The delicate balance of emotions becomes pronounced in extreme circumstances like war. When stripped of security, home, and stability, people face moral dilemmas that test the boundaries of love, need, and survival. We humans are inherently logical creatures, guided by reason to navigate the complexities of life. However, emotions shape our sense of good and evil, swaying us between nobility and depravity. Among the most beautiful of emotions is love—a sublime feeling with the power to overcome human selfishness and inspire acts of altruism. Yet its beauty often conceals hidden peril. In times of adversity, hard decisions made in the name of love may come against one’s better judgment, undermining human ethics by sacrificing moral reasoning.

In dire conditions, I have found that people fall into three categories. Some steadfastly adhere to virtue, regardless of their circumstances. Others see ethics as an obstacle to seizing opportunities. And then there’s the majority, who never questioned their position because they have never faced circumstances forcing such reflection.

In Gaza, a densely populated community considered the most overcrowded in the world, compounded by resource scarcity due to the machinery of war, survival itself has become an unbearable burden. Many wish to escape the weight of life, even through death, as the costs of living—both financial and moral—become too high to bear.

Such circumstances often drive individuals to unethical behaviour, including the misuse of authority to unfairly distribute aid for personal gain or to favour their loved ones. Others, driven by desperation, resort to stealing from humanitarian aid convoys, rationalising it as morally justified in the face of starvation to ensure their children’s survival, while shifting blame to the instigators of war for forcing such desperate measures. This is often accompanied by a disregard for the consequences of their actions on other families who also depend on the same aid, convincing themselves that taking a small amount will not significantly affect others. Such behaviour not only harms vulnerable families but also fosters a perception that these actions are part of a collective struggle. This diffusion of responsibility further erodes individual accountability. Even noble emotions such as love can become a pathway to moral disengagement.

The true plight, however, lies in crossing the threshold of decency for the first time. Each time we violate our morals, the remorse and guilt that follows diminish, and gradually, these actions shift from mere survival tactics to perpetuating a cycle of unethical conduct.

In Gaza, the collapse of security systems and the absence of accountability have led to widespread chaos, eroding civility in this corner of the world. At the onset of the war, the looting of humanitarian aid convoys was an act of desperation committed by individuals in dire need. Over time, however, this evolved into organised crimes carried out by gangs that meticulously track aid routes and set traps. Consequently, a segment of the population has become its own people’s worst enemy. As scarcity determines value, the limited supplies reaching Gaza and meant to serve countless families become even scarcer due to these actions. The stolen goods are later found being sold in markets at exorbitant prices.

Amid such struggles, humanitarian organisations emerge as a faint glimmer of hope, offering relief to those in need. But this hope is quickly dashed when the absence of order and justice in distribution becomes apparent. Many of these institutions are often consumed by bias, and instead of easing suffering, they add to it. For instance, humanitarian aid from Saudi Arabia and the Emirates were only distributed among supporters of Mohammed Dahalan, a former Fatah leader who now works as an advisor to the UAE president Mohammed bin Zayed Al-Nahyan.

In war, being employed by a humanitarian organisation can act as a shield against hardship. Beyond a salary, employees often receive access to food, medical supplies, hygiene products, and shelter—resources that are meant for everyone but that do not reach all regular people. Who oversees the fairness of such distribution? No one.

For those who cling to virtue despite hunger and hardship, an agonising question emerges: How long can such principles endure as a way of life? The longer the war drags on, the more people fall into the trap of their emotions, committing acts of immorality, taking what is not theirs to claim. Yet, even in such trying times, there are those who refuse to compromise their principles. These individuals, though few, serve as beacons of hope, proving that virtue can survive even in the harshest conditions

Before the war, I worked as a pharmacist at Al Dawli Pharmacy, under the mentorship of Dr Sameer Alshaikh. Dr Sameer was a rare kind of leader—he believed in doing things differently, with integrity. In the setting of Gaza, where drug dispensing does not require a prescription, many pharmacy owners sought to profit at any cost, including recommending unnecessary medications, but Dr Sameer prioritised patient health and cost-effectiveness. At a time when my adherence to evidence-based medicine and patient-first ethics made me a less favourable candidate for many employers, he was the first to see the value in me and offer me a position. It was a partnership founded on mutual respect for the profession and its ability to do good in the world.

On November 5, 2023, I lost my job when the pharmacy was bombarded, forcing me to confront with the tragic deaths of many of my colleagues. The next month, on December 26, Dr Sameer was killed by a drone strike while transporting medications between our branches.

He was not just a boss; he was a mentor, a guiding force in my professional life. His death marked the beginning of a profound depression for me, one that mirrored the broader sense of loss and tragedy surrounding the war. His passing was not just the loss of a leader; it was the loss of a person who had aligned with my values when no one else would.

After a brief period of depression, I was overwhelmed with guilt for not being able to help my community during their time of need. This guilt ignited a sense of responsibility, motivating me to take action.

Amid the harsh conditions of war, the spectre of famine and malnutrition loomed over the Gaza Strip. Diseases such as gastroenteritis and hepatitis A were spreading rapidly, causing significant weight loss among the population. With pharmacies running out of medications—particularly for chronic illnesses like diabetes—I noticed that hypertension, the silent killer, was going unchecked.

