Op-Ed: A Year of Pain, Loss, and Hope

Abih family and friends of 13 year old Mahmoud Sabih (Front) celebrate his birthday near the debris of their former house, collapsed after the attack. (Photo by Mustafa Hassona/Anadolu)

“When an eight-year-old tells you that she doesn’t want to die, it’s hard not to feel helpless,” wrote UN relief chief Martin Griffiths, on social platform X.

Today, October 7th, marks one year since the Israel-Palestine war began, a conflict that has brought unimaginable pain, loss, and grief to countless families. As a student newspaper, we find ourselves in a unique and delicate position, catering to a diverse readership that includes both Palestinian and Israeli communities. Our community is reflective of the broader world: divided by deeply held beliefs and, at times, extreme opinions. Yet, as we mark this solemn anniversary, we choose to shift the focus from politics to people. This is not a time to get into the divisive rhetoric that has long characterized the conflict. If anything, we claim incompetent in understanding the ongoing war or genocide as many have called it. Instead, it is a moment to remember the human beings who have been caught in the crossfire of war and to acknowledge their stories with empathy, respect, and understanding.

For the families in these areas, the past year has been marked by unimaginable loss. Mothers and fathers have buried children (and at times, young children have buried their parents), homes have been destroyed, and futures have been left in ruins. The news headlines often speak of rockets and airstrikes, but behind these numbers are individuals whose lives will never be the same. We must remember that the children who were killed will never play in the streets again, the parents who were lost will never hug their families again, and the lives shattered by violence are not just statistics—they are human beings, each with a story, a life, and dreams that have now been extinguished.

Consider Amal Rifa’i, an eighteen-year-old Palestinian girl who once dreamed of becoming a doctor. Her life was tragically cut short when an airstrike hit her neighborhood. Think of many other real individuals whose stories have not been fully told. These are not stories of politicians, soldiers, or policies. These are the stories of everyday people who have suffered the true cost of war. Their grief is not political, and their loss does not come with a side. And it is not about ‘how many’ because for us, every life is very important and cannot be quantified. It is simply, devastatingly, human.

In times of conflict, it is easy to get caught up in arguments about right and wrong, about who started what, and who should shoulder the blame. But as we look back on this past year, we choose not to contribute to the divisive discourse. Instead, we aim to remind our readers of the shared humanity that binds us all. As President Obama had once put it in his speech, “Talking to the young Palestinian children I met, they weren’t any different from my daughters; they weren’t any different from your daughters, or sons. I honestly believe that if any Israeli parent sat down with those kids, they would say, I want those kids to succeed; I want them to prosper; I want them to have opportunities as my kids do; I believe that’s what Israeli parents would want for these kids if they had a chance to talk to them and listen to them”. Therefore, we believe that amid the tension and the violence is the struggle to survive, to protect their families, and to rebuild their lives. This shared struggle for survival, for a future beyond the war, is something we must hold onto.

In our own community at CSUSB, we see this challenge mirrored every day. Our students and faculty include those who have personal connections to this conflict—those who have lost loved ones, those who worry about family members back home, and those who have differing perspectives shaped by years of generational trauma and history. It is important that we acknowledge and respect the diversity of thought and experience that exists within our campus, and that we foster a space where dialogue, no matter how difficult, can happen without hatred or animosity.

This is why, as a newspaper, we stand for unity in humanity. We recognize that our words carry weight, and we take seriously the responsibility to reflect the realities of this conflict with nuance, care, and compassion. Today, we choose to honor the human spirit, to remember the victims not as collateral in a political struggle, but as people who loved and were loved. We encourage our readers, regardless of where they stand on the political spectrum, to take a moment to think about the human cost of this war. To remember that behind every headline, there are people just like us, trying to live through the unimaginable. As we move forward, our hope is that the next year will bring peace and healing to a region that has seen too much suffering. We hope that the world will turn its attention not just to the political debates that continue to rage but to the people who are desperately in need of relief, reconciliation, and hope.

Let this day serve as a reminder that, in the end, it is not the politicians or the soldiers who will bear the heaviest burdens of this conflict—it is the families, the children, and the communities who have lost so much. Our thoughts are with them today, and every day.

“If you see their pictures and their clothing, do not pass by them quickly. Stop and reflect, look into their eyes while they speak of what is unspoken.”