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MY THOTS - Long before our drones and guided bombs, war was a visceral, ritualized struggle, tribal in its power rituals, in its raids, in the symbolic weight of life for leverage. The Israel–Hamas conflict today revives that archaic warfare, where siege, starvation, kidnapping, and spiritual rhetoric shape the battlefield as much as missiles and satellites.
Since 2007, Gaza has lived under a blockade intended to contain Hamas. But during the latest war, that blockade has become a medieval-style siege, starving nearly two million people of water, fuel, medicine, and food. This deliberate deprivation isn’t collateral; it’s a strategy as primal and punishing as humanity’s oldest siege tactics.
The October 7 Hamas raids mimic tribal war bands—quick, unpredictable, loaded with cultural symbolism. This was not random act but a tactical ritual: raids meant to seize, terrify, destabilize, and establish dominance. Kidnappings follow the same ancient code, a painful bargaining chip that recalls tribal practices of absorbing or subjugating the enemy to claim spiritual or political supremacy.
In traditional tribal wars, whole communities were fair game under existential logic. Today, Gaza’s civilians are similarly ensnared, living embodiments of terror and desperation, revealing the sharp limits of modern international law when primal violence reigns.
The conflict is also a spiritual arena: chants, symbols, religious justifications, modern flesh over mythic bones. Leaders sanctify violence; enemies become sacrilegious Others. Anthropologists remind us violence often follows when the sacred is profaned; this war dances on that edge.
In theory, this is a world governed by Geneva Conventions and human rights. In reality, when modern ideals meet tribal logic, the clash is catastrophic. As historian Max Hastings notes, “Despite all our technical progress, the fundamental nature of war remains unchanged: a contest of wills where human savagery still rules.”
The recent strike on Nasser Hospital in southern Gaza was a brutal reaffirmation of war’s ancient rhythms, a double-tap strike hitting journalists in mid-coverage as they performed one of modern journalism’s highest rituals: witnessing and sharing truth.
At least 20 people died, including five journalists working for Reuters, AP, Al Jazeera, Middle East Eye, and Quds Feed. The first airstrike hit the hospital’s roof; the second landed as rescuers and journalists responded—a tactic devised to amplify fear and reinforce control.
Among those killed:
- Hussam al-Masri, Reuters cameraman;
- Mariam Abu Dagga, freelance photographer with AP;
- Mohammed Salama, Al Jazeera cameraman;
- Moaz Abu Taha, freelance photojournalist;
- Ahmed Abu Aziz, correspondent for Middle East Eye and Quds Feed Network.
The IDF said it targeted a surveillance camera allegedly operated by Hamas, calling the deaths a “tragic mishap.” Investigations are underway.
This war is not simply distant or foreign—its echoes reach us. In every use of siege, starvation, symbolic murder, and fear, we witness ancient impulses expressed in modern brutality. For LA’s engaged readers, this is a human story of how tribal codes still govern life and death, even as we dream of progress.
When we scroll past headlines, let's not forget: these are people and stories, now extinguished, whose work held light against darkness. The tragedy at Nasser Hospital is not a detached incident, it is part of the chronic regression of civilization, where the ancient still wins too often.
(George Cassidy Payne is a freelance journalist, poet, and crisis counselor based in Rochester, New York. He writes extensively on faith, culture, and social justice, weaving together perspectives from philosophy, theology, and lived experience. George’s work has appeared in local and national outlets, and he is passionate about exploring the intersections of religion and community in a rapidly changing world.)
