Gaza: Starvation has made even saving lives impossible

In the war-ravaged streets of southern Gaza, near the gates of Nasser Hospital, the sound of loudspeakers pleading for blood donations has become a daily ritual. Yet, amid the wreckage of repeated Israeli assaults, a quieter but equally devastating crisis is unfolding: even those willing to give blood can no longer help save lives. The people of Gaza are running out of blood—not because they have stopped donating, but because their bodies can no longer produce blood fit for transfusion.

This tragic reality came into sharp focus for Donya Abu Sitta, a local writer and English teacher, who recently attempted to donate blood to help victims of Israeli strikes and shootings. But instead of saving lives, she was turned away—her blood, like much of the population’s, was too malnourished to be usable. Her case, as she would discover, is no exception.

“Two-thirds of the blood units donated at the hospital have extremely low haemoglobin and iron levels,” said Nurse Hanan, a hospital worker involved in the campaign. “We can no longer meet the daily demand of 400 units for surgeries and emergencies.”

The figures are staggering. According to Dr. Sofia Za’arab, director of the Laboratory and Blood Bank at Nasser Hospital, Gaza’s blood supply has reached “critical levels.” Efforts to secure supplies from the West Bank have failed as Israeli authorities block the entry of blood units.

This blockade, enforced fully since March 2, has cut off not only medical supplies but food, water, and electricity. The humanitarian cost is catastrophic. Gaza’s population, now largely subsisting on minimal rations of rice and pasta, is plunging deeper into famine. Flour is a luxury. Meat, eggs, and dairy products have vanished from daily life.

The impact on children is particularly dire. Gaza’s health authorities report that at least 66 children have died from starvation since the onset of the war. In May alone, UNICEF recorded over 5,000 cases of acute malnutrition among children. Even those who survive may suffer irreversible physical and cognitive development challenges.

This starvation crisis does more than diminish the body—it severs the bonds of human solidarity.

“For months, I’ve watched my younger siblings waste away,” wrote Abu Sitta. “And now I’ve learned I can’t even offer them—or anyone—my own blood. That revelation left a scar deeper than I expected.”

This is a war on more than flesh and bone. It is a war on humanity itself.

According to humanitarian observers, Gaza is experiencing not only a genocide in physical terms, but a systematic dismantling of its social fabric. Food aid centers are bombed. Charities are targeted. Mobs form, sometimes encouraged, to loot dwindling resources. What once was a communal culture of mutual support is under siege—by design.

“In Gaza, we are not just being denied food or medicine. We are being denied the right to be human,” said Abu Sitta.

And yet, amidst this darkness, the spirit of collective resilience persists. “We are one big family in Gaza,” she writes. “Our humanity has always stood victorious. Cracks may be appearing in our communal bonds, but we shall repair them.”

As the world watches Gaza’s suffering unfold, the story of its people is no longer only about survival—it is about the erosion of dignity, solidarity, and basic human decency. When a community is stripped of even the ability to help its wounded, the implications reach far beyond the battlefield.

This is not just a humanitarian crisis. It is a moral one. And the world’s silence, or complicity, risks not only failing Gaza—but failing humanity itself.

By Aghakazim Guliyev