Hungry Palestine: Terribly Traumatised Territory in the World -Md Tareq Hasan

In recent months, the world has witnessed an unrelenting siege on Gaza that has reshaped not only the region’s physical landscape but the psychological well-being of countless Palestinians, especially its youth. The deprivation of food, water, and essential resources has morphed into a weapon of psychological warfare, affecting both those in Gaza and Palestinians in other occupied territories. This deliberate starvation strategy, declared openly by Israeli officials, isn’t just a blockade—it’s a form of psychological trauma that impacts individuals and their communities at the deepest levels.

Weaponising Hunger—A Siege Beyond Borders
The situation began escalating on October 9, 2023, when Israeli Defense Minister Yoav Gallant announced a total cutoff of Gaza from basic resources. “There will be no electricity, no food, no fuel,” he declared, referring to the people of Gaza as “human animals.” This uncompromising stance against the Palestinian population has turned food—a basic human need—into an elusive and precarious lifeline. Member of the Knesset, Tally Gotliv, went on to affirm that “without hunger and thirst among the Gaza population, we won’t be able to bribe people with food, drink, or medicine to obtain intelligence.” These statements reflected not only a denial of basic sustenance to millions but a broader intention to crush Gaza’s spirit by pushing its people to the edge of survival. Within weeks, Gaza saw prices of essential items soar, food infrastructure targeted, and critical shortages in even the most basic supplies.

Yet the toll of this strategy is not confined to those facing hunger firsthand. Palestinians across the occupied territories, including East Jerusalem and the West Bank, are experiencing a profound secondary trauma from witnessing this mass starvation. For children and teens, the trauma is particularly severe. Exposure to images and stories of babies and young children succumbing to malnutrition and the daily reality of families scrambling for dwindling food supplies has created a ripple effect. They are absorbing the starvation and violence inflicted on Gaza as though it were their own, grappling with food in complex and painful ways. In this environment, young people are becoming anxious, guilt-ridden, and disillusioned, feeling simultaneously trapped and powerless against the horrors that have become part of their daily lives.

To fully comprehend this trauma, it’s essential to understand the theory of “socially produced trauma,” a concept explored by psychologist Ignacio Martín-Baró, a pioneer in the field of liberation psychology. According to Martín-Baró, trauma extends beyond the individual’s personal suffering—it is born out of oppressive social and political structures that shape the collective consciousness. For Palestinian youth, the current conditions in Gaza, coupled with a historical context of forced displacement and longstanding oppression, have embedded trauma deeply within the fabric of their identity. In an environment where survival is jeopardized and violence is systemic, trauma is not just an internalised pain but a shared, intergenerational wound, seeping through communities and altering relationships with even the simplest elements of daily life, like food.

The social implications of this siege-driven starvation extend far beyond hunger. Many youth find themselves exhibiting behaviors that speak to a profound rupture in their understanding of safety, identity, and belonging. The pressures of constant exposure to trauma are causing shifts in their eating habits, body image, and mental health. As they struggle to understand the world they are growing up in, they develop behaviors that are difficult to separate from the traumas they witness every day. Young people across Palestinian communities are acting in ways that reflect a society-wide breakdown, one in which hunger is not just a physical experience but a harrowing reminder of their shared vulnerability under occupation.

When hunger becomes trauma—psychological responses to starvation among Palestinian youth
As the blockade continues, Palestinian youth across the region are bearing the brunt of a psychological burden that goes beyond mere survival. For many, witnessing the siege on Gaza has transformed food from a source of nourishment into a source of anxiety and distress. In East Jerusalem and the West Bank, where children are not directly facing starvation, the psychological impact is just as profound. They are internalising the starvation and violence as personal realities, altering their perception of safety and security in ways that may shape them for a lifetime.

Consider the case of Ali, a 17-year-old from the West Bank who lost eight kilograms within two months of his friend’s detention by Israeli forces. His change in eating behavior is not an isolated reaction; it’s part of a larger pattern of youth adopting complex relationships with food as a response to trauma. Ali repeatedly insists that “prison makes men,” downplaying his weight loss and the physical toll it takes. Yet his words are laced with anger and frustration, not only over his friend’s detention but also over the images of starvation and bombardment in Gaza that he consumes daily. For Ali, the food he refuses isn’t merely about control; it’s a manifestation of his sorrow and rage, his attempt to respond to an overwhelming reality where so much feels beyond his control. His refusal to eat becomes an act of solidarity and mourning, echoing the shared struggle of his people in Gaza.

Ali’s case is not unique. Young Palestinians are expressing trauma through behaviors that reveal the profound psychological impact of indirect starvation trauma. This type of trauma is what Ignacio Martín-Baró described as “collective trauma”—a trauma that transcends individual experience and embeds itself within the cultural and social psyche of a community. In Palestine, this collective trauma has roots reaching back to the Nakba, when the forced displacement of Palestinians in 1947–48 first planted the seeds of a generation-wide suffering that has only grown more complex. For today’s youth, the memories of past suffering blend with the present horrors, creating a multilayered trauma that touches nearly every aspect of life, including their most basic needs.

