Averting an Environmental Catastrophe. How?

CrossFireArabia
Features
December 29, 2025

Amid staggering immediate needs, widespread trauma and mounting medical complications, what is unfolding in Gaza is not only a humanitarian catastrophe. It is an ecological collapse, one that threatens the very possibility of recovery and will affect Gaza’s population for generations to come.

While the human suffering is visible and relentless, the environmental devastation is less apparent and harder to grasp. Yet it is no less catastrophic. The human cost of Israel’s invasion of Gaza, launched after the Hamas attack on 7 October, is being compounded by a rapidly escalating environmental crisis.

The destruction of essential civilian infrastructure — including water, sewage and waste management systems — has led to long-term toxic contamination of land and sea, posing severe health and environmental risks. Israel’s bombardment has filled Gaza’s landscape with a lethal mix of shattered concrete, asbestos dust and polluted water.

Olive groves and farmland have been flattened. Soil and groundwater are contaminated by munitions and toxins. The sea is choked with untreated sewage and waste, while the air is thick with smoke and fine particulate matter. Gaza’s environment is in freefall: poisoned water, ruined croplands and a shattered power grid are pushing the territory to the brink.

The United Nations and global medical and human rights organisations have repeatedly warned of famine, forced starvation, widespread environmental destruction and near-constant bombardment, citing grave violations of international law and describing Israel’s assault as genocidal.

As of late 2025, Gaza continues to endure a catastrophic environmental disaster that persists despite successive ceasefire agreements. Even after the latest ceasefire came into effect on 10 October, conditions on the ground have remained largely unchanged. Israeli air and artillery strikes continue, alongside the illegal destruction of civilian homes and reports of Israeli troops shooting Palestinian civilians.

Pollution is pervasive, in the air people breathe, the water they bathe in and drink, the food they consume and the surroundings in which they live. Israel’s war on Gaza has not only levelled neighbourhoods, displaced families repeatedly and crippled medical facilities, but has also poisoned the land and water upon which Gazans depend.

Much of Gaza’s agricultural land has been destroyed, leaving the territory in a state of severe food insecurity and famine, with food increasingly used as a weapon. Alongside the devastation of water, sewage and hospital infrastructure, Israel continues to restrict the entry of food, tents, warm clothing and life-saving medical supplies, leaving millions without basic necessities.

Children, in particular, are bearing the brunt. They are growing up amid one of the world’s most acute humanitarian crises, without adequate shelter, sanitation or warm clothing, and facing alarming levels of acute malnutrition.

Freshwater supplies are now severely limited, and much of what remains is unsafe. The collapse of sewage treatment facilities, the destruction of piped systems and the use of cesspits for sanitation have almost certainly contaminated the aquifer that supplies much of Gaza’s water, contributing to a surge in infectious diseases.

The scale and potential longevity of this damage have prompted calls for the destruction to be recognised as “ecocide” and investigated as a possible war crime. According to official estimates, Israeli forces have killed more than 70,000 Palestinians during more than two years of war. The UN estimates that 90 per cent of Gaza’s population has been displaced, with more than 1.5 million people in urgent need of shelter.

Environmental devastation, from heavily polluted water to the suspected impact of toxic weapons, has deepened an already apocalyptic humanitarian crisis. Flooding rains, combined with the lack of safe drinking water and even basic hygiene facilities such as handwashing, are accelerating the spread of disease. Health authorities are struggling to save lives, while essential medical supplies continue to be blocked from entering the enclave.

Unusually heavy rains, strong winds and flooding have further compounded the suffering, making conditions for displaced families even more dire. Months into a fragile ceasefire that has been repeatedly violated, the true scale of Gaza’s environmental destruction is becoming painfully clear — and the situation continues to deteriorate.

If this trajectory continues, it will leave a legacy of environmental damage that will undermine the health and wellbeing of Gaza’s population for generations. Ending the human suffering must be the immediate priority. Restoring freshwater systems, clearing debris and re-establishing essential services are urgently needed to save lives.

For Palestinians, neither safety nor reliable access to life-saving treatment or aid has materialised under the ceasefire. Beyond emergency relief, the recovery of vegetation, freshwater ecosystems and soil will be essential for food and water security. Gaza’s environmental recovery will depend on careful, inclusive and science-based planning, and on a political will to allow a future in which Gaza’s people can survive, rebuild and live with dignity.

