Emran Emon

On the dusty streets of what remains of Gaza, the silence is not peace—it is the absence of life. Once-vibrant neighborhoods are now skeletal shells of concrete and rebar, the air thick with the smell of ash and the heavy absence of those who will never return.

Over 61,000 Palestinians have died since the war reignited in 2023. Two hundred seventy-one have perished from starvation alone—100 of them children whose lives were cut short not by the randomness of conflict, but by deliberate deprivation. And yet, in the corridors of power in Washington, this catastrophe is met with an indifference so profound it borders on complicity.

Netanyahu’s Gaza Plan: A Blueprint for Erasure

In recent weeks, Israel’s Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu has shed whatever pretense might have lingered about Gaza’s future. The plan, as detailed by his office, leaves little to the imagination: the full displacement of the remaining Palestinian population, the imposition of complete military and administrative control over the Gaza Strip, and a target date of October 7, 2025—the grim anniversary of the Hamas attacks—to complete the “removal” of Gaza’s people.

Netanyahu’s aides have even spoken openly of conversations with President Donald Trump about the plan, a detail that would once have sent shockwaves through the diplomatic world. Today, it is just another line in the news ticker, lost amid the barrage of conflict updates. But make no mistake: this is a political blueprint for erasure, and it is being drawn with the tacit approval of Washington.

Global Outrage, American Silence

The international reaction has been swift and, in many cases, decisive. Spain, Portugal, and Norway have issued strong condemnations, joining Saudi Arabia, Jordan, and Turkey in decrying the forced displacement. Germany—long a staunch ally of Israel—has halted military exports to the country, citing concerns over war crimes.

United Nations officials have gone further, warning of “mass starvation” and the potential for another regional catastrophe that could engulf the Middle East in chaos. Their language is clear and direct: what is happening in Gaza is not just a humanitarian crisis; it is a man-made disaster.

But in Washington? The response is a shrug. President Donald Trump, when asked about the displacement plan, said it was “pretty much up to Israel.” The phrase drips with the kind of abdication that will echo through history. At the UN Security Council, U.S. Ambassador Dorothy Shea defended Israel against mounting international criticism, brushing aside calls for an immediate ceasefire or for recognition of Palestinian statehood.

Former Governor Mike Huckabee went further still: “Not America’s concern,” he said—a statement that would be unthinkable if the death toll were reversed. This is not the language of a neutral broker or a human rights champion. It is the language of political detachment in the face of mass suffering.

A Strategic Bond Forged in Politics and Power

To understand this unwavering support, one must look beyond the immediate war and into the deep architecture of US-Israel relations. Since the 1960s, Israel has been the largest cumulative recipient of U.S. foreign aid, much of it in the form of military assistance. Beyond the dollars, there is the diplomatic shield Washington reliably raises to block or water down UN resolutions critical of Israeli actions.

This is not solely about shared democratic ideals, as the rhetoric often claims. It is about shared political interests—from counterterrorism to regional energy security—and the powerful influence of pro-Israel lobbying in U.S. politics. Organizations such as AIPAC (American Israel Public Affairs Committee) wield vast resources to ensure bipartisan alignment with Israeli policy, regardless of who sits in the Oval Office.

The result is a relationship so entrenched that even when allies like Germany break ranks, Washington remains unmoved, its moral compass seemingly fixed toward the interests of one side.

Starvation as a Weapon of War

On the ground, the situation defies even the most hardened war correspondents’ capacity for description. Aid trucks are blocked or turned back. Medical supplies rot in warehouses across the border. Human Rights groups have documented the use of starvation as a weapon of war, calling it a war crime under international law.

Save the Children warns that malnutrition among Gaza’s surviving children is not just acute—it is generational. A lack of protein, vitamins, and safe water will leave an entire generation physically stunted and cognitively impaired. These are not abstract warnings. They are scientific predictions, grounded in decades of research from other conflict zones.

Yet even with these facts in hand, the U.S. continues to veto measures aimed at securing sustained humanitarian access. Washington insists it is committed to “facilitating aid,” but its political actions—supporting blockades, opposing international investigations—tell another story.

When Silence Becomes Approval

Diplomacy has its subtleties. Leaders rarely say exactly what they mean. But inaction speaks its own language, and in the case of Gaza, the U.S.’s refusal to condemn Israel’s most extreme measures is interpreted around the world as endorsement.

This silence undermines not only Washington’s moral authority but the entire structure of international law. If the United States—still the most powerful nation on Earth—can look at forced displacement, mass civilian death, and the weaponization of hunger and call it “up to Israel,” then what stops other nations from doing the same? The precedent is dangerous. Today it is Gaza. Tomorrow, it could be another corner of the world where ethnic cleansing is cloaked in the language of “security.”

The dissonance between global outrage and U.S. complacency is striking. Europe, the Arab world, and large swathes of Latin America see the situation for what it is: a humanitarian disaster wrapped in a political strategy of dispossession. The UN sees it. Human rights experts see it. Journalists see it—often at the risk of their own lives. So why can’t Washington?

Part of the answer lies in domestic politics. Criticism of Israel remains politically costly in the U.S., particularly during an election cycle. No president wants to risk alienating pro-Israel donors or being labeled “anti-Israel” by political opponents. This calculus, however, comes at the expense of America’s credibility as a global leader committed to human rights.

Another part lies in strategic thinking. For decades, U.S. foreign policy in the Middle East has been built on the premise that a strong Israel is a strategic asset. That premise is so deeply ingrained that it blinds policymakers to the reality that unconditional support for Israel’s most controversial actions fuels instability, anti-American sentiment, and radicalization in the region.

Leadership is not about cheering on an ally regardless of their actions. It is about holding friends accountable when they cross moral and legal lines. A truly strategic relationship between the U.S. and Israel would recognize that stability in the Middle East cannot come from the eradication of one people’s rights in favor of another’s.

Washington has the leverage—military aid, diplomatic cover, economic ties—to press Israel toward a path that ensures security for all sides, not just one. That leverage should be used not to rubber-stamp displacement, but to demand an immediate end to blockades, the restoration of humanitarian corridors, and a credible roadmap toward Palestinian statehood. Doing so would not be a betrayal of Israel. It would be an affirmation of the very democratic principles that the U.S. claims to share with it.

History is not kind to those who stand silent in the face of atrocity. From Rwanda to Bosnia, the world has learned—too late—that the cost of inaction is measured in lives lost and futures destroyed. Gaza is no different. Every day that Washington refuses to act, it chooses the side of power over the side of justice.

The moral reckoning will come eventually. It may come in the form of international tribunals, in the erosion of America’s alliances, or in the quiet withdrawal of trust from nations that once looked to the U.S. as a beacon of moral clarity. 

Gaza’s agony is not just a Palestinian tragedy, nor merely an Israeli or American political debate—it is a test of our shared humanity. The displacement of families, the cries of hungry children, and the ruins of once-living neighborhoods demand more than sympathy; they demand moral courage from every corner of the globe, including Washington. If the world can see this injustice, then the responsibility to act transcends politics and alliances. It becomes a matter of choosing compassion over indifference, justice over expediency, and the dignity of human life over the calculus of power.

In the end, the question is simple: If the world can see this injustice, why cannot Washington? Perhaps the harder truth is that Washington does see it, and has simply chosen not to care. History will remember not only what was done in Gaza, but also who stood silent, and who stood for humanity. 

The writer is a journalist, columnist and global affairs analyst. He can be reached at emoncolumnist@gmail.com