Salma, an 11-year-old girl, provides another window into this phenomenon. She has been hoarding cans, water bottles, and dry food in her bedroom, explaining that she is “preparing for genocide” in the West Bank. Her behaviors reflect a deep-rooted anxiety and a perceived need to fend off starvation, a survival strategy she has internalised from watching Gaza’s deprivation. Her father has noticed her growing “hysteria” over the scarcity of food, especially as she becomes increasingly distressed when he brings home items like meat or fruit. For Salma, such foods feel like luxuries that she feels guilty consuming, especially as she is aware that children in Gaza are starving. Her relationship with food has transformed into a complex mix of guilt, fear, and survival instinct—a painful reaction to the sense of collective vulnerability that has come to define her world.

This experience, often called “vicarious trauma,” is common among people who live in constant exposure to someone else’s suffering. Yet for these Palestinian children, the vicarious trauma is especially intense. The sense of solidarity with their compatriots in Gaza, along with the unceasing stream of images and stories of starvation and death, brings this trauma so close to home that it feels like their own lived experience. Even though Salma isn’t starving, she embodies the starvation of those in Gaza, internalising it as part of her own survival.

The psychosomatic symptoms resulting from this trauma are another telling sign. Layla, a 13-year-old from East Jerusalem, describes a sensation of “a thorn in her throat” that prevents her from eating. This feeling has no physical origin but is rooted in her emotional response to her father’s detention and her exposure to reports of torture and starvation inflicted on Palestinian prisoners. The symbolism is powerful as she internalises her father’s suffering. Layla’s body translates her pain and helplessness into a physical blockage, manifesting her grief as a symptom that denies her nourishment. Her psychosomatic response highlights the inseparability of physical and emotional experiences of trauma, especially for young people who are still forming their identities and understanding the world around them.

These cases, though unique in presentation, are all connected by the underlying trauma of food scarcity and deprivation in Gaza. Young Palestinians like Ali, Salma, and Layla are not merely coping with individual stressors; they are reflecting the structural violence imposed on their community, where survival itself is constantly under threat. This collective psychological response reveals how food and survival become inextricably linked with identity, dignity, and resistance.

Healing collective trauma—A liberation psychology approach to mental health
As the psychological toll of starvation and occupation continues to ripple across Palestinian youth, mental health professionals in Palestine are faced with the challenge of addressing a trauma that is as much social and political as it is personal. For these professionals, treatment goes beyond the confines of traditional therapy. The mission is not just to alleviate symptoms but to empower young Palestinians to navigate a reality that is steeped in historical injustice and systemic oppression. The tools they employ must therefore address the structural roots of trauma, embracing a liberation psychology framework to foster resilience, community, and hope.

For youth like Ali, Salma, and Layla, healing requires more than individual therapy sessions; it calls for collective support, shared spaces, and community-driven healing. Mental health professionals in Palestine are working to create these spaces, often in schools, community centers, or even in informal gatherings. These spaces allow young people to connect with others who share their experiences, talk openly about their fears, and process their emotions in a supportive environment. Storytelling circles, group discussions, and collective art projects provide a safe outlet for these youth, enabling them to make sense of their trauma within a context that acknowledges the realities of occupation and deprivation. This approach not only aids in individual healing but strengthens the community as a whole, fostering a sense of solidarity and shared resilience.

In these community-based settings, the emphasis is on reclaiming dignity and control over one’s life—a powerful counter to the dehumanising effects of the siege on Gaza. For instance, mental health workers may encourage youths to redefine their relationship with food in a way that connects to cultural and familial values rather than fear and deprivation. In practical terms, this can mean involving young people in communal meals, cooking classes, or even food-growing projects in urban gardens, where they can reconnect with the positive cultural significance of food. This process of re-establishing healthy relationships with food is a small yet profound act of resistance. It allows young Palestinians to rebuild a sense of agency and self-worth, even in the face of systemic deprivation.

Advocacy also plays a crucial role in the liberation psychology approach. Mental health professionals in Palestine are increasingly vocal in the international arena, raising awareness about the impact of starvation policies and violence on Palestinian communities. Their advocacy efforts aim to validate the suffering of their patients, reduce the sense of isolation, and foster hope by showing that they are not alone in their struggle. International solidarity and public acknowledgement of their trauma contribute to a larger movement that challenges narratives normalising violence and deprivation. Mental health practitioners emphasise that solidarity, validation, and visibility are essential for restoring hope—a key component of resilience that allows individuals and communities to envision a future beyond oppression.

For Palestinian mental health professionals, addressing the psychological impacts of starvation and trauma requires both direct care and public activism. Their work is deeply embedded in the social, political, and historical context of the occupied territories, recognising that true healing must address the structural conditions that perpetuate trauma. By working within a liberation psychology framework, these practitioners are helping Palestinian youth process their pain, reclaim their dignity, and connect with a supportive community. They are building a foundation of resilience that enables young people to envision a life not defined by the siege or the occupation but by their potential, identity, and agency.

The road to healing for Palestinian youth is far from straightforward, and the obstacles are immense. However, through community-based interventions, a liberation-focused approach, and international advocacy, mental health professionals in Palestine are sowing the seeds of hope. In an environment where trauma has been weaponised, these efforts represent a powerful counterforce—a movement toward empowerment, healing, and a future where young Palestinians can live with dignity, free from the psychological chains of collective punishment. Only by addressing both the personal and political dimensions of trauma can there be any hope for a lasting healing process, one that holds the possibility of a brighter, more just future for Palestinian youth.