Regional Voices: A livelihood stolen, a heritage eroded, a future uncertain.
Haidar Abu Middain runs a calloused hand over the rough bark of a solitary olive tree, one of the few remaining witnesses to a lost world. Sixty years old, his face etched with the hardship of a lifetime in Gaza, he surveys the flattened earth where once stood 900 dunums of his family’s olive grove. Before the war, it was a sea of silver-green, promising a harvest that sustained not just his family, but a large swathe of central Gaza. Now, it’s dust and the ghosts of olives. He remembers the days when the groves were a shared space, a seasonal gathering place for extended family, a source of pride and sustenance. Today, almost half the orchard is beyond a forbidden “yellow line”, patrolled by Israeli troops. What remains yields barely enough oil for his own family – two drums, when they once produced 900.
A Silent Grief
The mood in Deir al-Balah market, like many across Gaza, is a blend of quiet desperation and stoic resilience. Imad al-Ajrami, a shopper, explained that the price of olive oil has tripled since the conflict began, placing it far beyond the reach of most families. “It’s a luxury now,” he says, shaking his head. The usual bustle of harvest season is absent, replaced by a sparse offering of overpriced goods. Even in the ‘safe zone’ of Deir al-Balah, where some groves remain, the sense of loss is palpable. Khalil Mansi and his family gather what they can, their picnic in the shade a bittersweet reminder of what has been. For men like Ahmed Khader, work that once lasted months is now reduced to a single, precious day. “We still have to provide for our children,” he says, his voice weary, but firm. There’s a sense of collective mourning, a grief for a tradition shattered, a connection to the land severed. People speak of a future where this essential part of their heritage might disappear entirely.
The Roots of Conflict
The decimation of Gaza’s olive groves is not simply collateral damage. It is a stark illustration of how the Israel-Iran dynamic plays out on the ground, profoundly impacting Palestinian livelihoods. While Israel has publicly stated it doesn’t target agricultural land, the extensive bulldozing – particularly in border areas – is perceived as a deliberate tactic to create buffer zones, restricting Palestinian access and control over their land. This access restriction also feeds into the security concerns repeatedly cited by Israel, often linked to preventing Hamas’ activities. Iran’s support for groups like Hamas, in turn, fuels the cycle of conflict, leading to the devastating consequences felt by civilians. This isn’t a political calculation discussed in Tehran or Jerusalem; it’s lived reality for those whose trees have been uprooted, whose income has vanished.
A Seed of Hope?
Despite the immense loss, a flicker of hope remains in the resilience of families like the Mansis, who continue to harvest what they can. The small-scale efforts to replant and preserve what’s left, driven by local initiatives, signal a refusal to surrender to despair. It is a reminder that even in the face of seemingly insurmountable challenges, the desire to rebuild, to sustain life, persists. It is a fragile hope, but one that speaks to the enduring human spirit and the deep connection between a people and their land — a connection that even conflict cannot entirely erase.
Source: Reuters reporting from Gaza/Cairo, as published by Al-Monitor, October 14, 2026.
