What Reconstructing Gaza Really Means

By Samer Sinijlawi

Thursday, November 13, 2025

 

The window President Donald Trump opened in the Middle East is narrow, but it is real. His intervention helped bring about a cease-fire that many thought impossible. In a region exhausted by endless war, that act alone deserves recognition. But ahead lies a task even more difficult than halting the gunfire: to repair what has been destroyed in Gaza, which is not only infrastructure but trust, both between and among Palestinians and Israelis.

 

Cranes and cement, together with time and money, can clear away physical rubble. But the moral and emotional debris will linger: fear, hatred, dehumanization. Reconciliation will have to advance in parallel with reconstruction. And for that, what’s required is what I like to think of as the four D’s.

 

First, for obvious reasons, demilitarization. But removing weapons alone does not remove the will to use them. Gaza will also need to deradicalize, which means healing minds poisoned by decades of hatred and fear; to democratize, which entails restoring legitimate and accountable institutions; and to develop a functioning economy that can replace despair with dignity.

 

Each of these necessities depends on the others. Without deradicalization, demilitarization will not last. Without democracy, development will be corrupted. And without development, deradicalization will fail. These are therefore not separate objectives but one integrated vision—the blueprint for a sustainable peace.

 

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During the war, heartbreaking images flowed out of Gaza: infants buried before they received their birth certificate, toddlers pulled from rubble covered in dust, staring blankly into a future already stolen. Some children survived without their parents. Others crowded into undersupplied hospitals that had only makeshift bandages to swathe their wounds and no anesthesia for their surgeries.

 

According to UNICEF and other United Nations agencies, Gaza now has the highest number of child amputees per capita in the world. Between 3,000 and 4,000 children have lost one or more limbs since the war began, many after being pulled from collapsed buildings. More than 64,000 children have been killed or maimed in the past two years. Nearly 1.9 million people—mostly children—have been displaced, and hundreds of thousands no longer attend school.

 

Behind these statistics are people with names, faces, and futures. For them, the war will never truly end. Every morning, they will wake to a reminder of what they’ve lost, and of what we, the adults, failed to protect.

 

To point outward is easy, and often justified—to Israel’s bombardment, to the world’s indifference, to the international systems that failed to stop this humanitarian nightmare. But we Palestinians must confront another truth: that this tragedy is also partly of our own making. Our leadership has been divided, disconnected, and dysfunctional. Political factions in Ramallah and Gaza have spent the war years fighting over authority and legitimacy, often seeking comfort in slogans rather than solutions.

 

Leadership means taking responsibility—investing in hospitals, prosthetics, and rehabilitation centers, say, rather than in propaganda. It means securing the peace, however fragile, not just with handshakes and press conferences but with actions that confer legitimacy and inspire hope. This is some of what Gaza will need from its leaders. From the international community, Palestinians will need support for education, dialogue, and joint initiatives that make coexistence with Israelis a lived reality rather than a diplomatic slogan.

 

The Palestinian Authority, led by President Mahmoud Abbas, has long since lost credibility among Palestinians and has come to be seen as disconnected from their aspirations. And so what is needed now is not bureaucratic continuity but moral renewal, beginning with free and fair elections. Abbas himself pledged in June to hold them within a year. That promise must be kept as soon as basic necessities are restored in Gaza, because legitimacy cannot wait for perfect conditions; it is their precondition.

 

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Whether the current cease-fire becomes a turning point or just another pause before the next catastrophe depends on the willingness of the region’s people to look inward as well as across the border. That introspection, that assumption of responsibility for the future, is what my “four D’s” represent.

 

Demilitarization is essential to stop the cycle of destruction, but it must not become a euphemism for subjugation. Palestinians deserve security and sovereignty, not supervision. Deradicalization is equally vital—not as a coerced reeducation, but as part of a healing process that encompasses Israelis as well as Palestinians. Extremism has infected both societies; curing it requires dialogue, and the courage to see the other not as an enemy but as a traumatized neighbor.

 

Democratization would allow Palestinians to choose their leaders freely and hold them accountable. Legitimacy, not loyalty or fear, would become the bedrock of our institutions and a foundation for a lasting peace. But a hungry, unemployed, and hopeless population cannot sustain moderation, and so development is inextricable from the other three aims. Aid has long kept Palestinians alive, but it hasn’t allowed them to live in dignity.

 

Our struggle as Palestinians has never just been against occupation. It is also a struggle against our own resignation. Real peace demands speaking with Israelis—not just about them. It requires turning humanitarian relief into political momentum, and transforming pain into purpose. Until we convince Israelis that Palestinian independence is in their own security interest, nothing fundamental will change on the ground.

 

The true measure of a people is how they care for their most vulnerable. Today, the children of Gaza—those learning to walk again, those growing up without limbs or parents—are holding up a mirror to all of us. If they can find the strength to live again, surely we can find the courage to rebuild, to reform, and to believe once more in coexistence. If we do not, history will remember not only what was done to us—but what we failed to do for ourselves.

 

The world can deliver aid, prosthetics, and promises. But the healing of our nations must begin in Gaza, Ramallah, and Jerusalem—with Palestinians and Israelis deciding that coexistence is not naivete but necessity. Rebuilding without reconciling can only be  temporary. An enduring peace requires us to rebuild the moral architecture of our shared humanity.