THERE is something profoundly disquieting about a moral catastrophe unfolding under the glaring light of international attention鈥攐nly to be met with an American shrug and a diplomatic shrug-off. Israel鈥檚 unfolding plan to seize full military and administrative control of Gaza, paired with the dismaying acquiescence of the United States, ought to alarm every conscience. Yet it receives, at best, a half-hearted response.
Israeli prime minister Benjamin Netanyahu鈥檚 security cabinet quietly approved a sweeping plan 鈥� one that envisages the forced displacement of roughly 800,000 Palestinians from Gaza City by October 7 and possibly the imposition of full control across the Strip by that date. Official statements from Netanyahu鈥檚 office even confirmed discussions with president Trump over the logistics of 鈥榩ost-war administration鈥� 鈥� a euphemism for occupation, displacement, and demographic engineering.
Imagine being one of the tens of thousands who remain in Gaza: your streets are rubble, your home is no more than a memory, and your stomach is emptier than before. The Gaza Health Ministry reports at least 61,000 Palestinians have died since October 2023, with 271 of those deaths attributed to hunger, including 100 children. These are not accidental deaths; they are the direct consequence of restrictions on humanitarian aid, the deliberate targeting of food supply lines, and the closure of border crossings. The Integrated Food Security Phase Classification warns famine has already arrived, half a million Gazans are starving, and many more are just days away from irreversible malnutrition.
Human Rights Watch has called starvation a 鈥榳eapon of war鈥�, a term that carries not only moral condemnation but legal weight: under the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court, it constitutes a war crime. Save the Children notes that the impact will be generational. Even if the fighting were to end tomorrow, children who survive will suffer irreversible cognitive and physical harm, born into a cycle of deprivation that no ceasefire can erase.
It is not as if the world has been silent. From Madrid to Amman, foreign ministries have condemned the plan. Spain, Portugal, Norway, Jordan, Turkey, and Saudi Arabia have all issued statements denouncing Israel鈥檚 actions as dangerous, destabilising, and morally indefensible. Germany has gone further, halting military exports to Israel in a rare break from its post鈥揥orld War II foreign policy reflexes. UN officials warn that Gaza is on the brink of 鈥榓nother calamity鈥�, one that could trigger mass displacement beyond the Strip and ignite a regional crisis stretching from Lebanon to the Red Sea.
Observers have described Netanyahu鈥檚 strategy as political theatre for his far-right coalition partners, while others draw disturbing parallels to ethnic cleansing. In any other setting, the forced removal of a civilian population and the deliberate withholding of food and aid would trigger the strongest possible sanctions. But not here.
President Trump鈥檚 remarks 鈥� 鈥榩retty much up to Israel鈥� 鈥� are more than just a passing comment; they are policy by omission. Ambassador Dorothy Shea鈥檚 defence of Israel at the UN Security Council, even in the face of genocide allegations, signals that Washington will not only abstain from criticism but actively shield its ally from accountability. Former Arkansas governor Mike Huckabee went so far as to say the issue is 鈥榥ot America鈥檚 concern鈥�. That phrase encapsulates the moral retreat of US foreign policy: when human suffering does not align with strategic objectives, it is deemed irrelevant.
Even when Netanyahu鈥檚 ideas crossed into the realm of international trusteeship 鈥� suggesting US or broader foreign administrative control over Gaza, paired with mass relocation 鈥� the Trump administration鈥檚 response was muted. No red lines were drawn. No consequences were threatened.
The United States and Israel have long been bound by a relationship that is equal parts strategic calculation and political tradition. Since 1948, Washington has been Israel鈥檚 primary supplier of military aid 鈥� currently averaging over $3.8 billion annually 鈥� and its most reliable defender in the UN Security Council. This alliance is often framed in terms of 鈥榮hared democratic values鈥� and mutual security interests, yet in practice it has functioned as a political constant, immune to shifts in public opinion or changing realities on the ground.
The power of pro-Israel lobbying in Washington, most notably AIPAC, cannot be discounted. Congressional candidates who question military aid to Israel risk political isolation. Media narratives, too, often reflect the framing of the US鈥揑srael relationship as a non-negotiable pillar of American foreign policy. The result is a feedback loop: political survival in Washington depends on supporting Israel, and that support justifies Israeli policies that in turn demand further American backing.
The Gaza takeover is not happening in a vacuum. Jordan, already hosting millions of Palestinian refugees, fears a destabilising influx that could strain its political balance. Lebanon, mired in its own crises, sees renewed tensions along the southern border as Hezbollah signals it will not remain passive. Egypt worries about Sinai security and the possible spillover of armed groups. The Red Sea, a vital shipping route, risks becoming a new theatre of proxy confrontations. Every regional actor understands that Gaza鈥檚 destabilisation has ripple effects; Washington, however, appears to treat it as a contained conflict, ignoring the potential for escalation into a multi-front regional war.
What makes the current situation even more egregious is its blatant violation of international law. The Fourth Geneva Convention prohibits the forcible transfer of protected persons from occupied territory, regardless of motive. Article 54 of Additional Protocol I explicitly bans 鈥榮tarvation of civilians as a method of warfare鈥�. These are not obscure legal texts; they are the foundational principles of the modern humanitarian order, principles the United States helped draft after the Second World War.
Yet Washington鈥檚 refusal to even acknowledge these violations undermines not only its moral authority but the very architecture of the international system. If one ally is exempt from the rules, why should others comply? Silence becomes complicity, and complicity erodes the credibility of every future American condemnation of human rights abuses elsewhere.
The most telling aspect of the US position is not what it says, but what it does not say. There is no call for a halt to displacement. No demand for the reopening of border crossings to aid convoys. No public acknowledgement of the famine warnings from UN agencies. In the language of diplomacy, this silence is read as a green light.
In a sense, Washington鈥檚 inaction speaks more loudly than its rhetoric ever could. By refusing to condemn, it tacitly endorses. By shielding Israel from consequences, it validates the strategy. And by doing so, it sends a message to the rest of the world: international law is conditional, and morality is negotiable.
The question remains: if the world can see this injustice, why can鈥檛 Washington? The cynical answer is that it can but chooses not to. Strategic alliances, domestic political calculations, and the inertia of decades-old policy outweigh the moral imperative to act. The more generous answer 鈥� that Washington genuinely believes Israel鈥檚 security justifies these measures 鈥� is harder to accept in the face of mounting civilian death tolls and credible famine warnings.
If the United States cannot 鈥� or will not 鈥� apply the same standards of accountability to its allies as it does to its adversaries, then the post-war international order it claims to defend is already in decay. The precedent being set today will echo in conflicts tomorrow: authoritarian states will cite Gaza as proof that humanitarian law is optional, so long as one has the right friends.
If we value democracy, justice, and international norms, we must confront these questions. When humanitarian collapse becomes statecraft, and famine becomes policy, the cost is not measured only in lost lives but in the surrender of humanity itself. The credibility of the international order depends on the willingness of its most powerful member to uphold its principles consistently, not selectively.
History will judge those who chose silence in the face of starvation and displacement. And it will not be kind.
So again, let the question echo beyond Washington鈥檚 marble halls: If the world can see this injustice, why can鈥檛 Washington?
听
听HM Nazmul Alam is an academic, journalist, and political analyst based in Dhaka.
