As global leaders debate the fragile ceasefire in Gaza this week, Palestinians sift through the ruins of their homes, clinging to hope that diplomacy prevails. Donald Trump’s recent suggestion to “clean out” Gaza’s population—relocating them to Jordan or Egypt—has drawn international condemnation. Yet, while his rhetoric is extreme, it reflects a broader, dangerous assumption: that a land reduced to rubble is no longer worth fighting for, and its people are better off elsewhere.
But displacement is not a solution—it is a surrender to despair.
The Dangerous Myth of the “Empty Land”
Trump’s proposal hinges on the idea that Gaza is beyond saving. Aid workers describe a “hellscape”: hospitals obliterated, water systems poisoned, and famine looming. Maha Khatib of the International Rescue Committee warns that Gaza’s health system has “completely collapsed,” requiring not just urgent aid but “long-term action” to rebuild life. Yet the call to “clean out” Gaza ignores a fundamental truth: home is not a luxury—it is a lifeline.
History is littered with forced displacements masquerading as solutions. During the Bosnian War, 2 million were displaced; in post-Katrina New Orleans, Black residents were bused out under the guise of “safety,” evoking echoes of slavery. These crises reveal how disaster capitalism thrives when communities are uprooted, paving the way for contractors to profit from “rebuilding” while erasing cultural and emotional ties to the land.
The “Mars Model” of Disaster Response
In disaster zones, I’ve seen what I call the “Mars model” of recovery: treating a ravaged land as a blank slate, free of the “inconvenience” of its people. Rubble is cleared, roads are laid, and profit-driven agendas replace community needs. This approach dismisses the visceral human connection to place—the memories, the graves, the invisible threads of belonging.
After the 2007 floods in Hull, England, survivors faced a “secondary disaster” as contractors botched recovery efforts, leaving families traumatized by neglect. Similarly, in post-earthquake Christchurch, New Zealand, residents were barred from “red zones” for safety, severing them from their histories. Gaza now faces this same peril: 10,000 bodies lie buried in debris, yet rebuilding prioritizes infrastructure over the sacred act of burying the dead. Without closure, communities fracture.
Rebuilding Gaza: More Than Bricks and Mortar
The U.S. Middle East envoy estimates Gaza’s physical reconstruction could take 10–15 years—if Israel permits it. But rebuilding isn’t just about roads and sewage systems. It’s about restoring dignity. Mothers in Gaza vow to live in tents forever rather than abandon their land. Children, as NHS surgeon Dr. Mahim Qureshi observed, have lost their startle reflex after months of bombardment—a trauma that will ripple for generations.
True recovery requires:
- Immediate Aid: Food, water, and medicine to stem the bleeding.
- Cultural Healing: Spaces for grief, memory, and community—like the coffee trucks and vigils I witnessed in Italy and New Zealand.
- Diplomatic Will: A global commitment to resist cynical “clean-out” narratives and invest in Gaza’s people, not just its geography.
The Bravery of Staying
To outsiders, Gaza’s destruction may look irreparable. But love for a homeland transcends ruins. In disaster zones worldwide, I’ve seen survivors tie flowers to cranes, reclaim laundries, and host cook-offs amid the chaos—acts of defiance that rebuild hope long before the first brick is laid.
Disaster capitalists and engineers may see these gestures as obstacles. But they are the foundation of resilience. Gaza’s people don’t need pity or relocation—they need the world to recognize their right to heal where they are.
A Call for Courage—Not Clean-Outs
The path forward is fraught: emigration will surge as the young flee for opportunity, and the elderly escape unlivable conditions. But surrendering to displacement only rewards those who profit from despair.
Rebuilding Gaza demands more than money or concrete. It requires confronting the lie that some lives are disposable and some homelands irredeemable. As the ceasefire hangs in the balance, the world must choose: Will we enable erasure, or honor the courage of those who rebuild from ashes?