For years, the Hunger Games franchise has captivated my heart and imagination, immersing me farther into its dystopian world with each viewing. Initially, I saw these movies, based on the Suzanne Collins trilogy, as pure fiction, far removed from reality. Little did I know that the lines between fantasy and our own reality in Gaza would one day blur.
In the movies, events are set in Panem, a fictitious nation dominated by the iron grip of a tyrannical regime known as the Capitol. Panem is divided into 12 districts, each marked by its own shade of poverty. While the districts grapple with exploitation, oppression and despair, the Capitol basks in excessive wealth. The ones in charge maintain power by controlling the food supply. They starve the people of the districts and turn them against one another to compete for survival in the Hunger Games.

From the fictional divisions of Panem to the all-too-real landscapes of Palestine, the themes of the film continue. When the war on Gaza began on October 7, Avichay Adraee, the spokesman for the Israeli army, posted a photograph of the Al-Remal neighborhood on his official Facebook account, warning residents to leave because Israeli soldiers were going to wipe out the whole place: the heart of Gaza, where I had lived my entire life. We had no other option but to evacuate. We took refuge in my sister’s apartment at the edge of Al-Remal, along with relatives from both sides of the family. We stayed there for five days, hoping it would be over soon and we could return home. And we did return! But it would be the last time we would ever see our home again.
Adraee posted another photo on his Facebook page, a new map. When I saw it, I felt as though my soul was being sucked out of my body. The map showed the Gaza Strip divided into blocks, purportedly directing civilians to safety. But to me, Gaza was being turned into Panem, only worse.
When the Israeli authorities directed everyone on the northern side of Gaza to head south, the mass panic that spread among the people made it impossible for us to find transportation or shelter. With 75 family members, the two cars my uncles had were not nearly enough. We managed to squeeze all the women into the cars and crammed all the men onto a flatbed trailer we attached to one car. We arrived in Khan Younis and stayed in a very old events hall that a family friend allowed us to use. It had a broken bathroom, which was full of bugs. We managed to repair it, but since the bathroom was in a deserted backyard, we were afraid to go out there after dark. Israel targets anything that moves at night. So everyone, including the elderly and children, had to bear the urge to go to the bathroom until sunrise, causing some of us serious health problems.
We stayed in Khan Younis for 60 freezing days of misery and terror, with a leaking ceiling and inadequate portions of barely drinkable water. We kept telling ourselves it would end soon, but the war gave us no break. Israel forced us to evacuate yet again, this time to Rafah. There, they said, we would find stability, security, and safety. The Israeli authorities acted as if they were sending us to District One! In the film, District One is the wealthy, luxury-producing area of Panem, whose citizens actually take pride in being chosen for the Games and make careers of training to participate in them. But Rafah is nothing like District One.
Our fear was less intense because in Rafah we had an apartment to stay in. Unfortunately, only 50 of us fit in the apartment, while the others had to stay in tents. I was one of the lucky 50.
My mind began to link the dots. The Israeli government follows the same strategy as the fictional Capitol in Panem: dividing us into districts, starving, humiliating, and dehumanizing us. They wanted us to feel lucky to be stuffed into a tiny apartment and to subsist on too little of everything: too little space, too little food and water, no waste disposal, no electricity.
Rafah is not District One: it’s worse. By prosperity, Israelis mean allowing limited food aid into the city, but obtaining it depends on luck. If we aren’t lucky, we face starvation or have to spend all our savings to buy overpriced canned beans. All over Gaza, people are starving. And by safety and security, they mean that the possibility of being bombed is high, but not as high as in the north, where death is simply inevitable.
In “The Hunger Games,” the death of a contestant is announced by firing cannon shells, displaying the person’s picture, name, and district. It was morbid when the world first watched the movie. However, even such recognition has been denied to us Gazans. The Israeli army kills Palestinians more cruelly all over Gaza than the Capitol ever does in Panem. In Gaza, mass shootings and mass graves are not even the worst of it: Bodies of dead people are left in the streets for animals to eat; human skeletons fill the streets; soldiers shoot people and leave them dying as bait for others to come save them, and then they kill them all.
Moreover, when a contestant in “The Hunger Games” dies, not just the family, but all of Panem is notified. If a Gazan gets killed in the north and their family or friends are in the south, the family may not know for days or weeks due to the forced telecommunications blackouts. And if they do learn of their loved one’s death, they don’t have the privilege of burying them. Most bodies are burned, dismembered, crushed, or decomposed.
It’s ironic, isn’t it? How the dead in the movies have dignified burials, while here in this gruesome reality, we can’t even bury them in one piece?

In the movie they have a lissome heroine named Katniss, who defies the grotesque rules of the Game to protect her loved ones, and rallies her people to triumph over the tyrants.
Katniss is bold and beautiful, with blue eyes and brown hair aligning with Western standards, resolute and unwavering. But here is where the parallels between the movie and reality end.
In Gaza, our heroines are numerous but largely go unsung. Every woman, mother, and girl is a heroine here, fighting for a future by enduring the horrific present and continuing to help, protect, teach, and care for their loved ones.
They are not all courageous with blue eyes or blonde or brown hair, or brilliant strategists like Katniss in the film. And they don’t all survive. But they maintain their humanity even when their hearts are quaking or broken by loss; they show the world that love, family, respect, and faith are their truth.
Unlike a movie, our nightmare has no clear end, and we don’t know how many lives will be lost before it does. We urge the world to stop watching us as if we are an entertaining spectacle, much like Capitol citizens watching contestants fight for their lives. Israelis view us similarly. As their defense minister, Yoav Gallant, said, “I have ordered a complete siege on the Gaza Strip. There will be no electricity, no food, no fuel; everything is closed.” He continued, “We are fighting human animals and we are acting accordingly.”
Dear humane world, I guess we’ve had enough. Our lives are not a film, and this war is not intended to amuse you. It is a non-stop horror that is not supposed to make you feel grateful for your own privilege. And if you must see it this way, are you grateful now? If so, then… you’re welcome! Now can we end this? Close the blood-soaked curtain? Or are we asking too much?
This article is co-published with Washington Report on Middle East Affairs.