The deliberate starvation of the Palestinian people in Gaza is not just a humanitarian catastrophe—it is, as Professor Robin Andersen argues, a direct assault on our shared humanity and a defining moral failure of our time. As images of emaciated children and starving families flood global media, this slow and intentional genocide has begun to crack even the long-standing pro-Israel consensus in Western political and media circles. Yet, the shift comes late—far too late for many—and exposes the deep complicity of Western powers that continue to enable this crime through silence, arms sales, and diplomatic cover.
For over 21 months, major Western media outlets and governments defended or downplayed Israel’s military campaign in Gaza. According to Andersen, who teaches at Fordham University and writes extensively on media ethics and political violence, even mainstream outlets like CNN and MSNBC are only now beginning to report more critically—prompted not by sudden ethical clarity, but by the undeniable horror of starvation. Hunger, she points out, is a weapon that lingers: unlike bombs, which kill in an instant, starvation is prolonged, visible, and unbearable to witness—especially when its victims are children.
In Gaza, Andersen reports through the voice of Palestinian journalist Hiba Al-Makadmeh, “hunger has become Israel’s most brutal weapon, more devastating than bombs.” This is not incidental. It is policy—explicitly declared by Israeli officials such as National Security Minister Itamar Ben-Gvir, who said: “We will not allow a single gram of aid into Gaza until the people kneel.” Statements like these, far from being fringe rhetoric, reflect the open intent behind the siege, which Andersen identifies as forced starvation: a war crime and a form of genocide.
Andersen emphasizes how deeply starvation strikes the human psyche. Drawing from cultural reflections by actor and writer Stanley Tucci, she reminds
readers that food is central to human connection—something we all instinctively relate to. Watching someone eat makes them more human to us; seeing someone denied that basic right strips both them and us of our shared humanity. The imagery of skeletal children and desperate families, still alive but wasting away, is a wound to the conscience of the world.
Yet while ordinary people are beginning to rise in protest—raising Palestinian flags on statues, blocking Israeli cruise ships, and marching in cities from New York to London—Western governments remain largely inert. Their recent expressions of “deep concern” ring hollow. Andersen rightly questions why leaders like U.S. President Biden or UK Labour leader Keir Starmer are only now finding the courage to speak, after months of providing political and material support to Israel. This belated outrage, she suggests, is not moral reckoning but reputation management—what journalist Max Blumenthal calls “reputation laundering.”
Moreover, Andersen draws attention to the growing condemnation by human rights organizations. While some, like Amnesty International, spoke out early, even formerly cautious groups such as B’Tselem and Physicians for Human Rights – Israel have now labeled the starvation and mass killing in Gaza as genocide. These are not symbolic declarations; they represent a shift in the global consensus and an indictment of those who still refuse to act.
Throughout her analysis, Andersen returns to one core truth: this is not just a crime against Palestinians. It is an attack on the very idea of humanity. And those who watch it unfold without intervening—those who could stop the famine and choose not to—are morally accountable. “We don’t need pity,” says Hiba Al-Makadmeh, as quoted by Andersen. “We need pressure on those who are preventing food from reaching us.”
This starvation campaign, Andersen concludes, is not only an act of genocide—it is a mirror held up to the West. And what we see reflected is not strength or leadership, but cowardice and complicity. Unless Western nations take real action—cutting off arms, demanding ceasefire, and ensuring humanitarian access—they will be remembered not as defenders of rights, but as enablers of atrocity. History will not forget who watched and did nothing.
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