A Lost Generation: Gaza's Children Return to Class in Ruins

When Education Becomes Survival

I've spent years uncovering stories of systemic neglect and injustice across the globe. But nothing has prepared me for what I witnessed in Gaza as children returned to class this past September. For nearly three years, they were cut off from formal education. Now, as schools reopen, many are doing so inside tents, amid rubble, and with no real learning materials. It's a stark reminder that even the most basic human rights—like access to education—are casualties of war.

"The last time I have been to school was three years ago," said 14-year-old Moayed Abu Mustafa in Khan Younis. "Now, we are starting the school year; it is year of joy, happiness and success. Despite all of this, we will learn, we will learn even in a tent."

Moayed's words carry both resilience and sorrow. He has no proper shoes, notebook, or pen, yet he sits on the floor of a sweltering tent to attend class. What kind of future can be built on such foundations?

The Infrastructure of a Broken System

UNICEF estimates that 98% of schools in Gaza have been destroyed or severely damaged during Israel's genocidal war. That means more than 1,000 schools are now beyond repair. The Ministry of Education, backed by aid agencies, has attempted to reconstruct the system with temporary classrooms—made from tarpaulins, sheet metal, and wood. Some classrooms consist only of a few mattresses and a blackboard; others still shelter displaced families.

It's a grotesque caricature of what education should be. These makeshift learning environments are not just inconvenient—they are a profound failure of policy, responsibility, and humanity. And they reflect a broader pattern of abandonment by the international community, which has allowed the situation to deteriorate to this point.

Students Under Fire

The students are not just dealing with broken infrastructure; they're also coping with an environment where learning is a privilege, not a right. Stationery trader Khaled Aliyan said Israeli import restrictions have driven prices for basic supplies up fivefold. In a place where most people can't afford even a notebook, the idea of attending school becomes a luxury few can truly afford.

It's not just about money—it's about access. It's about control. And it's about the systematic destruction of a society's ability to heal itself through knowledge and education.

The Human Cost

Every child who returned to school represents more than just a statistic. Ibrahim Ramadan, director of education for eastern Khan Younis, shared harrowing numbers: 22,000 students and over 770 education workers—532 teachers—have been killed in the conflict.

This is not an accident. It's a calculated war on the future. By targeting schools and teachers, by cutting off education, Israel is attempting to erase Gaza's intellectual infrastructure—and the very idea of its continued existence.

Hope or Hype?

The return to in-person education is a fragile milestone, one that may offer little more than hope to a generation already broken. As 15-year-old Samar Abu Salmi said, "We studied on phones, and we haven't seen our teachers. Now, we are back pursuing our dream … from one tent to another."

But how much of a dream can be pursued when the foundation is rubble? When the teachers are gone, and the supplies are scarce? And when the world watches—and does nothing?

Where Is the Accountability?

This isn't just about Gaza. It's about accountability. It's about what happens when war becomes a tool of cultural erasure. When entire societies are rendered invisible to international law and humanitarian norms.

The international community must not treat this as an unfortunate but isolated tragedy. The world must recognize that Gaza's children have become the canaries in the coal mine—warning us all that we are complicit in systems that allow such destruction to occur without consequence.

We must demand more than just photos and press releases. We must demand justice, reparations, and accountability from those who enabled this crisis. Because when a child can't attend school, it's not just a missed opportunity—it's a declaration of war on the future.

Conclusion: A Future in Ruins

The images that emerged from Gaza in September were more than heartbreaking—they were a wake-up call. These children are trying to rebuild their lives, but the world has left them with no foundation. The return to class is not just a return to routine—it's a return to the fight for survival.

What we must do now is not simply photograph the ruins. We must demand justice, restore dignity, and ensure that these children—our children—are never again denied their right to learn, to grow, and to thrive.