Prisoners of Hope

Jumping over walls In the vibrant open workspace of a high-tech incubator, a group of young men and women buzzed with excitement. Their innovative ideas and new apps flowed freely: a restaurant mapping app, a women-focused social networking site, a groundbreaking game app supported by a new investor, a prototype technology that charged a phone while walking. Their collective enthusiasm was not just shaping their day; it was an aspiration to reshape the future itself. The scene could have unfolded anywhere among highly competent millennials venturing into the realm of high-tech startups seeking investors. Google had invested in their endeavor through a grant managed by Mercy Corps. We were in the most unlikely location: the Gaza Strip. The public’s image of Gaza is largely shaped by harrowing scenes of families fleeing bombardments with no safe place to go, children suffering from malnutrition, the killing of aid workers, and the widespread destruction of buildings. Media coverage has reflected the fear and brutality of the atrocities committed by Hamas on October 7, the plight of hostages held in Gaza, and the ongoing, often indiscriminate killing of civilians and children by the Israel Defense Forces (IDF) in their campaign to eliminate Hamas. A decade earlier, thanks to support from Mercy Corps, I visited Gaza just after it had been an active war zone. In that violent but more contained conflict, 12,600 homes had been destroyed as the IDF made significant incursions, targeting schools, health centers, UN compounds, and mosques. The human toll was high, with 13,482 casualties, including widespread deaths, 58% of whom were women and children. 300,000 people were displaced, their lives uprooted by violence. Sixty-six IDF soldiers had lost their lives, and five Israeli citizens had been killed, including a child. The occupation of Gaza Strip, both physical and psychological, is defined by barriers, ongoing conflict, and irreconcilable enemies. In a region trapped in a cycle of violence, where war shapes the lives of all involved, Gazans live with lasting trauma and loss. When I visited, the scars of war were everywhere and with a staggering 60% unemployment rate—the highest in the world—getting by was not easy. Yet, amidst this ongoing humanitarian crisis, surprising stories emerged, from the tech incubator to a doctor providing services online, that refuted prevailing stereotypes. Signs of hope trapped in an unending conflict. ### On my birthday in September 2015, the journey to the Hamas border crossing was a stark reminder of the complexities of the region. Three of us were authorized to enter Gaza that day. It was a daunting experience. Passing through an Israeli border crossing, complete with a fortified wall with a mounted machine gun, I entered a kilometer-long open cage-walkway. Direct interaction with Hamas, a designated terrorist organization, was illegal and prohibited for U.S. NGOs and citizens. The group’s violent intentions were displayed in the main square, where a mock M320 rocket aimed at Israel symbolized their desire to eliminate the Jewish state. Hamas also instills fear in the local population, and I often heard that they are willing to sacrifice young Palestinian men in order to advance their power and radical ideology. Despite Hamas’ presence, U.S. and international NGOs worked diligently with the Palestinian population. Global Communities, for instance, ran a food distribution system feeding 95,000 people every quarter, while CARE helped local communities in constructing a fish farm set to yield ten tons of tilapia in the first harvest. Years later, a memory fraught with trepidation remains vivid. Stepping out of a Mercy Corps vehicle onto dry soil, I saw drip irrigation pipes stacked into well-organized piles beside dusty fields that provided sustenance for people in the Gaza Strip. Along the border with Israel, one of the few places with open land, drip agricultural programs flourished. Closer to the actual border, the land lay barren—a no man’s land. The scene was a delicate balance of caution and purpose. A weathered Catholic Relief Services (CRS) flag marked our convoy, signifying our humanitarian status. I kept a watchful eye on the Hamas military tower to our right, while to the left, a white IDF vehicle monitored our movements from across the border, a mere 200 meters away. The professionalism and calm determination of the Palestinian humanitarian workers around me were a testament to their commitment to aiding those in need, despite the perilous environment. As I stepped out of the car, a Palestinian farmer gave me an approving look. The border area was one of the few places in Gaza suitable for cultivating vegetables. While it might appear to be a typical agricultural project, we walked close to a no-man’s-land where IDF soldiers had orders to shoot to kill. Straying within 100 meters of the border fence was an immediate danger. Sometimes, a warning shot was fired, but not always. If you were not supposed to be there and walked in the wrong direction without permission, you could be shot without warning. The IDF soldiers tracking us in a white vehicle were aware of our humanitarian status and role as NGOs, even if some Israeli politicians were critical. Comforting, but my greatest concern remained the silent Hamas military towers. As a group of approximately twenty people, we spent hours navigating between the front lines, guided by our understanding of humanitarian engagement. Familiarity with my role allowed me to suppress my fears, although there is no denying that adrenalin sharpens one’s senses. For local Palestinian aid workers, it was just another day, with their safety dependent on armed forces, and armed non-state actors recognizing the importance of international humanitarian law. We were neutral and authorized to access this land to help save lives. That the role of humanitarian NGOs was recognized and accepted by all parties in Gaza in 2015 underscores the complex interplay of politics and humanitarian efforts in conflict zones.