In March 2025, a flicker of hope broke through Gaza’s smoke-choked skies. Seventeen Palestinian children—each a living testimony to horror—were evacuated from the rubble of their homes and transported to Jordan for medical care. Some arrived with legs blown off at the thigh, tiny bodies bandaged like mummies. One boy, no older than ten, had both arms amputated and his face marked by deep burns—his eyes wide with trauma, silently screaming for comfort. A girl, barely breathing, had shrapnel embedded near her spine and could only speak in whispers—if at all.
They came on stretchers, barely conscious, wrapped not in blankets but in sorrow. Their mothers were left behind, many buried under collapsed buildings or lost in the chaos of airstrikes. These children were not just patients—they were war’s rawest wounds, symbols of a people being systematically erased.
And then, the unthinkable happened.
These same children—these shattered, fragile souls—have now been forced back into Gaza by the very hands that claimed to rescue them. Yes, you read that right. Jordan, an Arab nation that for decades spoke of solidarity with Palestine, took in these children only to deliver them back into the furnace that scorched them in the first place.
Tell me—what kind of morality is this? What kind of "brotherhood" wraps a bandage with one hand and signs a deportation order with the other?
Where are the Gulf monarchs now—the ones who parade in golden robes and speak of “Islamic unity”? Where are the rulers who flood the airwaves with Quranic verses and host interfaith conferences in air-condioned palaces? They speak of Palestine in speeches crafted by PR firms, yet when Gaza's bloodied children are before them—tangible, real, crying—they turn their eyes and close their borders.
And to those Arab leaders who pretend neutrality while polishing trade deals with Israel—your silence is not neutrality. It is betrayal. You have not merely abandoned Gaza. You have delivered its children back into the fire. You have watched as limbs are torn and souls crushed, and you have done worse than nothing. You have sent the wounded back to die.
But let us not pretend that Jordan acted without pressure. Let’s explore why Amman, too, is caught in this unforgivable act of complicity.
Jordan has long played a delicate balancing act in the region. A monarchy under economic strain, with a restless population and an ever-looming refugee crisis, Jordan is wedged between its historical duty to Palestine and its alliances with Western powers. It receives aid, intelligence support, and diplomatic cover from the United States and others. In return, it's expected to toe the line.
And Israel? Just across the border, watching closely. A slight deviation, a public stand for Gaza’s children, could bring consequences: border closures, economic pressure, or worse—covert retaliation.
The kingdom's decision to deport these wounded children back to Gaza may be the result of cold political calculation: a quiet signal of compliance to power centers that do not want Gaza’s pain to be dignified with international attention.
But no amount of geopolitical pressure justifies this betrayal. Jordan had a choice—to offer not just medical treatment, but a sanctuary. To tell the world that Arab dignity is not for sale. Instead, they chose silence. Worse—they chose complicity.
What do these actions say to the Arab world, to Palestinians, and to the international community? They say that even when it is in your power to protect the innocent, you will turn away for the sake of diplomacy and deals. They say that the lives of Palestinian children—Arab children—are dispensable, even to those who share their tongue, their blood, their land.
One of those children, a seven-year-old girl with one leg, was heard asking the nurse in Amman if her mother was coming soon. She never knew her mother had died in the bombing that took her leg. Now, she is being sent back—not to be reunited with her mother, but to live out her childhood beside a mass grave.
The pressure on Jordan was real. But so was the opportunity to be human.
Jordan’s actions now stand as a stark reminder of the moral cost of playing by the rules of power politics. And though Amman may have been forced into this position by the weight of regional politics, its leaders will be judged not by the pressures they faced, but by the decisions they made under those pressures.
So, what comes next? If Jordan, a nation that has long styled itself as a protector of Palestinian rights, can abandon these children—what hope remains for Gaza’s wounded?
Will the rest of the Arab world follow this shameful path of betrayal?
History will remember: When Gaza bled, the Arab world turned away. And when it was time to act—when the children of Gaza were pleading for their lives—the response was not one of solidarity, but one of abandonment.
And the silence... the silence will haunt us all.
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