The author Najla M. Shahwan is a contributor to The Jordan Times

CrossFireArabia

Dr. Marwan Asmar holds a PhD from Leeds University and is a freelance writer specializing on the Middle East. He has worked as a journalist since the early 1990s in Jordan and the Gulf countries, and been widely published, including at Albawaba, Gulf News, Al Ghad, World Press Review and others.

Features

Pottery Jug Quenches Thirst of Gazans

CrossFireArabia
July 19, 2026

With a complete power outage, destruction of water infrastructure, and the sweltering heat of summer, the overcrowded tents and shelters in the Gaza Strip have become veritable ovens.

Amid this suffering, the earthenware jug, a product of the siege and displacement, has become a true lifeline, serving as an indispensable “natural refrigerator” for thousands of families searching for a drop of cool water under the burning plastic sheeting.

As temperatures exceed normal levels inside the camps, water stored in plastic containers becomes hot and undrinkable, posing a health risk with prolonged exposure to the sun.

This is where the earthenware jug comes in. The natural porosity of the clay allows water to seep through and evaporate, significantly lowering its temperature and providing displaced people with a refreshing dose of cool water to alleviate the scorching heat.

Craft Resisting Extinction

From the heart of the rubble, this historic craft has been revived. After the ongoing Israeli war destroyed the pottery district in Gaza’s Old City, artisans relocated their makeshift workshops to the central and southern parts of the Gaza Strip, restarting production with rudimentary tools and increased physical effort.

Craftsman Abu Muhammad al-Hissi told Quds Press: “It’s true that the workshops were destroyed by the bombing, and cooking gas is no longer available to power the kilns for drying and firing pottery. However, we now rely on the scorching sun to dry the pottery, then fire it using pieces of wood, cardboard, and whatever rubble we can find from destroyed houses and buildings.”

Despite this revival and increased demand, acquiring a piece of pottery is no longer easy. The scarcity of materials, the difficulty in obtaining firewood, and the complete reliance on primitive transportation via animal-drawn carts or even carrying the pottery by hand have caused a significant price increase, making it an additional financial burden for families who have lost everything.

The price of a 10-liter water jug costs around 80 shekels ($25), while larger jugs, exceeding 15 liters, cost approximately $50.

Faced with this reality, Gazans resort to ingenious methods to maximize the use of these clay pots. They place an ice cube, purchased from the market, inside, allowing the clay’s porous structure to retain cold water for more than 12 hours.

This rudimentary method has become an alternative source of income for some displaced families, who now sell bags of cold water to passersby in markets and at intersections, creating a new space for survival and continuity from clay and thirst.

Features News

Journalist Account of Gaza Destroyed But Refused to be Beaten

CrossFireArabia
July 19, 2026

By Shaimaa Eid

For 1000 days, Gaza existed between life and death. Our endurance is no longer breaking news; it has become a painful question confronting the world.

As a journalist from the Gaza Strip, I have lived through the genocide since its very first day. I am still trying to remain strong, not for my own sake, but for the mission I believe I was born in Gaza to fulfill. It is a mission that goes beyond personal pain, becoming a testimony to an entire era in which human beings are being erased before the eyes of the world.

What has happened in Gaza since October 7 cannot be reduced to statistics, news headlines, or even thousands of journalistic reports. It is an entire chapter in the history of humanity unfolding before the world’s eyes. It is a story that must be documented, preserved, and taught to future generations, not only as a record of destruction, but as a testament to what human beings can endure when every essential means of survival is stripped away.

For 1000 days, Gaza has existed between life and death. Our endurance is no longer breaking news; it has become a painful question confronting the world: How much suffering can a human being endure? And how many tragedies can the world witness before deciding that what has happened has crossed every possible line?

This war has touched every family in Gaza. There is not a single home that has been spared grief, fear, displacement, or loss. Families who once believed their homes were the safest places on earth found themselves sleeping in tents, schools, hospitals, or out in the streets. Parents carried their children through the ruins, while children learned the sound of bombs before they ever learned what safety felt like.

https://www.palestinechronicle.com/a-circus-tent-amid-the-rubble-a-safe-space-for-gazas-war-weary-children/embed/#?secret=swygMTbmBr#?secret=YT6VPcuy31

We moved from one place to another, not because we wanted to leave, but because survival demanded it. Every time we were told there was a “safer place,” we gathered what little we had left and made our way there, hoping to find temporary shelter. But fear followed us wherever we went. Areas described as humanitarian zones became places of death, and safety became a word that appeared more often in official statements than in reality.

