Azmat Ali
THE suffering of Gaza is one of the most persistent tragedies of the 21st century. Year after year, its people endure the suffocating grip of blockade, bombardment, and dispossession. Families are displaced, homes are reduced to rubble, and children are denied the most basic right to safety. Yet Gaza remains more than a geographic strip of land under siege. It has become a symbol — of resilience, of faith under fire, and of a moral test for the global community, especially for Muslim countries.
For Muslims worldwide, Gaza is not merely a political or humanitarian issue; it is a profound trial of conscience. How should we, as one-ummah, respond when our brothers and sisters cry out under oppression? Do we retreat into despair, waiting for divine rescue, or do we embody God’s mercy through solidarity, action, and steadfast support? The crisis in Gaza reminds us that Muslim solidarity is not just an abstract principle. It is the concrete expression of God’s merciful intervention in history, manifested through the deeds of those who refuse to be silent in the face of injustice. Gaza compels us to rethink the relationship between faith and action, between divine mercy and human responsibility.
Gaza’s plight cannot be understood without acknowledging the long arc of its political reality. Since the mid-20th century, the people of Palestine have lived under occupation, displacement, and siege. The Gaza Strip, particularly, home to over two million people, has been described as “the world’s largest open-air prison.” Decades of blockade have crippled its economy, restricted freedom of movement, and eroded the foundations of daily life. Electricity shortages, limited access to clean water, and destroyed infrastructure have turned basic survival into a daily struggle. And yet, Gaza endures.
Despite the relentless violence, the people of Gaza have demonstrated extraordinary resilience. Their steadfastness — sumud — has become a moral beacon. For many Muslims, Gaza represents the spirit of resistance against overwhelming odds, a reminder that dignity cannot be extinguished even when surrounded by walls of oppression. But Gaza also exposes the contradictions of global politics. International institutions repeatedly fail to protect its civilians. Powerful states invoke human rights in some contexts yet turn away when Palestinian suffering is at stake. This selective compassion reveals the hypocrisy of a world order built on double standards. Gaza’s children pay the price of such moral bankruptcy. It is within this contradiction that the call for Muslim solidarity becomes most urgent. If others abandon Gaza, Muslims cannot afford to do so without betraying both their faith and their humanity.
The concept of the ummah transcends borders, ethnicity, and national interests. It is meant to bind Muslims into a moral community where the suffering of one part is felt by the whole. The Prophet Muhammad reinforced this vision when he said: “The believers in their mutual kindness, compassion, and sympathy are just like one body. When one of the limbs suffers, the whole body responds to it with wakefulness and fever.” (Sahih Muslim)
Yet the reality today stands in painful contrast. The Muslim World is fractured by geopolitics, sectarian rivalries, and competing national interests. Instead of acting as one body, Muslim-majority states often remain paralysed or divided when Gaza bleeds. Declarations of solidarity are issued, but meaningful collective action remains elusive. Despite this state-level paralysis, however, the spirit of the ummah lives on in grassroots movements, civil society organisations, and ordinary Muslims.
For Muslims, crises like Gaza raise deep theological questions. Where is God’s mercy when children are buried under rubble? How can we reconcile divine compassion with human suffering on such a scale?
Islamic tradition emphasises that God’s mercy — Rahmah — encompasses all things. The Qur’an opens with the reminder that God is “The Entirely Merciful, The Especially Merciful” (1:1). Mercy is not absent in suffering; it often appears in hidden forms: the resilience of the oppressed, the courage of caregivers, the global empathy that emerges in times of crisis. Yet faith warns against fatalism. Waiting passively for God’s intervention while ignoring our own responsibility distorts the meaning of mercy. The Noble Qur’an is explicit: “Indeed, Allah will not change the condition of a people until they change what is in themselves.” (13:11)
Divine mercy, then, does not eliminate human duty. Rather, it empowers us to act. In Gaza’s case, mercy may manifest in the global Muslim community refusing to turn away, raising its voice, sending aid, and applying political pressure. To pray for Gaza while doing nothing is to misunderstand how God’s mercy operates.
