Nagham Karaja 
Gaza — In the heart of a city whose patience has been shattered under the weight of continuous airstrikes and suffocating siege, Somaya Al-Qanou stands firm, choosing to remain on a ground made of ruins. She refuses to flee south, no matter the cost. Remarkably, she is not an exception—her stance reflects a collective decision shared by many, even as the tragedies multiply. 
For the past two years, Israel’s ongoing assault—marked by air raids, artillery fire, and a crushing blockade—has pursued a deliberate strategy: emptying civilian areas through forced displacement, destroying residential infrastructure, and imposing a grim equation—death or exodus. 
Even after her last shelter in Gaza City collapsed, Somaya refused to surrender. She declared, with heartbreaking clarity: 
“I will never leave, even if they kill us here. Where would we go? This is our land—who will remain to protect Gaza if we leave?” 
The moment of transformation began when Israeli forces issued a warning: evacuate the residential tower within ten minutes. The building—thirteen stories high—was home to dozens of displaced families. Panic spread like wildfire. 
Somaya recalls the moment vividly: 
“The call came at 12:30 p.m. on Friday. We had ten minutes. People began throwing furniture off balconies—there was no time to climb upstairs or collect anything: no documents, no clothes, no memories. All I could think of was grabbing my children and getting them somewhere they could breathe.” 
In a heartbeat, the tower became dust, and hope turned into a desperate race for survival. 
What Somaya’s account reveals is not just personal loss—it points to a systematic attack on civilian life. She explains that the destruction of residential towers has been used as a tool of pressure and forced displacement. Over three hundred buildings, she says, have been targeted since the beginning of the offensive, uprooting thousands of families: 
“The tower that once sheltered me was among the first casualties of this policy—it was not spared by either warning or mercy.” 
She watched the collapse from a distance, frozen in disbelief: 
“I saw my home fall before my eyes. I didn’t believe it until it was gone. Everything disappeared in a single moment. I carried nothing but my children—and prayed they would live.” 
In the days that followed, after losing their home, the family had no choice but to break into an abandoned university building to sleep at night. It was a striking symbol of how deeply normal life had unraveled. 
“I felt like I had fallen below zero,” Somaya says. “We have nowhere to go. At night we lie on the cold floor, trying to protect ourselves from the dark and the cold with whatever strength we have left.” 
Her words, saturated with pain, capture the suffering of thousands who have lost their homes and are now searching for any roof, any plank of wood, to shield their children. 
Yet Somaya’s steadfastness is not born of stubbornness—it comes from a profound connection to the land, to memory, and to history itself. For her, displacement is not a solution—it is the disintegration of a people’s identity. 
“This is not just about a house,” she insists. “It’s about the memory of an entire nation. Every stone here tells a story. I cannot abandon it. I won’t treat the soil of my ancestors as something to be sold.” 
Around her, the social fabric is crumbling: families are scattered, infrastructure has collapsed, and people now depend on scarce humanitarian aid. The danger lies not only in bombs, but in the absence of water, electricity, medicine, and the paralysis of health and education services. For women, the burden is even heavier, as they are forced to keep their families afloat under impossible circumstances. 
Somaya’s story is one thread in a vast tapestry of pain—but it also carries a glimmer of unbreakable resolve. Her defiance, both moral and political, stands as a reminder that the land is not merely property—it is memory, origin, and existence itself. 
Her words reignite a vital conversation about the legality and ethics of forced displacement and mass evacuation, demanding urgent humanitarian and legal scrutiny from the international community and independent investigators.