Gaza – Sahar Mahdi
For nearly two years, Gaza has been enduring a war of extermination that has left tens of thousands dead, wounded, or missing, while destroying infrastructure, homes, hospitals, and schools. A war that has spared nothing—it kills, destroys, and besieges. Beyond the bloodshed and the uncertain future, the war now threatens not only people’s lives but also their very sense of belonging. Repeated scenes of insecurity, loss of hope, and fear of death or forced displacement have fueled a growing desire among young people—and even families—to view migration not as betrayal, but as a form of survival.
The Big Question: Where Do We Go?
Israel makes no attempt to hide its intentions. Statements from Israeli officials during the war confirm that what is happening in Gaza is not merely a “war on Hamas,” as it is framed, but rather a long-term plan aimed at dismantling life in the Strip and pushing its residents—especially the youth—toward a single option: leaving.
The ongoing war, control over border crossings, the obstruction of humanitarian aid, refusal to allow reconstruction, and the absence of any clear political or economic future are all deliberate tools designed to strip people of belonging and plunge them into a state of collective disorientation.
In interviews with several young Gazans about immigration under these conditions, opinions were divided:
- Mariam (23, journalism graduate): “Yes, clearly. Immigration has become the only way to survive. Everything in Gaza is collapsing—health, education, safety. There is nothing left on which to build our dreams.”
- Hussam (28, shop owner): “Before the war, I used to say it was impossible to leave—I had a store and a home. But after losing both, and watching my family die before my eyes, I now look for any way out.”
- Fares Abdel Jawad: “I lost my home and job, my whole life has changed. Still, I try to stay strong and remain in Gaza. It’s impossible for me to abandon my homeland and my Palestinian identity.”
- Nermin Al-Hindi (24, pharmacist): “If I hadn’t lost my home and my pharmacy, I would never have left. Even my cat—I couldn’t leave it behind. So how could I abandon my country? Gaza is in our blood. We hope it will be rebuilt, that we can return to our homes, and that I can reopen my pharmacy.”
- Sabreen Afaneh (activist): “We no longer dream of a future here, because everything is stolen from us—our safety, our rights. We’ve lost our sense of belonging because the homeland no longer shelters us. Migration is no longer just an idea, it has become a psychological refuge. As youth, we are not seeking luxury; we just want a life we can live with dignity.”
These testimonies open the door to difficult questions about what “resilience” really means under such coercive conditions. For many, immigration is no longer tied to personal ambitions or economic opportunities—it is about survival. Amid constant bombings, the loss of homes, livelihoods, and safety, many feel that staying is no longer a viable option. The homeland that was once a sanctuary has become a closed space of suffering. These shifts reveal the profound impact of Israeli policies designed to push Palestinians into “voluntary” displacement as part of a broader plan to depopulate Gaza and cut off its lifeline—its youth.
This was underscored by Mohammed Abu Rejila, director of Gaza Youth Association, who explained: “Young people are the most affected group in this war. Many lost their jobs, their education, and countless opportunities for success, whether here or abroad. Time is slipping away from their lives with no clear horizon. Today, migration dominates their thoughts—even without a clear plan. The priority is to leave first, and then figure things out. This is an extremely dangerous indicator of the deepening crisis, especially since the situation continues to worsen.”
Similarly, Abdullah Sharshara, director of Ajyal Foundation, said: “Youth in Gaza feel trapped in a suffocating reality that offers neither hope nor choice. In this atmosphere of despair, migration is seen as a lifeline, not a betrayal of identity or homeland.”
Unofficial figures point to a notable rise in the number of people registering to leave—whether through Rafah Crossing or by contacting foreign embassies. Previous studies had already shown high levels of interest in migration, even before the war, driven by blockade, political division, and unemployment.
But the latest war has added even harsher realities: the loss of homes and loved ones, the constant fear of death, and complete uncertainty about Gaza’s political and humanitarian future.
It is critical to stress that what drives youth to consider migration is the deliberate policy of occupation forces, creating a suffocating reality designed to force people into leaving. Yet, despite everything, there are still those who choose to stay—those who see this land as an extension of their identity and who refuse to accept the emptying of minds and talents as the price for choosing life.
There remains hope that collective efforts can end this war of extermination, rebuild Gaza, and allow life to flourish here once again.
