Muhannad Zakaria Eid was crushed by an “aid” drop in the ongoing ritual of humiliation and suffering

Muhannad Zakaria Eid, 15, was killed by an aid drop in Gaza that fell on top of him on August 9th. I watched him die. I watched how a hungry kid, who thought he might finally have an inch of reprieve during endless bombardment, be crushed to death by so called “aid”. I don’t know if I am more angry at the world for watching, or more disgusted that it applauds the hands that dropped the box. All I know is that grief and rage have consumed me.

As of July 25, 2025, over 85% of Gaza’s population is now in the fifth stage of famine, the final classification of hunger before death. That means more than 1.8 million people are dying of starvation in real time. According to the World Health Organization (WHO) and the UN, this is one of the most advanced man-made famines in modern history. Doctors have reported that “skin and bones” is no longer an adequate description. Infants are dying in front of their mothers, and there is no formula to feed them. Aid workers have described children with “blank stares,” whose organs are beginning to fail.

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But this manufactured famine did not emerge in a vacuum. It is the culmination of a 77-year system designed to transform a self-sufficient agricultural society into an aid-dependent population stripped of dignity and agency. To understand Gaza’s current starvation, we must trace the institutional history of how humanitarian aid itself became a weapon of control.

Before 1948, Palestine was a thriving agricultural economy and net exporter of citrus, with renowned soap production and glass manufacturing contributing millions to the region’s GDP. Palestinian farmers were stewards of their own land, labor, and economically self-sufficient and politically autonomous.

In 2012, Israeli officials openly admitted to calculating the precise number of calories needed to keep Gazans alive but not thriving. After the 2014 military assault, Israel tightened the blockade further by banning cement, steel, and other essential building materials, deliberately halting reconstruction and leaving entire neighborhoods in ruin as extended punishment.Then, though on a smaller and less murderous scale than today’s starvation campaign, aid was similarly used as a tool of control, limiting the Palestinian right to dignity and self-determination.

The absurdity of this cruelty was perhaps best exemplified by the prohibition of chocolate imports into Gaza, a ban serving no “security purpose” but to deny Palestinians the simplest joy. This policy, among others, epitomized the pattern of denying dignity where basics become luxuries.

The dependency wasn’t just economic, it was psychological. By 2019, 60% of Palestinian students in Gaza reported feeling hopeless about their futures, citing the aid-dependent economy and siege as factors. The international aid system inadvertently created ‘learned helplessness’, a sense of powerlessness arising from persistent trauma and lack of control over basic needs.

Looking at the current suffocation of Gaza’s “aid” structures, more Palestinians have been killed while seeking aid Israelis were killed on October 7, 2023. Imagine that for a moment. More people murdered not in battle, not in crossfire, but while waiting, hungry, unarmed, for bags of flour and bottles of water. Since October 2023, Israeli forces have repeatedly fired on Palestinians gathered at aid distribution points, killing thousands. Humanitarian corridors have become sites of mass execution, with a Human Rights Watch Report confirming that aid convoys are frequently delayed, denied entry, or weaponized as bait. In a startling image, early GHF sites showed Palestinians corralled like livestock. A new economy has emerged in Gaza, but it trades not in supply and demand, nor in production or capital. It trades in suffering. There are checkpoints that function less like gates and more like guillotines, deciding who eats and who doesn’t.

In my research study, published in the UCLA Journal of Islamic and Near Eastern Law, this apparatus of aid has effectively redefined the concept of humanitarian access. No longer a right owed to populations in crisis, access is now conditioned on the very structures causing the crisis. The occupier becomes the gatekeeper. The oppressor is asked to facilitate the survival of the oppressed—and when he refuses, it is the oppressed who are blamed for not being docile enough.

More than 800 Palestinians have been killed by Israeli forces while attempting to receive humanitarian aid in the last month. Since May, the GHF, backed by U.S. and Israeli governments and implemented by private military-style contractors, has centralized aid into a handful of militarized, time-limited hubs, forcing Gazans into evacuation zones and forcing many to choose between life or dying hungry. Humanitarian agencies, including UNRWA, MSF, UNICEF, and the ICRC, have denounced the system as a weaponized, politically controlled mechanism—“slaughter masquerading as aid”. Thus, aid becomes a central tool of colonial violence, and of the reconfiguration of humanitarianism itself.

In the past, international law spoke of aid as a right. Today, it is an instrument of subjugation. A recent report by UN officials notes that almost all the people in Gaza face catastrophic food insecurity. Some eat leaves, others go days without. The Israeli government funnels all “aid” through their US-backed bullet machine (GHF).

The latest figures show more than 55,000 Palestinians have been killed in Gaza since the war began, including over 17,000 children, a generation turned into memory before they had time to become themselves. Many babies have died in incubators due to fuel shortages, lack of electricity, and the destruction of neonatal wards. The death by “aid” goes as far back to the start of this genocide, including during the Flour Massacre in February 2024, when Israeli forces opened fire on civilians lining up for bread, killing over 100 and injuring hundreds more. In April, 21 more were killed at Kuwait Roundabout under nearly identical circumstances. The message behind the trigger is clear: aid will be delivered through Israel, controlled by Israeli, and denied by Israel whenever it suits the map. And when the day comes for a ceasefire or “reconstruction,” it will be used as leverage: to force Palestinians out, to fragment the social fabric further, to turn the right to return into a distant rumor. For instance, Israel’s leadership has proposed creating a “humanitarian city” near Rafah, designed to house up to 600,000 Palestinians, effectively relocating Gaza’s population into a military-controlled zone under the guise of aid. The plan amounts to forced displacement and internment: many warn it echoes concentration-camp logic. The violence of starvation is not a means of ending war, it is a way to reduce the Palestinian population so much that more Palestinian land will be up for the taking. Israel has already taken control over 80% of the Gaza strip.

The law, which once sought to uphold dignity, is now used to ration it. And dignity, the one thing our people have never surrendered, has been rebranded as resistance. But it is not resistance to want food. It is not resistance to bury your child without their limbs. It is not resistance to say: I deserve to live.

Yet this is the obscenity of the moment, that Palestinians are made to feel ashamed for wanting life on their own terms. That our pain must be packaged properly before the world deems it worthy of attention. That our deaths must be photogenic, our grief polite, our survivors grateful for aid delivered too late.

We do not want pity. We do not want sympathy. We want liberation. And in its absence, we want the world to stop pretending that starvation is a substitute for justice.

Ghassan Kanafani said, “everything in this world can be stolen except one thing: the love that emanates from a human being committed to a conviction or cause”. That is what the Palestinians carry. That is the dignity that cannot be occupied.

There is a story told by every aid truck. It is not one of generosity, but of dependency imposed. It says: you will eat what we allow. You will thank us for your crumbs. You will survive, but only if you forget who made you starve. But our people do not forget. Palestinians endure, not because they are strong, but because they have no choice. And because somewhere, beyond the siege, beyond the silence, beyond even the sea, there is a future where our children eat not from the hands of their jailers, but from the harvest of their own land.

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