For many people around the world, home is associated with comfort, memories, and a sense of belonging. For Palestinians in Gaza, home has become a memory of what was lost. Entire neighborhoods have disappeared, and streets once filled with families have been reduced to fields of rubble. The places that once held our childhood memories now remind us only of those who are gone.

Yet despite everything, people in Gaza wake up every morning searching for a reason to keep going.

They search for water, struggle to find bread, and try to obtain medicine. They hold their children close throughout the night when the sound of explosions returns, and they rebuild small pieces of their lives again and again, knowing they may lose them once more.

This is what the world must understand: Gaza’s resilience is not a romantic story, nor is it an easy choice. It is the result of people being forced to fight for the most basic of human rights: the right to exist.

What Israel has done to Gaza, in full view of the international community, has forced us to question the very meaning of the principles the world claims to uphold. What does justice mean if those who suffer are left without protection? And what value do international laws have if civilians, hospitals, journalists, and children remain in danger despite the protections those laws are supposed to provide?

https://www.palestinechronicle.com/after-losing-his-family-a-gaza-journalist-keeps-documenting-the-war/embed/#?secret=pJhTgS6smx#?secret=M8BBzNeWXT

In Gaza, these are no longer abstract political or legal questions. They are questions asked every day under bombardment, while standing in line for bread, searching for clean water, and living inside fragile tents that offer protection from neither the weather nor the war.

We are not only searching for an explanation for what is happening to us. We are searching for an explanation for the world itself.

The people of Gaza have learned that no one is outside the circle of danger. Journalists, doctors, paramedics, civil defense crews, children, women, older people, and people with disabilities have all come face to face with the same reality: A life that can be endangered anywhere, at any moment.

Journalists did not simply document the destruction; they lived through it themselves. Many lost their homes, their families, and their colleagues, yet they continued carrying their cameras and documenting what was happening around them. They paid an immense price simply for preserving the memory of a place the world might otherwise have chosen to forget.

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On a personal level, I lost 54 members of my family during the genocide. They were all killed, and entire branches of my family were erased from the civil registry. We grieved, we suffered, and we cried out under the weight of such immense loss, but we never abandoned our mission. I continued writing, documenting, and telling the world the truth because I know that every story left untold is another loss, and that bearing witness to what has happened has become a duty no less important than survival itself.

Doctors and healthcare workers faced a similar reality. Hospitals, which should be the safest places during war, became places of fear and destruction. Medical staff continued their work under impossible conditions, treating the wounded with extremely limited resources while facing the same danger that threatened the very patients they were trying to save.

What kind of world turns hospitals into battlefields? What kind of world arrests or targets doctors while they are carrying out their humanitarian duty? And what kind of world kills journalists in their homes, alongside their families, simply because they carried a camera instead of a weapon?

These are not isolated incidents. They are part of a much broader reality in which every line that was supposed to protect civilians has been crossed.

Among the most painful chapters of this war has been hunger.

Before this war, it was rare to hear of children dying from hunger in the modern world. In Gaza, however, hunger became a daily reality. It was no longer simply the absence of food; it became a condition that shaped every aspect of life. It first appeared on the faces of children before it appeared in official reports. It was visible in their frail bodies, in the exhaustion of parents, and in the despair of families searching for something as simple as bread.

https://www.palestinechronicle.com/its-hell-here-displaced-gazans-crowd-the-seaport-with-nowhere-else-to-go/embed/#?secret=bG8HEzmuiR#?secret=LCb5QWtFWq

We walked through streets where people were too weak from hunger to remain standing. Children cried throughout the night because their bodies could no longer understand why food had disappeared from their lives. Families shared the few crumbs they had, dividing tiny portions among many people and trying to convince themselves that tomorrow might be different.

But tomorrow usually brought the same reality.

We followed evacuation orders and went to areas described as “humanitarian zones.” We believed they might offer us some protection from the violence. Yet even there, people were killed, tents were burned, and families were destroyed.

