Huda Skaik
The Electronic Intifada / October 10, 2024
Ceasefire negotiations concerning the Israeli genocide in Gaza have emerged as a double-edged sword.
On the surface, they promise resolution and a glimmer of hope amid the prolonged suffering. However, for many Palestinians in Gaza, including my family and myself, these talks frequently amplify our despair rather than alleviate it.
The cyclical nature of the negotiations has become almost a predictable pattern since last May: high-profile talks are announced at the beginning of the week. Expectations are raised, results are positive, pressures are imposed, and then, at the end of the week, the process collapses or results in half-measures that fall short of substantive change.
This pattern creates a depressing environment where hope is teased rather than fulfilled.
For my family and I, negotiations mean a temporary respite from chaos but also a prolonged state of uncertainty. As diplomats and local leaders engage in dialogue, we are left in limbo, struggling with the deteriorating living conditions we endure.
Each time I know about a negotiation or a ceasefire talks, I always tell my family with hope in my eyes: “This time, I feel it will work and we will return to Gaza City.”
Unfortunately, each time we hear that a deal is about to be reached, it collapses and breaks down. We are told some controversial points between the parties have not been resolved. They always revolve around the Philadelphi Corridor, the buffer zone along the Egypt-Gaza border, or the Netsarim corridor, which divides Gaza into north and south.
If it is not about Israel’s military redeployment, it is about Israel’s captives or returning the displaced from the south to the north.
Phone calls and future plans
I remember in June, during one such round of negotiations, I got a call from my cousin, who is still in Gaza’s north – I and my closest relatives have been displaced to the south.
“Huda, you all will return home. Ready yourself to get back here. We are preparing to welcome all of you as we miss all of you so much,” she said.
“Are you sure or are you just kidding to test how my reaction would be when such a thing occurs?” I responded.
My cousin was certain that she had read about a ceasefire deal in the news reports.
An hour later, I heard that officials were denying reports about any successful peace deals.
Similarly, negotiations in August fuelled my hope again.
My brother and I watched the sun set one evening and wondered whether the negotiations will work this time. We always share our plans for when we return to Gaza and discuss how we will collect our stuff from under the rubble one day.
We also discuss how we will greet my grandparents, aunts and uncles when a ceasefire is declared.
Each time we call our grandparents, who are still in the north, and tell them about our hopes, they end the call by saying: “This war will end, and you all will return very soon. Inshallah. Just stay strong and stay safe and never lose hope.”
My mother said the only difference between us and the victims of the 1948 Nakba is that our destiny is still unknown.
“We are not really sure if we will return after all the conspiracies against us,” she said.
Despair and diplomacy
I texted a friend who is displaced to Deir al-Balah about the ceasefire negotiations.
“It has been a long time since I stopped pinning my hopes on politicians, negotiations or what is on the world stage because the real decisions are made behind closed doors,” she said.
“The end will come all of a sudden, just like it began,” I replied.
The gap between the reported promises made during negotiations and the reality on the ground is stark, however. This only engenders a deepening sense of helplessness and hopelessness. Each time negotiations are reported, the situation in Gaza gets worse and the massacres committed increase.
People in Gaza have lost hope in negotiations and a possible ceasefire, but they haven’t lost hope in a miracle to end this genocide.
The frequent breakdown of negotiations undermines trust in the process. Each failed attempt to reach a lasting agreement only prolongs our suffering. Negotiations become political gamesmanship, where the needs and rights of displaced people are sidelined for the sake of strategic interests.
While international actors focus on overarching political solutions, the immediate needs of the displaced people such as access to basic necessities, security and a stable living environment often remain unaddressed.
This contrast between diplomatic discourse and practical relief further exacerbates the sense of despair among us.
The cycle of negotiations, with its recurring promises and failures, often leaves us feeling trapped in a state of perpetual hope and disillusionment.
A commitment to tangible, immediate relief and a concerted effort to address the underlying causes of displacement and suffering are urgently needed. Until such measures are taken, the cycle of hope and disappointment will likely continue, leaving us asking time and time again.
When will this hell ever end?
Huda Skaik is an English literature student, a writer and a filmmaker
