caused many in our health community. And I say this with a sharp recognition of the enormous human suffering in Gaza, Israel, and the Middle East.

The situation in Gaza continues to evolve. Our thoughts will evolve with it. In the face of much darkness and despair, the engagement of those who work for health—our compassion for those who suffer, our insistence on addressing injustice—remains a beacon of hope. Thank you for continuing to talk about this conflict, to make space for it in your lives, to work with hope towards a better world.

A final word. All of this ties in to something else I have been thinking about quite a bit, namely when do those of us in health say something, speak? What circumstances call for us to raise our voices and when should we stay silent? I have written before on when institutions should speak, but why do I—as an individual, and in my particular case with leadership responsibilities—speak? When should any of us speak? I shall address this in a future essay, perhaps next week. Until then, thank you for all you do to engage in the conversations that make a difference for health, as we navigate this difficult moment.