The dark side of humanitarian aid: when solidarity becomes business
Imagine this: you are in Gaza, with a salary that no longer exists, a bank that is basically a memory and a pantry emptier than the politicians’ commitment to peace. Now, he adds that the only flour available costs $60 per kilo (yes, the same as a *triple A* video game). The reason? Unscrupulous gangs and merchants have turned humanitarian aid into their personal startup, because nothing says “predatory capitalism” like profiting from the hunger of others.
From the UN to the black market: the journey of a sack of flour
Bags with logos of the UN or the Gaza Humanitarian Foundation (GHF, for the *cool kids*) are everywhere… but not in the hands of those who need them. Instead, they end up at street stalls where a kilo of lentils costs $35 (more expensive than an *avocado toast* in Brooklyn). Who sells them? Nobody knows, because, like in an espionage *thriller*, the trail of help is lost in the chaos. “The strongest take everything,” says Mohammed Abu Taha, who lives in a tent and is as likely to get food as you are to understand *Gen Z* *memes*.
Israel, under international pressure, promised to facilitate more aid deliveries. Result? Prices went down… a little. Like when they tell you “there are discounts” and it’s only 5% on socks. Meanwhile, Gaza remains on the brink of famine, with people spending their last savings on food that should be free. Irony level: “gift with conditions.”
Moral? In the midst of war, even solidarity has *spoilers*: if you are not part of a gang or a merchant with contacts, your menu of the day is… air. And no, air is not on sale.
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