Occasionally in war, it's the lowest sound that makes the loudest statement. In the war destroyed corridors of Gaza’s Nasser Hospital, the voice of a five-month-old baby girl has become a tale. That tale belongs to Siwar Ashour, a child who's too tired to cry, too glutted to protest, and too fragile to survive without help.
Her bitsy lungs can slightly push out a cry, not because she doesn’t want to, but because hunger has indeed burgled her of that simple, primal right. At just over 2 kilograms, Siwar weighs about a third less than a baby her age should. Her mother, Najwa, just 23, has seen her daughter slowly wasting away before her eyes.
“There was no food when I gave birth to her,” Najwa says quietly. “I couldn’t even feed myself properly to breastfeed her. She now depends on the formula, but we have none left.”
They set up one bottle. Just one. It'll last four days.
“An empty belly has no cognisance,” the old saying goes. But Siwar’s hunger speaks louder than any argument, louder than any political defence. Her eyes, wide and unblinking, follow her mother’s every movement. Her ribs show plainly through her skin, and her limbs are thin as twigs.
There are no international journalists allowed inside Gaza now. The stories that do make it out come from local reporters, often risking their lives to tell the truth.
Meanwhile, a colleague from the BBC captured Siwar’s image, haunting, undeniable. Her malnutrition is beyond question. But denial persists.
Boaz Bismuth of Israel’s ruling Likud party says flatly. “There are no hungry children.” He shrugs off reports of shortage and blames the media. “This is crap,” he says.
Yet, doctors like Ziad al-Majaida, who have treated Siwar more than once, paint a different picture. “She needs a specific kind of formula,” he says. “It used to be available, but nothing has come through the borders. Now we have nothing.”
Since the year began, the UN has recorded around 10,000 cases of acute malnutrition among Gaza’s children. Food prices have spiked by up to 1,400%. Charity kitchens that once fed hundreds of thousands are closing one by one. Looting, desperation, and scarcity have turned hunger into chaos.
In nearby Khan Younis, Mohammad Abu Rjileh, 29, who leads the Gaza Youth charity, has seen three of his four kitchens shut down. “We used to cook 10,000 meals a day,” he says. “Now, we have enough for one or two days at best. Then we’ll have to stop.”
“Empty sacks will never stand upright.” The same is true of starving populations.
Israel halted all humanitarian aid on March 2nd, demanding Hamas release the remaining hostages. While pressure tactics are nothing new in war, the cost here is being paid by civilians, many of whom have no stake in the politics, no power to influence the war, and no food to survive it.
Former British diplomat and UN humanitarian chief Tom Fletcher put it bluntly: “Aid and the civilian lives it saves should never be a bargaining chip.”
Israel insists it’s abiding by international law. But even that is contested. The blockade has been described by the UN as "a cruel collective punishment." The question must be asked: When do the lines of warfare blur so completely that the innocent become both shield and target?
To make matters worse, the distribution of the little aid that does reach Gaza has become dangerously politicised. Criminal gangs, widespread looting, and internal tensions between the Palestinian Authority and Hamas have shattered what little infrastructure remains. Accusations fly like shrapnel. Who’s hoarding? Who’s stealing? Who’s selling food at extortionate prices?
Hamas, under growing pressure, has responded violently. Eyewitnesses say hungry protesters demanding access to food were met with gunfire. Two people were killed outside an UNRWA warehouse. In a place where food has become currency, the fight over it has turned deadly.
As Israel prepares for a fresh military offensive and contemplates outsourcing aid distribution to private security firms, the crisis deepens.
While Siwar lies in her hospital bed, her voice is barely a whisper. As the age-old adage goes, “When elephants fight, it is the grass that suffers”. And in Gaza, the grass is withering.
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