On the Brink and Between the Rubble: The Delicate Work of Stabilising Gaza
On a gray morning beneath an exhausted sky, a convoy of unmarked vehicles slid along a cracked road near the Gaza border. Dust hung in the air like a memory. Children, wrapped in faded sweaters, watched from a distance as men with radios argued quietly. It was the kind of scene you see when nations try to stitch together something fragile — a truce, a promise, a plan — out of the raw material of loss.
Washington has quietly begun to assemble an international stabilisation force for Gaza, one senior US adviser told reporters this week. Not a full-fledged occupation. Not boots on Gaza soil in numbers that would change the balance of power. Rather, a coalition of partners — potentially including Indonesia, the United Arab Emirates, Egypt, Qatar and Azerbaijan — meant to act as a buffer and a scaffold for a battered civilian life.
“We’re trying to create breathing room for people,” the adviser said. “Think of it as a temporary spine — coordination, oversight, protection of civilians — until local structures can stand again.”
How big, and how close?
The United States has reportedly offered up to 200 troops in a supporting role. They would not be deployed inside Gaza itself, officials say, but up to two dozen American personnel are already in the region helping to assemble the operation. Their mandate appears to be logistical, technical and diplomatic rather than combative.
That kind of restraint matters: Gaza is home to roughly 2.3 million people, tightly packed into just 365 square kilometres, where every movement of troops is read like a signal.
“We don’t want foreign forces to feel like occupiers,” said Lina Mansour, a professor of Middle East politics in Amman. “The key is legitimacy — if local communities, neighbouring states and international organisations see this as support rather than control, it can work.”
Who will step forward?
Talks are underway with a curious mix of countries — Muslim-majority states (Indonesia, Qatar), neighbours with leverage (Egypt), a Gulf financial power (UAE) and an unlikely regional player (Azerbaijan). Each brings different strengths: diplomatic access, logistical capacity, political credibility with various Palestinian factions.
Some Gaza residents are cautiously hopeful. “If it means aid will get through, if it means hospitals can breathe, I’m for anything,” said Amal, a volunteer paramedic in Gaza City, who asked that only her first name be used. She paused, looking at a pile of tarpaulin. “But we have been promised things before. Words are not enough.”
Safe zones, and the fear of displacement
One of the operational ideas under discussion is the creation of safe zones — areas where civilians might find shelter and where targeted violence could be prevented. After a recent wave of retributive killings in Gaza City — where Hamas accused several men of collaborating with Israel — the need for protection is painfully evident.
Officials say no one will be forcibly moved out of Gaza. Rebuilding would be focused on neighbourhoods considered free of militant infrastructure. “There can be no mass expulsions,” a US adviser insisted. “That is non-starter.”
Still, the spectre of displacement lingers. Memories of 1948, memories of later waves of violence, haunt conversations. For many Gazans, safety is not merely geographic; it is a sense of normal life returned: markets open, children in school, a youth football game at sunset.
Bodies, bargains and the politics of grief
At the heart of this fragile ceasefire are human stories that do not fit neatly into diplomatic briefs. In the past week, Hamas handed over the remains of two Israelis: Inbar Hayman, a 27-year-old graffiti artist known as “Pink” who was killed at the Nova music festival, and Sergeant Major Mohammad al-Atrash, a 39-year-old soldier of Bedouin origin. Israel’s army said their remains were identified and repatriated for burial.
The exchange has been bitterly transactional: 20 living Israeli hostages returned in exchange for the release of nearly 2,000 Palestinian prisoners from Israeli jails, according to officials. Meanwhile, discussions are under way about returning Palestinian dead — Israel is reportedly to return 15 Palestinian bodies for each Israeli civilian corpse under the Trump’s 20-point plan.
“Everyone counts the dead differently,” said Dr. Nasser Yassin, a sociologist in Beirut who studies wartime memory. “For families, the remains are the last thing that ends the nightmare. Politicians count them as cards in a negotiation.”
Hamas’s armed wing argued it had handed over all the corpses it could access and that further recoveries require heavy machinery and time. Israeli ministers warned that if Hamas does not comply with the ceasefire’s terms, military action could resume.
Back in Jerusalem, a funeral took place for Daniel Peretz. In the crowd, relatives held photos, faces pressed to the images like a prayer. Mourners speak of holes where laughter used to be. “We need closure,” one sister told a reporter, her voice small against a stadium of grief. “When they are gone without an answer, it is as if our home also died.”
Humanitarian threads: crossings, aid, and a fragile promise
Humanitarian officials are focused on the practicalities: food, water, medical supplies, fuel and shelter. UN humanitarian chief Tom Fletcher urged Israel to open all Gaza crossings immediately so aid can flow — particularly through Rafah, the southern crossing to Egypt that can operate without passing through Israel.
“The test is simple,” Fletcher said. “Are children being fed? Are there anaesthetics in operating rooms? Are there tents over people’s heads?”
So far, Rafah has not been fully reopened. The Gaza health ministry, run by Hamas, reported that Israel transferred another 45 Palestinian bodies to Nasser Hospital — bringing the number returned from Israeli custody to 90 — but those numbers coexist uneasily with empty shelves in clinics and stretched oxygen supplies.
Violations and the thin line of the ceasefire
The ceasefire itself is being tested on a daily basis. Gaza’s civil defence said Israeli fire killed three Palestinians, including two trying to reach their homes in Shujaiya. Israel says troops struck after suspects crossed a “yellow line” to approach forces — a violation, in Israeli eyes, that demanded response.
Who defines the line? Who monitors it? These questions are not rhetorical. They are the hard, small mechanics of peace-making. Without transparent mechanisms, every incident becomes a tinderbox.
What happens next — and what should concern the world?
There are practical questions and moral ones. Can a multinational stabilisation mission be formed quickly enough to prevent renewed fighting? Can reconstruction proceed without empowering the very groups many fear — or without entrenching foreign control that breeds new resentments? Will humanitarian aid be genuinely impartial, or will it be used as leverage in a long political argument?
“Stability without justice is a fragile thing,” said SofÃa Carter, a humanitarian policy analyst in Geneva. “If the international community wants durable peace, it will have to invest not only in security architecture but in governance, jobs and reconciliation — pieces that are far more complex than helmets and check-points.”
For those on the ground, the calculus is immediate and intimate. “We want our children to draw pictures inside the house again,” Amal the paramedic said, voice cracking. “We will not trade our dignity for a temporary calm.”
So ask yourself: what responsibility does the global community have when a territory, its people and their future hang in the balance? If international forces do enter to stabilise, will they be remembered as lifesavers or as the latest outsiders to dictate terms to people who have suffered enough?
These are not abstract hypotheticals. They are the choices that will shape the next chapter for Gaza — and the answers will ripple across a region where memory, identity and politics are braided together. The world is watching. The question is whether it will act with humility, with urgency, and with an eye toward the dignity of those it seeks to help.