The very idea of shelter became fragile, and safety became a word repeated in official statements but rarely experienced by those living through the war.

Many people remember the image of the little girl, Warda Jalal al-Sheikh, standing amid flames, smoke, and devastation after her family’s tent was struck and caught fire. Several members of her family were killed as she struggled to stay alive. Her image became a heartbreaking symbol of what it means to be born into a reality where fire surrounds you before you have even had the chance to understand the world.

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Many also remember our colleague, journalist Ayman al-Jadi, who was waiting for his wife as she gave birth to their child. It should have been a moment of new beginnings, a moment to welcome new life. Instead, he was killed while waiting to meet his baby.

How can the world comprehend a reality in which death reaches even the moments meant to embody hope?

These stories are not exceptions. They are scenes repeated over and over in a place where simply staying alive has become extraordinary.

Even after the ceasefire was announced, the suffering did not simply disappear.

Across Gaza, a new reality began to take shape with the continued expansion of what has come to be known as the “Yellow Line.” Marked by yellow concrete blocks and military boundaries, these zones have redrawn the map of the Gaza Strip, cutting off access to vast areas of land.

The Yellow Line has continued to consume more territory, approaching nearly 70 percent of Gaza’s total area and separating communities from their homes, farmland, and neighborhoods. For many Palestinians, these yellow concrete barriers are not merely physical obstacles; they represent the continuation of displacement by other means.

Despite the ceasefire announcement, violations continued in full view of international mediators and the world. The nature of the war may have changed, but people’s sense of insecurity has not. The sound of bombardment may have faded in some areas, yet the fear of losing what remains has never left people’s hearts.

The expansion of these boundaries raises a painful question: Can there truly be a ceasefire while the map of Gaza continues to shrink?

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For Palestinians, the yellow barriers have become a symbol of an even deeper fear: That the temporary measures imposed during the war will become a permanent reality, reshaping the future of an entire people.

After one thousand days of genocide, Gaza cannot be understood solely through the numbers of those killed, wounded, displaced, or left homeless. Statistics matter because they reveal the scale of the devastation, but behind every number is a human story, a family, a dream, a memory, and a life cut short.

The true story of Gaza is not only a story of destruction. It is also the story of people who refused to disappear.

It is the story of mothers who continued caring for their children despite their grief; fathers who searched for food under impossible circumstances; doctors who kept working despite exhaustion; journalists who continued writing despite the danger; and ordinary people who rebuilt small pieces of their lives even when everything around them had collapsed.

This resilience must not be mistaken for an acceptance of suffering. The ability of Palestinians in Gaza to survive does not make their suffering acceptable, nor does it absolve those who allowed this reality to continue of their responsibility. Survival is not proof that people are well. It is proof of the immense burden they have been forced to endure.

The world should not see Gaza’s resilience as a reason to move on and forget what has happened. It should see it as a reason to ask more difficult questions about justice, accountability, and the value the world places on human life.

One thousand days of genocide are not merely the passage of time. They are the living memory of an entire generation being written in real time. They are children growing up with images of destruction instead of ordinary childhood memories, and families learning how to mourn their loved ones while still struggling to survive.

What has happened in Gaza must not become another chapter that the world reads and then closes. It must remain an open testimony, a reminder of what happens when international principles are ignored and human suffering becomes something people watch from a distance.

Gaza’s resilience after one thousand days cannot be captured in a news report or a headline. It deserves to be written into the history books, not only as a record of pain, but as evidence of a people who continued to live despite every attempt to break them.

Because the story of Gaza is not only about what was done to it. It is also about what remains after everything else has been taken away.

Homes may have been destroyed, streets transformed, and familiar landmarks erased, but the people remain, carrying their memories, their names, their stories, and their determination to be seen and heard.

https://www.palestinechronicle.com/sign-language-amid-war-a-deaf-journalist-bringing-gazas-pain-to-the-world/embed/#?secret=kPWpsZIv2t#?secret=j5ST5vaGhy

As a journalist from Gaza, I know there are countless stories that have yet to be told. Behind every destroyed building lies the history of a family. Behind every empty chair is someone we still mourn. Behind every survivor is a story of resilience that deserves to be heard.

In the end, we are still here.

We are still writing.

We are still documenting.

We are still bearing witness.

Because what remains untold about Gaza is far greater than anything the world has heard so far.