A year after the 'ceasefire' in Gaza, this is what our lives look like: no privacy, no peace | Akram al-Sourani

A ceasefire normally means that opposing sides stop fighting for an agreed period. It should reduce immediate danger and create space for civilians to recover, receive supplies and rebuild ordinary routines. The writer argues that this ceasefire has not produced those results in Gaza.

The evidence is found in daily life. Bombardments, explosions and surveillance drones still accompany people’s days and nights. Families queue for water, wait to use toilets and live in tents or crowded rooms. The writer describes thirty people sharing one room. Children still walk long distances to school, while fuel shortages and border closures make transport difficult.

The writer therefore treats the ceasefire as something that exists in name but not in lived experience. Homes and tents continue to tremble, and people remain afraid of death and renewed displacement. Without safety, reliable supplies and access to basic services, a pause in fighting does not feel like peace.

After the ceasefire, basic routines remain difficult or impossible. People queue for water, struggle to wash and dream of taking a hot shower. They live in tents or crowded rooms, sometimes with thirty people together. Privacy has largely disappeared, and even finding a usable toilet is a daily battle.

The writer gives concrete examples of how shortages shape life. Fuel shortages and border crossing closures make transport difficult and expensive, so children walk long distances to what remains of their school. Essential supplies enter only in a trickle. Families must also hope that their sleeping place survives until the following night and that bread, education and medical treatment remain reachable.

Safety has not returned. Bombardments, explosions and the buzzing surveillance drone continue around homes and tents. The writer describes Gaza as a place where being alive is not enough: people must also find somewhere safe enough to sleep and protect their children from sudden death.

The writer presents displacement as widespread and prolonged. People moved from northern Gaza toward the south, then between locations including Khan Younis, Rafah, al-Mawasi and al-Za. The movement was not a single journey to safety. It became repeated relocation from one tent or dangerous area to another.

The article describes three years of displacement, tents and fear. Families left homes, possessions and ordinary routines behind. They still fear hearing the evacuation order that first changed their lives. Many remain unable to return because homes and neighbourhoods were damaged or destroyed, while bombardment and danger continue around possible places of return.

Education has been deeply disrupted. School years have begun and ended without normal schooling. The writer calls the current period the “Third year of tent school.” Children’s education is no longer measured mainly through grades and certificates, but through how many years they have spent displaced.

When essentials become scarce or difficult to reach, civilians lose control over ordinary life. Water becomes a queue, transport becomes a long walk, and a loaf of bread or medical treatment becomes something worth celebrating. Shortages also force families to spend more time moving, waiting and searching while danger remains close.

The article links these problems directly. Fuel shortages and border crossing closures make transport difficult and expensive. A trickle of essential supplies reaches Gaza. People wait for toilets, share rooms with many others and sleep in tents that may not remain safe. Children walk to school, while education is interrupted and medical care is described as difficult to obtain.

These pressures compound one another. Scarce fuel limits movement, damaged homes remove shelter, and unsafe roads expose children to danger. Water and sanitation struggles undermine dignity and privacy. Education is lost, families remain displaced, and daily survival replaces the ordinary routines the writer remembers.

On Friday 13 October 2023, evacuation leaflets fell over Gaza and ordered people to leave their homes and head south. The writer describes leaving the north as entering madness. The journey was presented as movement toward safety, but it became movement from one dangerous place, tent or disappointment to another.

People left behind nearly every sign of home. The list includes furniture, photographs, bills, dishes, household objects and a precious set of glasses. After bombing, those glasses ended up in the street. The writer says people lost not only their homes but also the identities and routines connected to them.

Many remained unable to return because the war continued to damage homes and neighbourhoods, while bombardments, drones and renewed evacuation fears persisted. The writer says three years later people still fear hearing the order to leave again. Displacement therefore became prolonged, repeated and emotionally permanent.

The article identifies Israeli authorities through the evacuation orders dropped from the sky on leaflets. Those orders directed people from northern Gaza toward the south. The writer also describes repeated border crossing closures, which restrict movement and make transport difficult and expensive.

Access to essentials is shaped by these restrictions and by fuel shortages. The article says essential supplies enter Gaza only in a trickle. It does not name the specific authority responsible for every crossing decision, fuel shortage or supply flow. It therefore supports a limited answer rather than a complete map of all actors involved.

The practical result is severe. Families are pushed from one location to another, children walk long distances, and people struggle to obtain water, bread, medical treatment and education. The writer’s account shows how movement orders, crossing closures, fuel limits and restricted supplies combine to make daily survival uncertain.

Forced displacement occurs when people cannot safely remain in their homes and are compelled to leave because of armed conflict, threats or orders. It differs from ordinary relocation because the choice is shaped by danger rather than preference. In the article, evacuation leaflets ordered people from northern Gaza toward the south, and movement continued between unsafe places.

The writer describes the consequences clearly. Families abandon homes, photographs, furniture and private routines. They live in tents, queue for water and toilets, and fear another order to leave. Children lose normal schooling, while transport, bread and medical treatment become difficult to reach. Displacement therefore affects safety, dignity, family life and the future.

International humanitarian law seeks to protect civilians and civilian homes and to preserve access to essential services during war. These protections matter because civilians should not bear the full cost of military action. The article does not explain the law, so this legal context comes from established humanitarian principles.