Dr Ghassan Abu Sittah, a British-Palestinian surgeon, is known to the world as the man standing behind a podium addressing the media surrounded by a pile of dead bodies on October 17, 2023, at al-Shifa Hospital in Gaza, soon after a deadly explosion at al-Ahli Hospital. The blast killed 471 people and injured 342 according to Gaza health officials. Dr Sittah called it a “massacre” and warned that more hospitals would be targeted. He had arrived in Gaza on October 9 to volunteer with Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF), working at al-Ahli, al-Shifa and al-Awda hospitals. He was the doctor who revealed the practice of performing amputations in Gaza without anaesthesia, and became a key source of information on the war’s impact through his tweets. After returning to the UK, he was elected Rector of the University of Glasgow, continuing his advocacy against the ongoing genocide. He currently lives in Beirut, treating victims of the war in Lebanon. Dr Sittah spoke to Shahina K.K. about his experiences in Gaza and how the war-altered biosphere affects people’s well-being. Excerpts:
In a previous interview, you said that every wound has a narrative on war. Can you tell us more about the politics of war wounds?
The narrative of war is carried in the wounds it inflicts—who caused them, who fought and all the stories tied to the conflict. These wounds stay with the affl🦩icted for life. The injuries sustained by Iraqi and Irani🤪an soldiers during the Iraq-Iran War of the early ‘80s remain. Even though Saddam is gone, Khomeini and Reagan are dead, and many who fought the war are no longer alive, the narrative of the wound persists. Sometimes, this narrative clashes with the current political ideology or discourse. Iraq and Iran are now allies, but the story of those wounds remains unchanged, outliving the political projects that caused the war. Similarly, the wounds of South Vietnamese soldiers who fought alongside Americans in the Vietnam War serve as a constant reminder of the conflict and its civil war component.
As power dynamics shift, ruling e🦩lites either celebrate or suppress these narratives, often finding th𓄧em inconvenient to current political projects. This is why I say wounds act as a biological archive of the wars that caused them.
How different is this idea of war from the one set by the Western world? We were taught that wars were occasional, with peace in between.
The Western notion frames wars as temporal events, starting and ending at specific moments—but this is far from reali🌠ty. On the ground, the effects persist long after the official end. I am still treating victims of the receℱnt war in Lebanon, as well as those from previous conflicts. Their wounds continue to need care. The idea of temporality pushed by the humanitarian sector—where you arrive, address the war and then leave—is misleading. Western narratives justify wars by claiming they begin and end cleanly, leaving no lasting impact. In truth, wars fundamentally alter the biosphere of those who live through them, causing injuries that endure.
You have said that there is no such thing as an international community. Was that an expression of desperation?
What we’ve witnessed in Gaza—the most televised genocide in human history—proves it. People can see children being burned alive, mass killings and starvation𝓀, yet nothing is done. Western governments respond only by trying to silence systems like the International Criminal Court and officials highlighting the genocidal nature of this war. The so-called international community has always been a tool for policing countries in the Global South.
Amidst the horrors, are there stories of hope, love and resilience you’d like to share?
Love and co𓄧mpassion stand as resistance against the machinery of death. Doctors remain dedicated to their patients, often refusing to leave hospitals. Families help each other, and in the aftermath of bombings, survivors dig through rubble to save lives. These are acts of rebellion against genocide. In Lebanon, I treated a two-year-old boy who lost an arm and his entire immediate family. His father’s aunt came to care for him, bec💖oming his mother. Such acts of love remind us that humanity will endure.
Our imagination of war from where we are is limited. As a doctor, can you share your thoughts on your experiences in Gaza?
Each of us lives in a biosphere—a system shaped by our biological, physical and social environment. Our health is determined by the interplay of these conditions. War profoundly disrupts this biosphere, creating a new one that reshapes health systems. Beyond the immediate harm of bombs, blasts and bullets, war damages water and sewage systems, spreads infectious diseases, impoverishes populations and tears apart communities, altering behaviour and health. The effects of war on health persist long 🌊after conflicts end, as the war-altered biosphere continues to shape people’s well-being. In regions like the Middle East, situated on a geopolitical fault line with ongoing and intermittent wars, these changes become deeply entrenched and multigenerational. The resulting biosphere of war can be compared to an endemic disease—a persistent, geographically entrenc൲hed condition that continuously influences health in the region.
(This appeared in the print as 'Exhausted On The Cross')