Determined to make a difference, I carried a sphygmomanometer and began visiting nearby displacement camps. I assisted hundreds of people in understanding their health status, many of whom were shocked to learn they had hypertension. Others discovered that their medication doses needed adjustment due to severe weight loss. In the absence of adequate resources, my physician friends and I proposed creative alternatives in order to replace medications that were no longer available in pharmacies.

However, the limitations of the healthcare system in Gaza became painfully clear when one of my patients tragically passed away. The patient, suffering from valve stenosis and a hypertensive crisis, required a valve replacement surgery that local hospitals were unable to perform due to lack of resources. This loss deeply affected me, but it also strengthened my resolve to continue helping others.

Despite my ongoing efforts to provide medical advice to the displaced, I lacked a stable income. So in February 2024, I decided to establish a small medical point to sell medicines. With great effort, I managed to stock it with the limited supplies available. However, I soon realised that to sustain myself amid the high cost of living, I would need to add a significant profit margin to my sales.

When prices began skyrocketing, food supplies turned scarce. White sugar was one of the first commodities to disappear from the market, and the price of one kilogram rose from one dollar to $25. As a result, the idea of replacing sugar with artificial sweeteners began to spread. Anticipating the shortage, I had previously purchased as a stock 100 boxes of artificial sweeteners at a cost of $1.50 per box to be sold for $2. Within a week, everyone was searching for artificial sweeteners, and the price for a single box soared to $16, with high demand persisting. Hardly surprising, given that two million people were confined to a small area with limited resources.

Despite the tempting opportunity to profit, I saw it as a chance to alleviate people’s hardships. I sold the sweeteners at cost price, allowing only one box per family to ensure fair distribution and to help as many people as possible. As a compassionate person who believed that medicine was a basic necessity, not a luxury, I refused to exploit people during such difficult times. I sometimes sold medicines at cost, ensuring they were accessible to those in need. The decision led to financial losses, eventually forcing me to close my medical point in late April 2024.

To survive, I took up a job as a security officer in a local facility. My mother grew concerned about my decision to close the medical point and take on a new job. “It’s not as if I was unaware that I was heading toward financial loss,” I told her. “But when I buy something and realise that I’m being exploited with high prices, I feel anger and sorrow. I only treat people the way I wish to be treated if I were in their position. How could I be upset about acts of exploitation and then exploit others in my work as well? I can endure financial loss and hunger, but I cannot be a hypocrite.”

Yet, my passion for helping others and dedication to addressing the healthcare crisis in Gaza never wavered. While I offer the story to illustrate the personal sacrifices made to help others despite immense hardship, others navigate the complexities of survival while maintaining their moral compass in a different way.

Walaa, a mother of two and a graduate in advertising and public relations, is an expert in social-media content promotion. She managed a successful training and education centre before the war. Unfortunately, the war destroyed the centre, stripping her of her primary source of income. Walaa, who had recently gone through a divorce, found herself facing a new chapter in life with the added challenge of supporting her children in a time of crisis. The emotional weight of meeting even her minimal family needs became a constant struggle. But she was determined to rise above it. She set up a tent to teach children from 6 to 9 years of age for a nominal fee, in order to make a living.

During the war, the role of social-media influencers in promoting humanitarian work emerged as a powerful tool to attract international aid for distribution among those in need. With years of experience and strong connections with influencers, Walaa helped in the promotion of some campaigns. While the concept itself is noble, Walaa, through her close connections with many rising influencers, uncovered a disheartening reality: a significant portion of the aid was being diverted to personal accounts or distributed unfairly to the influencers’ acquaintances.

It was in these moments of disillusionment that Walaa’s innate sense of justice and her drive to help her community grew even stronger. Refusing to stand idly by in the face of such exploitation, Walaa decided to take matters into her own hands. She mobilised her network to gather support and distribute it transparently and fairly to those most in need, prioritising families affected by the war and those left in the shadows of the influencers’ selfish actions.

As her efforts began to gain attention and shine, some of the aid brokers approached her, offering their help and support to collect more funds for her humanitarian campaign—but on the condition that they would receive a share of the collected aid. Despite the tempting offer of more resources for her cause, Walaa rejected the proposition. She sought to provide a fully transparent distribution of aid, and her commitment to fairness and integrity remained resolute.

The task was not easy. With limited resources, the emotional toll of witnessing her community’s suffering, and the pressure of caring for her children, Walaa felt overwhelmed at times. Yet, the support she received from others in her community helped her persevere. To ensure accountability and build trust, Walaa documented all her efforts and made her work public, setting a new standard for integrity and fairness in humanitarian initiatives. As a result, she not only brought transparency to the distribution process but also inspired others to follow suit.

It is puzzling how, for some, love drives them to make unethical choices, while for others, it inspires a commitment to inner peace and satisfaction, refusing to contribute to the suffering of others for personal gain. For the latter, love transcends the confines of immediate relationships, extending to a broader sense of care and empathy for others, guided by the principle of reciprocity. If value is derived from scarcity, perhaps the world will one day recognise the worth of those who choose virtue.

In these moments of darkness, where survival often comes at the cost of morality, it is not the absence of virtue that defines us, but the quiet persistence of those who refuse to surrender it. Though the flames of war may consume us—whether by missile, hunger, disease, or heartbreak over humanity’s decline—let it not be forgotten: there are those who live by virtue and die by virtue.