A grim and predictable milestone has been reached. This week, a global hunger monitor, backed by the United Nations, made a formal declaration that many aid agencies had long feared: famine is now present in Gaza City and the surrounding northern areas.
This isn't a natural disaster. It’s not a result of failed crops or drought. It is, as the report makes clear, a man-made catastrophe. A direct consequence of a military campaign that has blocked, restricted, and obliterated the means of survival for over two million people. The international reaction has been one of justified fury and desperate calls for action. But amidst this global chorus of condemnation, one voice is notably, deafeningly absent: that of the United States.
To call the situation in Gaza a ‘humanitarian crisis’ now feels like an understatement. Famine is the absolute highest end of the hunger scale, a term used only when specific, horrific thresholds are met: extreme lack of food, acute malnutrition, and mortality rates soaring due to starvation.
The Integrated Food Security Phase Classification (IPC) doesn’t use the word ‘famine’ lightly. Their declaration means that in northern Gaza, at least one in five households faces a complete lack of food, over 30% of children are acutely malnourished, and daily starvation deaths are a reality. This has been engineered through a sustained blockade on aid, the destruction of bakeries and farmland, and a military operation that has made delivery of what little aid gets in perilous, if not impossible.
Parents are foraging for scraps of weed to boil for their children. The sound of bombing is now accompanied by the silence of starving infants too weak to cry. This is the reality on the ground, confirmed by impartial, UN-backed experts.
The IPC’s confirmation has prompted a wave of outrage from across the globe. European leaders, Arab nations, and humanitarian organisations have universally condemned the situation, demanding an immediate ceasefire and a massive, unfettered influx of aid.
And then there is the United States.
The White House, typically quick to comment on international crises, has uttered not a single word in response to the famine declaration. The State Department, too, has remained silent. This is the same administration that has repeatedly stated its commitment to a two-state solution and its concern for Palestinian civilians. Yet, when presented with the ultimate evidence of their suffering, its response is a void.
This silence is not happening in a vacuum. It follows months of the US providing diplomatic cover for Israel at the UN, alongside the continuous flow of American munitions. The dissonance is staggering: on one hand, the US air-drops pallets of aid in a starkly symbolic gesture; on the other, it continues to supply the very bombs that destroy infrastructure and make those air-drops necessary in the first place.
This leads us to the most troubling question: what does this American silence truly mean?
When the world’s sole superpower and Israel’s most steadfast ally refuses to even acknowledge a UN-backed declaration of famine, it sends a powerful signal. To the Israeli government, it can easily be interpreted as an implicit go-ahead. A green light that suggests their current strategy—including the large-scale assault on Gaza City and the painfully slow ‘drip-feeding’ of aid—will not incur meaningful diplomatic consequences from their most important partner.
The Israeli government’s response to the famine claim—dismissing it as an “outright lie”—further highlights the danger of this US silence. Without a strong, factual rebuttal from its chief ally, this denialism is allowed to stand unchallenged in the corridors of power. It creates a parallel reality where a verifiable humanitarian catastrophe is dismissed as propaganda, while the conditions enabling it continue unabated.
How much longer can the US remain silent? Every hour of silence costs lives. Every day without a forceful American demand for change allows the famine to deepen and entrench itself.
The Stakes Could Not Be Higher.
This is about more than just politics; it’s about our collective humanity. Famine is a slow, agonising, and utterly preventable end. Allowing it to be used as a tool of war shreds the very fabric of international law and human decency.
The United States finds itself at a profound crossroads. It can continue its current path of qualified, behind-the-scenes pressure that has manifestly failed to prevent this catastrophe. Or, it can use its immense leverage—the kind that comes from being the primary supplier of both military aid and diplomatic protection—to demand an immediate ceasefire and the opening of all land crossings for aid.
The tools are there. The influence is there. The question is whether the political will and moral courage can be found.
This is about more than just politics; it’s about our collective humanity. Famine is a slow, agonising, and utterly preventable end. Allowing it to be used as a tool of war shreds the very fabric of international law and human decency.
The United States finds itself at a profound crossroads. It can continue its current path of qualified, behind-the-scenes pressure that has manifestly failed to prevent this catastrophe. Or, it can use its immense leverage—the kind that comes from being the primary supplier of both military aid and diplomatic protection—to demand an immediate ceasefire and the opening of all land crossings for aid.
The tools are there. The influence is there. The question is whether the political will and moral courage can be found.
The world has spoken. Impartial experts have presented the evidence. The silence from Washington is no longer just puzzling; it is complicit. It is a silence that echoes, and in that echo, one can hear the whispers of consent.
It is long past time for the United States to break its silence. To state clearly and unequivocally that famine is a red line. To demand an end to the suffering and to lead the world not in empty gestures, but in a concerted effort to save countless innocent lives. History will judge this moment, and it will judge not just the actions of those who wield the weapons, but the silence of those who had the power to stop it.
What do you think? Should the US use its leverage to force a change? Share your thoughts in the comments below.
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