United Nations (UNHCR) bringing aid to refugees and displaced, Kirkos, Ethiopia, July 2013

I usually refrain from commenting on political developments. I do so deliberately, because of my professional position and my belief in the importance of careful, informed judgement. But what is happening in the world over the past few days — particularly in the Middle East — has left me deeply upset and worried, both as a humanitarian and as a human being.

I follow the news about Gaza and Iran with a heavy heart. I see images of destruction, read about lives lost — and I struggle. Not because I want to debate geopolitical strategies or defend one actor over another. But because I see pain, fear, displacement, and grief on all sides. And because I feel we are rapidly losing our ability to respond to this pain with clarity, honesty, and compassion.

What is happening in Gaza is, without question, horrific. The scale of civilian suffering, the targeting of basic infrastructure, the deaths of children — it is intolerable. But I also see the suffering of Israeli families living in fear, the panic in Iranian cities, the pain of Jewish and Muslim communities alike, targeted far from the region in acts of hatred or revenge. In my work, I meet people who are affected by these dynamics in real and painful ways — no matter which country they come from.

This is not about excusing violence. It is about acknowledging that, wherever it comes from and whoever it targets, violence dehumanises. It is about reaffirming the idea that human life must remain sacred — even when politics are complex. It is about remembering that being for one community must never mean being against another.

I write this not as a political expert — I am not one — but as someone who has spent their life working with people displaced by war, persecution, and despair. I have seen what conflict does to families, to children, to dreams. And I have seen how crucial it is to protect the space for empathy, even when it is hardest.

This post is not a political statement, nor does it reflect the views of any institution I work for. It is simply a personal reflection — an attempt to make sense of what feels senseless.

We do not need to agree on all things. But perhaps we can agree that every civilian death is a tragedy. That human dignity must matter. That we must not allow ourselves to become desensitised to suffering. And that the hope of peace — however faint — must not be lost.