Throughout my career, I’ve been fortunate to witness firsthand the resilience of people living under unimaginable conditions. Whether its Indigenous communities in Canada, in Uganda, or the besieged strip of Gaza, I’ve always believed that as a physician, a humanitarian, and a human being, my role is to do whatever is within my power to alleviate suffering.
For some, alleviating suffering means donating money, providing a shoulder to cry on, or even donating an organ. For me, it has meant being on the frontlines—offering medical care in high-risk zones, teaching local physicians, and setting up sustainable programs that live on long after I leave. This isn’t just a professional calling; it’s a deeply personal responsibility.
Every one of us, in our own ways, has the capacity to ask, How can I help? For me, the answer has always been through action.
Over the years, my work has taken me to Gaza—one of the most complex, heart-wrenching places I’ve ever been. I’ve set up education programs, taught nephrology and trauma management, and treated patients amidst bombardment. But what makes Gaza different isn’t just the work itself; it’s the staggering reality that physicians and humanitarian workers there face threats unlike anywhere else in the world.
As humanitarian physicians, we understand what it means to enter high-risk zones. We know the dangers, but we also know that international law is on our side, that humanitarian workers are supposed to be protected. In most places I’ve worked, there is an underlying sense of safety in knowing that even in conflict, the international community is watching, and that—at a minimum—doctors are shielded by international conventions.
But Gaza is a stark and heartbreaking exception to this standard. In Gaza, doctors are not only vulnerable; they are targets. Medical facilities, ambulances, and the very people who dedicate their lives to saving others are under constant threat. I’ve witnessed this with my own eyes. I’ve seen the hospitals where I worked come under attack, heard the stories of colleagues who were killed while trying to save lives, and felt the chilling reality that providing care in Gaza can be a death sentence.
Despite this unimaginable risk, physicians continue to return to Gaza. We return not because we are naïve or reckless, but because Gaza is more than just a place of conflict—it is a place of unparalleled resilience and humanity. The people of Gaza endure endless hardship, and yet, they remain steadfast. They hope. They rebuild. They refuse to give up on their right to a future.
When I return to Gaza, I don’t just go to offer care—I go because Gaza has become a part of me.
There is something unique about the humanitarian physicians who work in Gaza. We aren’t just there for short-term missions or to fulfill a professional duty. We are there because we recognize that the battle for life in Gaza is not just about survival in the face of war; it is about dignity, resilience, and hope. We are there because the people of Gaza deserve the same access to care, the same right to a future, as anyone else in the world.
In many ways, being a humanitarian physician in Gaza has taught me more about humanity than anywhere else. It has taught me that even in the darkest of circumstances, hope is a powerful force. It has shown me that when international law fails, when the world turns a blind eye, we must step forward. We must stand alongside those who need us most, even when the risks are high.