Is Humanity Dead?

The last decade has seen a sharp rise in both the number of armed conflicts and the deaths they cause. In 2022 alone, over 200,000 people were killed in battle—the highest annual toll since the Rwandan genocide in 1994. That same year, 56 conflicts involving at least one state were active across the world.

There is a growing perception that many of these wars are not only devastating, but also unwinnable. The ongoing war in Ukraine and the genocide unfolding in Gaza are two such examples. Since February 2022, the war in Ukraine has claimed over 2,000 lives each month. In Gaza, at least 53,573 Palestinians have been killed and more than 121,000 wounded, according to Gaza’s Health Ministry. The Government Media Office has placed the toll even higher, at more than 61,700, with thousands more presumed dead beneath the rubble. Israel’s military campaign has triggered a full-scale humanitarian catastrophe, with starvation looming as food and water supplies dwindle.

Global peace today hangs by a thread. The world is overwhelmed by layered crises: climate change, the fallout of the COVID-19 pandemic, the energy crisis, economic stagnation, and persistent wars. Tensions between nuclear-armed neighbours Pakistan and India recently escalated into a brief five-day war. Though tensions have cooled for now, history teaches us how volatile and unpredictable their relationship remains.

Yet amidst all these threats, one crisis stands as a symbol of moral collapse: Gaza. Under relentless bombardment, entire neighbourhoods have been flattened. Whole families have been erased. Generations are being wiped out in mere days. Gaza is no longer just a place—it is a mirror reflecting the broken conscience of the world.

The children of Gaza do not dream of school or play—they dream of survival. Many will not live to see another morning. Those who do must grow up in the shadow of devastation, asking why the world valued their lives so little.

This is not a war—it is a genocide. Civilians, hospitals, homes, and shelters are being deliberately targeted. The death toll is not just a number—it represents dreams extinguished, futures stolen, lives erased. Yet the world turns away. The media dilutes the horror. Institutions meant to uphold justice and human rights remain paralysed. The silence is not neutral. It is complicit.

Why has the global community, so quick to defend freedom and democracy elsewhere, failed to act here? Where are the sanctions, the emergency resolutions, the urgent calls for justice? Instead, this massacre is masked as a “conflict” between equals. But Gaza is under siege, defenceless, bombarded by one of the world’s most powerful militaries. To call this a war is to mock reality.

Why is Palestinian blood treated as less sacred? Why are Palestinian lives less worthy of outrage? The answers lie in decades of dehumanisation that have allowed the world to excuse occupation, displacement, and violence.

But now is not the time to analyse motives. Now is the time to act.

The people of Gaza cannot wait for history to vindicate them. They cannot wait for powerful nations to find their conscience. Their cries must be echoed by ordinary people—by all who still believe that every human life has value.

We must protest. We must write. We must speak. We must donate. We must demand a ceasefire, accountability, and justice. Because every moment of silence strengthens the hand of cruelty. And every voice raised is a light in this darkness.

The world will be judged by its response to Gaza—not by policy statements, but by whether we chose compassion over complicity. History will remember whether we stood with the innocent or stayed silent while they were buried.

Gaza is bleeding. The world is watching. Will we finally speak? Or has humanity truly died?

In the face of what may be the gravest humanitarian crisis of our time, the silence is deafening. Where are the voices of justice? Have Muslim nations—bound by faith—failed their Palestinian brothers and sisters? Will we always wait for divine intervention while human hands remain idle?

Who will speak for the mothers burying their children? For cities reduced to rubble? For dreams destroyed before they could begin? Or have our consciences grown numb?

As Ghalib once asked with biting clarity: “With what face will you go to the Kaaba, Ghalib—yet you feel no shame.”

Let us not wait until our silence becomes history’s shame. Let us not be remembered as the generation that turned away. The world does not need more bystanders—it needs voices that speak with courage, compassion, and conviction.

Let peace prevail. Let humanity rise. Let it not be too late. This is a cry for humanity—see the injustice, and do not look away.

Each life lost is a tragedy beyond measure. These dark days will pass, but our silence will haunt us forever if we fail to act, speak, and stand for justice.

Today, as the people of Palestine suffer unimaginable grief, we must remember: the pain of a mother is universal. Whether human or animal, a mother’s sorrow knows no boundaries.

Genocide must be stopped—

at any cost.

Where weapons bring only destruction, let dialogue lead. Where war fails, let peace rise. The world must unite for justice, for humanity, for peace. Let us reject war, reject genocide, reject all violence—so that every person, regardless of nation, race, or religion, can live in dignity.

Shagufta Bashir
The writer is the CEO and founder of Kiddie Nest. She tweets @shagufta_B_Din.