Disability in Gaza: The Forgotten Casualty of Genocide

As leaders gather in New York for the UN General Assembly, Gaza will dominate the conversation. But there is one truth rarely spoken: Gaza is not only facing genocide — it is enduring mass disabling.

More than 15 percent of displaced Palestinians live with a disability. And amid amputations, injuries, trauma, and starvation, the number is climbing every day. Yet when ceasefires are debated or aid is designed, disability is rarely mentioned.

The Missing Disability Perspective

As Israel continues to bombard Gaza City and expand raids into the West Bank, families everywhere are being uprooted. For Palestinians with disabilities, this devastation is compounded by needs that are rarely accounted for — making an already dire crisis even more unbearable.

If emergency food arrives, how can someone with limited mobility reach it? If an evacuation order comes with only minutes of warning, how can a person relying on assistive devices pack up and flee? How can a person with an intellectual or developmental disability understand what’s happening around them and follow instructions — or are they just left for dead?

These questions rarely factor into humanitarian planning — but they must. Policymakers, aid workers, and responders on the ground need to recognize that disability changes how people experience crisis, and take that perspective into consideration at every stage of response.

I was Special Advisor when this genocide began, and my stance has remained unchanged: the disability community in Gaza is in dire need.

Evacuation With a Disability

Ahmed is a blind math teacher I know through my sister Mona, who regularly corresponds with a network of blind scientists around the world. When told to evacuate, his neighbors scrambled out the door. But for him, evacuation meant perilously navigating rubble without sight, dependent on others’ guidance.

Iman is a 19-year-old deaf woman. Without hearing aids, she cannot hear bombs or warnings to flee. “I can feel the vibration under my feet, and I see people running without knowing what is happening,” she said.

For Afaf, who has cerebral palsy, escape is impossible. Her sister once carried her on her back during bombardments — now she is too heavy. “We wouldn’t be able to flee this time,” her sister said.

Ghazal, 14, also has cerebral palsy. When an airstrike destroyed her home and wheelchair, her parents carried her south in their arms until they could barely go on. “Mama, it’s over — leave me in the street,” she told them.

This is the reality of Gaza: no wheelchair evacuation routes in conflict zones. No accessible shelters. No aid packages with prosthetics or crutches, thanks to years of Israeli “dual use” restrictions, which limit goods it claims could serve both civilian and military purposes.

Losing More Than a Home: The Fragility of Accessible Environments

For people with disabilities, homes are not just shelter — they are carefully adapted spaces that allow daily life. Israeli strikes that destroy or damage houses also destroy mobility aids, hearing devices, and other assistive tools.

Displacement magnifies this loss. Accessibility is not portable — it is developed over time into our surroundings. Once uprooted, disabled Palestinians must start over, reconfiguring accessibility and support systems in new, temporary spaces. And just when they adjust, displacement strikes again. We often don’t really consider what this actually means, the physical, emotional, and mental toll of this cycle.

In Gaza, emergency shelters are rarely accessible and hospitals lack wheelchair-friendly toilets. As Samih Al Masri, who lost both legs in a 2008 drone strike, explained:

“The hospital where we are staying is not meant for people with disabilities; the toilet is not made for people who use a wheelchair. It’s a very difficult situation for me.”

We need to expand how we think about structuring aid and assistance, because it often doesn’t encompass everyone’s accessibility needs.

Beyond the Physical: The Mental Toll of Oppression

After any war, the number of physical and sensory disabilities in a population increases exponentially, but we rarely acknowledge the non-visible — but pervasive — disability of trauma. In 2022, even before this current escalation, one-third of Gaza’s population was estimated to need psychosocial services. Palestinians, long living under the constant threat of the Israeli regime, now endure bombardment, forced displacement, and violence daily — even hourly — deepening psychological distress and mental health crises for both adults and children.

In Shati refugee camp, 30-year-old Raneem Abu Al-Eish cares for her sisters, Aseel and Afaf, who live with intellectual disabilities. Sudden noises or crowded bathrooms often overwhelm them, bringing distress and movements that draw ridicule. Food is scarce, medical care is absent, and their psychological needs go unmet. “The war has stolen their dignity,” Raneem says.

In a recent study, more than two-thirds of displaced Gazans showed signs of PTSD, over four-fifths suffered anxiety and depression, and most endured all three at once.

And what does it mean for a generation of children to grow up with violence as their only constant? The full scale of mental harm will only surface in the years ahead.

Starvation and Unsanitary Conditions: Disabilities for years to come

Even if the assault on Gaza were to end today — if all Israeli actions ceased and the 16-year blockade was lifted — the toll of death and disability in Gaza would continue to rise.

Starvation, lifelong disability, and illnesses caused by contaminated water and debris would persist, especially in the absence of a functioning healthcare infrastructure.

Foreign Policy Must Include Disability

During my time as Special Advisor on International Disability Rights, I was struck by how rarely disability was considered in conversations about aid — whether at the White House, the National Security Council, the State Department, or USAID. I kept asking: when crises so often cause disability, how can policymakers continue to overlook it? I still don’t know the answer. What I do know is that we need policymakers to take a proactive approach. I am done hearing that ‘it’s horrible for everyone’ — because the truth is, it is different when you have a disability.

In policy circles there’s a saying: “People who are not counted, do not count.” Too often, disability is not counted. When we advocate for a ceasefire, when we design aid distribution, when we plan recovery, disability must be part of the conversation from the start — not an afterthought. We need to hear the perspectives of persons with disabilities on the ground, and understand the support they need most.

Vulnerability does not come from disability — it arises when society, institutions, and governments fail to integrate accessibility into their systems and plans.

Policymakers, aid organizations, and humanitarian responders must recognize that there is no generalized, “one-size-fits-all” response — crises affect populations unevenly. As the world considers Gaza’s future, leaders must recognize that nearly every family will live with disability — physical or psychological. Planning that excludes them is planning for failure.

We must count the disability community and listen to their stories. No longer can we allow them to be treated as an acceptable loss in times of crisis. My call to leaders, policymakers, planners, and humanitarian responders is simple: make disability central to your work.

Warmly,
Sara

Sara Minkara is a world-renowned speaker and visionary who challenges traditional perspectives on leadership, disability, and human potential. As the former U.S. Special Advisor on International Disability Rights, she transformed how nations and international organizations approach diplomacy and leadership in disability-related issues. Her unique identity as a blind Muslim woman and Arab-American entrepreneur informs her experiences offering a fresh and powerful perspective on authenticity and leadership.