OPINION | Middle East needs to prioritise humanity over politics

Imagine standing in a playground built from missile remains, where a child’s slide is a testament to a violent past. This surreal image encapsulates the daily contradictions of life in the Middle East: resilience amid fear, hope despite despair, and a yearning for peace that clashes with entrenched animosity.

As a South African, I grew up hearing one-dimensional narratives about the Middle East. I thought I knew the good guys and the bad guys. But in July I had the chance to visit Israel and Palestine with other student leaders, hoping to understand this decades-old conflict better. After 10 days in the region, speaking with survivors, professionals and everyday people on both sides, I quickly realised how much more complex the situation is.

I met Israelis still healing from the trauma of the October 7 attack, a day that shook the entire region. Hundreds of civilians were killed in a co-ordinated assault by Hamas militants. The cruelty of the attack wasn’t just in the scale of death but in the inhumanity shown. Civilians including women and children were taken hostage and homes were invaded in scenes that echoed the darkest moments of conflict.

I also spoke with Palestinians affected by the ongoing conflict which has left communities in Gaza and the West Bank living in conditions of extreme hardship. Israeli air strikes and military operations have taken a toll, with many losing their homes, livelihoods and loved ones.

What struck me was how despite their different experiences, both sides live in fear, frustration and a shared desire for peace. Palestine “showing resilience” and Israel “protecting its own” has resulted in a persistent cycle of violence. The tragedy isn’t just the loss of lives but the loss of empathy. Generations on both sides have been taught to fear and distrust each other. This made me wonder: are we getting the full story? Is the media feeding us a narrative that divides rather than informs?

We visited places like Kfar Aza, an Israeli town near the Gaza border where I met Orit Tzadekevich. She shared her experiences of living under the constant threat of rocket fire and surviving the October 7 attack. In Sderot, a town known for its playground made of missile remnants, I saw how violence shapes daily lives. Imagine children playing on slides made from debris left by lethal attacks; powerful metaphor for the region, a place where people try to live normal lives despite the chaos.

Though we wanted to, we couldn’t go to Gaza because it was deemed too dangerous. One day while walking through East Jerusalem, I met a New York-based Palestinian journalist who shared his perspective on the Israeli occupation and how military checkpoints have stifled the Palestinian spirit. His insights were invaluable not just as a journalist collecting information, but also as someone personally affected by the conflict.

Despite all the complexities, there were moments of hope. I met Ihab Balha and his wife Ora, a Muslim-Jewish couple living in Jaffa. Their love story is proof that peace is possible, even in a place as divided as the Middle East. If they can make it work, why can’t others? This conflict isn’t just about land or borders; it’s about identity, survival and generations of mistrust.

Both sides have been locked into an “us vs them” mentality for so long that it’s hard to see a way out. Real change will come from genuine conversations between ordinary people, Israeli and Palestinian children studying together in schools, learning each other’s histories without hate, and leaders brave enough to prioritise humanity over politics.

• Mafadza is a student leader who is studying education at Wits University