The Gaza crisis has become a mirror reflecting the conscience of the Muslim World. Do we truly live by the Prophet’s teaching that the ummah is one body? Or do we allow political calculations and comfort to mute our response?
The truth is sobering. Too often, Muslim solidarity with Gaza is expressed in emotional bursts: demonstrations, slogans, or temporary aid drives. These are important, but they do not alter the structural conditions of occupation and siege. Real solidarity requires more: sustained humanitarian programs, political lobbying, global campaigns for justice, and investment in Palestinian resilience.
Moreover, Gaza exposes the limits of Muslim political will. While global public opinion increasingly sympathizes with Palestinian suffering, Muslim-majority governments rarely transform that sentiment into coordinated pressure. Instead, the Palestinian cause is sometimes instrumentalised for domestic politics, invoked when convenient and ignored when unfavourable. Thus, the Gaza crisis is not only a humanitarian test but also a spiritual one. It asks every Muslim: Are we content with symbolic gestures, or will we embody the Qur’anic call to stand firmly for justice, even when it is difficult?
Amid the daily statistics of casualties and destroyed buildings, we must remember that Gaza’s story is ultimately human. It is the story of a mother who puts her children to bed in fear, unsure if they will see the morning. It is the story of a student whose dream of becoming a doctor is shattered when bombs flatten his university. It is the story of a child who learns the word “orphan” before learning the word “school.” And yet, it is also the story of extraordinary dignity. Families gather for prayer in the ruins of mosques. Teachers hold makeshift classes in tents to keep the spirit of learning alive. Children still smile, play, and draw pictures of freedom. These stories remind us that Gaza is not only about victimhood; it is also about faith and resilience.
This resilience itself can be seen as a form of divine mercy — not the absence of suffering, but the strength to endure it with dignity. It reminds Muslims everywhere that mercy is not a passive comfort but an active force that sustains the human spirit in the darkest times. If Muslim solidarity is to honour Gaza, it must move beyond rhetoric. Mercy must become action. This requires multiple pathways:
• Strengthening Humanitarian Aid: Muslim NGOs and charities must coordinate to deliver not only emergency relief but also long-term programmes in health, education, and livelihoods for Palestinians.
• Building Political Pressure: Muslim-majority states, despite divisions, must find common ground in advocating at the UN and other international forums for accountability and justice. Boycotts, sanctions, and diplomatic initiatives must be strategically deployed.
• Empowering Civil Society: Grassroots movements — student unions, professional associations, and interfaith coalitions — can amplify Palestinian voices globally. Public opinion often shifts policy over time.
• Educational and Cultural Solidarity: Supporting Palestinian students through scholarships, exchange programmes, and cultural collaborations strengthens the intellectual backbone of Gaza’s future.
• Inter-Muslim Unity: Sectarianism weakens solidarity. The Palestinian cause must be embraced as a unifying struggle for justice that transcends internal divisions.
True solidarity, then, is not symbolic but structural. It is not a momentary outcry but a sustained commitment that reflects God’s mercy in the world.
Gaza is more than a tragedy; it is a moral summons. For Muslims, it is a call to embody God’s mercy in the face of injustice, to translate faith into action, and to restore meaning to the idea of the ummah. Divine mercy does not descend from the heavens in isolation. It flows through the actions of those who act with compassion, courage, and justice. To stand with Gaza is not simply to oppose oppression but to affirm life, dignity, and faith.
If Muslims can unite their hearts and hands in mercy-driven solidarity, Gaza will not remain an open wound. It will become a testament to the enduring power of faith and the possibility of justice. In that effort, Muslims not only serve their brothers and sisters in Gaza but also fulfill their responsibility before God — who is, above all, the Most Merciful.
 ______________
Azmat Ali is a student of Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi. He can be contacted at rascov205@gmail.com
