Each time Gaza’s borders are declared to be “open,” the U.S. government and liberal media outlets frame the announcement as a breakthrough and a humanitarian development. Headlines flaunt easing restrictions, medical evacuations, and family reunions. For a brief moment, it seems like movement—like breath and reunification.
But for Palestinians in Gaza, these moments don’t come as relief. We experience them as reminders that for us, movement is not a right, but a privilege for which we need permission—that survival itself has become conditional. In practice, the reopening of Gaza’s borders functions as a mechanism of control rather than liberation; it is selectively deployed, tightly managed, and carefully timed to absorb international pressure rather than restore Palestinian rights.
The reopening of the border crossing in Rafah—Gaza’s southernmost city which borders Egypt—in February illustrates this pattern clearly. The crossing was open for less than a month before Israel closed it again as a “necessary security adjustment” amid fighting between the U.S.-Israeli war on Iran.
Rafah is the enclave’s sole crossing point not directly administered by Israel—and the only crossing connecting Gaza to the outside world—although it does require Israel’s permission to open. Internationally, a wide variety of publications presented the reopening as evidence that Israel is responsive to humanitarian concerns; on the ground, it remained clear that Palestinian rights remain conditional. Freedom of movement is extended temporarily as leverage—granted when useful, withdrawn when inconvenient.
Throughout the opening in February, Israel, which controls who can cross, received two separate lists: one submitted by the World Health Organization on behalf of Gaza’s Ministry of Health, listing patients approved for medical evacuation, and the other from Egyptian authorities, listing Palestinians seeking to return home to Gaza. Israeli officials had said that up to 150 people would be permitted to leave Gaza daily, with fifty allowed to enter.
But the daily numbers fluctuated and remained significantly below the announced ceiling. Of the expected number of Palestinians allowed to cross, only about a third were able to do so, according to Palestinian authorities. On the first day alone, Israel only let five Palestinians in need of treatment pass through, and twelve Palestinians reenter into the enclave, all following hours of delays and intensive security procedures. And despite headlines suggesting progress, only a fraction of those on the list for medical evacuation were actually able to exit. While a small number of medical evacuees crossed over to Egypt, an estimated 18,000 Palestinians remain trapped in Gaza awaiting urgent treatment abroad that does not exist inside the besieged and bombarded territory.
All the while, Israeli military operations continued across Gaza and the West Bank, making clear that the slight easing of movement was never intended to interrupt the broader assault on Palestinian territory.
These numbers are not evidence of an open border. They are evidence of rationing.
In practice, neither closure nor reopening represents a policy reversal—the crossing has been tightly controlled by Israel and Egypt for the past two decades. From 2007 to 2023, the crossing was closed for nearly the same number of days as it was open; when the crossing closes, Israel and Egypt use security as the justification. On October 21, 2023, following what Martin Griffiths, the United Nation’s emergency relief coordinator, called “intense negotiations,” Israel opened the Rafah crossing, allowing twenty trucks to deliver humanitarian aid. Al Jazeera described the convoy as a “drop in the ocean,” after more than 180 additional trucks positioned at the crossing were denied entry into Gaza.
The Rafah crossing was effectively shut down in May 2024 after Israeli forces seized control of its southern perimeter, blocking medical evacuations and the entry of medical supplies and humanitarian aid. Though it continues to be formally managed by Egyptian authorities, the crossing does not operate independently. Its function remains subject to Israeli approval, surveillance, and security coordination, creating a system in which Israel exercises control without direct administration. This diffusion of responsibility allows Israel to maintain the siege while deflecting accountability.
The nineteen-month closure severed the people of Gaza from accessing medical treatment and essential supplies, and reuniting with their families—its limited reopening left Palestinians confined within the same architecture of control.
For Palestinians, the Rafah crossing itself became another site of trauma and coercion. Accounts from Palestinians returning to Gaza described blindfolding, handcuffing, prolonged interrogation, and restrictions on personal belongings, reducing civilian movement to a humiliating, punitive process. What was presented publicly as a humanitarian opening felt, on the ground, like yet another reminder of Israel’s authority over Palestinian lives.
All of this has taken place as Israel has continued to bomb Gaza.
The timing of such “easings” is rarely accidental. Announcements often coincide with moments of heightened international scrutiny, including legal proceedings at the International Court of Justice and arrest warrant requests at the International Criminal Court, both of which triggered intensified diplomatic messaging. Similarly, key United Nations debates—such as Security Council ceasefire votes and General Assembly emergency sessions—along with major civilian casualty events like the Al-Ahli hospital explosion, have generated global pressure, sometimes resulting in rapid official responses and strategic communications from Israel.
In this sense, border openings function as diplomatic pressure valves, releasing just enough tension to blunt criticism while leaving the system of control intact.
The danger of celebrating such openings lies in what Israel obscures. Gaza isn’t isolated and besieged because of security or geography—it’s the result of deliberate political decisions, such as Israel’s maritime blockading of Gaza that has been upheld and normalized by U.S. administrations for nearly two decades. Allowing a crossing to function intermittently does not dismantle the siege; it merely softens its appearance.
For Palestinians inside Gaza, and those watching from exile, this moment is marked by emotional dissonance rather than relief. Any hope attached to the possibility of movement is tempered by anger at how access to medical care, family, and survival itself has been transformed into a bargaining chip. The right to leave, to return, or simply to live is offered only after sufficient suffering has accumulated.
If borders only open after mass death, they are not instruments of relief—they are tools for managing outrage.
Until Palestinians can move without surveillance, interrogation, humiliation, coercion, or political calculation, until borders open as a matter of right rather than concession, these announcements of “easing” will remain hollow. What is being offered is not freedom, but a controlled pause in its denial.
Freedom that arrives temporarily, selectively, and under control is not freedom at all. And only Palestinians in Gaza know the difference.