Flying Kites and The Politics of Fear
By Dr Oroub El-Abed
There is something profoundly unsettling about a military power becoming alarmed by children flying kites:
In Gaza, where childhood has already been stripped of so many of its ordinary meanings, even a kite has now entered the vocabulary of warfare. In August 2026, several kites drifted from Gaza toward Israeli communities near the border. Israel’s own military reported that the kites it recovered carried no suspicious material and posed no danger. Yet Israeli leaders responded by treating their appearance as a potential act of war. Defence Minister Israel Katz announced that a balloon would be treated like a kite and a kite like a drone, “with or without explosives.” Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and Katz subsequently warned that those responsible could be targeted and that populations could be evacuated from areas identified as launch sites.
By 25 August, Palestinian committees in Gaza were asking parents to prevent their children from flying kites, not because kites themselves had become dangerous, but because the children holding their strings might become targets. One mother told Reuters that her ten-year-old son had always flown kites during the summer but that she would no longer allow him to do so.
The gravity of that moment
There is, of course, a history that cannot simply be erased. During Gaza’s Great March of Return beginning in 2018, incendiary kites and balloons were used by Palestinians and caused fires in agricultural fields inside Israel. Activists have examined those incendiary devices as an unusual form of anti-colonial resistance, while Israel characterised them as terrorism and a security threat. But recognising that history makes the present distinction more important, rather than less important. The kites now causing alarm were reportedly not incendiary: a children’s kite is equated with an armed drone, the category of “security threat” expands almost without limit.
Every aspect of Palestinian life has become securitised.
Even a woman in labour at a checkpoint, carrying a newborn into the world, is subjected to the same architecture of suspicion and control. A neighbourhood can be transformed overnight into a military zone following an act of resistance. And now even the sky above a displacement camp, entered only by a child’s kite, can be drawn into this expanding geography of securitisation.
Shrinking of the spaces in which Palestinians can safely live ordinary lives
Across the occupied West Bank, settler attacks have intensified. In July 2026, the UN human rights office warned of escalating settler violence, killings, destruction of property and attacks affecting Palestinian communities. OCHA has documented assaults on homes, restrictions on agricultural land, damage to livestock and olive trees, intimidation and displacement, particularly around newly established settlement outposts.
The International Court of Justice concluded in its July 2024 advisory opinion that Israel’s continued presence in the Occupied Palestinian Territory is unlawful and found its settlement policies and associated practices in breach of international law. Yet territorial expansion continues while Palestinians possess overwhelmingly unequal military and political means with which to resist it.
Historical continuity that deserves examination.
The connection between Zionists Guerrilla attacks during the British Mandate and the present, is not that history simply repeats itself. The Zionists operations continue to be inhumane, savage and far from civilised, territorial expansion remains remarkably persistent. From the depopulated villages documented by Walid Khalidi, to the history of transfer examined by Nur Masalha, to Edward Said’s insistence on recovering the Palestinian standpoint, and Rashid Khalidi’s account of a century-long colonial confrontation, Palestinian scholarship provides its own intellectual vocabulary for understanding what we are witnessing today: displacement is an unfinished process of contesting Palestinian presence on the land. The problem today is that intimidation, territorial acquisition and displacement continue to interact at a regional level as well.
Israeli military actions have extended repeatedly into Lebanon and Syria, including recent strikes in Syria, creating an increasingly dangerous geography in which borders no longer insulate neighbouring populations from Israeli military power. The language is invariably security. Yet for the people experiencing bombing, displacement, occupation or territorial encroachment, “security” looks remarkably different depending on which side of military power one inhabits.
And perhaps this is why the kite is so revealing. The kite made of plastic bags carries almost nothing. It is fragile. It is made to rise, not conquer. For a child surrounded by destroyed buildings and displacement tents, flying one may represent one of the few remaining possibilities of movement. The child’s body is confined; the kite is not.
Perhaps that is precisely why the reaction to it deserves our attention. Children cannot be asked to surrender childhood because an occupying military power has progressively widened its definition of threat. The most disturbing image coming from Gaza this week may therefore be neither a missile nor a tank: It may be a mother telling her child:
Do not fly your kite. They may see it.
That sentence should disturb the conscience of the world. Because when even a child’s kite becomes too dangerous to fly, what is being taken away is more than a toy. It is the remaining space in which a Palestinian child is permitted simply to be a child.
Dr Oroub El-Abed originally wrote this piece for Middle East Monitor and is reposted here in crossfirearabia.com. She is an Associate Professor at Bir Zeit University and specializes in refugees issues.
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