In almost every way what is happening in the Occupied Palestinian Territories, and particularly in Gaza, I am struck by the undeniable resonances and the echoes of the apartheid system I grew up under. I truly believe that shared experience of human suffering must call us all to action.
As I reflect on the current crisis, I speak not merely as a citizen but as one who has lived in the harsh shadows cast by apartheid. I hail from a township in Johannesburg, where the concept of freedom was far from a universal right. Instead, it was an elusive dream shrouded by the presence of military patrols, the separation of families and a daily struggle to uphold human dignity against overwhelming odds.
I recall vividly the oppressive Group Areas Act that dictated our living spaces, the stringent pass laws that controlled our movement, and the Bantu education system that sought to limit our aspirations. I can still hear the soft echoes of protest songs murmured furtively among us, whispering hope in a world drenched in despair. I remember feeling a constant undercurrent of fear alongside a powerful, unwavering faith that sustained us through the darkest times. Our survival was not purely a testament to our strength; it was a collective endeavour, one bolstered by one another and guided by our unshakeable belief in God.
In the dark era of apartheid South Africa, we were conditioned to believe that our place of birth dictated the trajectory of our lives. It determined not only where we could reside but also whom we could choose to love, and ultimately, whether our existence held any significance at all. Black South Africans faced the grim realities of forced removals from our ancestral lands, being stripped of access to quality education, healthcare and employment opportunities, all of which should be basic human rights. We were subjected to a substandard education system, policed by unfair laws designed to perpetuate our subjugation, making us feel like outsiders in the land of our forebears.
In the bleakest moments of apartheid, the church — though it was not always of one mind — emerged as a haven for the downtrodden. It became a resolute voice against injustice. We found ourselves drawing strength and hope from sacred texts, finding parallels in the stories of old. We saw ourselves in Moses confronting Pharaoh, in the prophets decrying injustice, in Christ who overturned the tables in the temple of greed, and in Paul’s inclusion of all peoples, transcending divisions as he envisioned a church without barriers of ethnicity or status.
The struggle against apartheid was not won by moral outrage alone. It was won by mass struggle at home, and sustained by concrete action abroad: mass protest, boycotts, divestment and strikes which steadily eroded impunity for the apartheid regime and the majority of white South African society that sustained it.
As I reflect upon Palestine today, I perceive it not as a distant or foreign site of settler colonial genocide and ethnic cleansing; rather, I see mirrored reflections of familiar pain and suffering. I witness checkpoints that resemble the oppressive pass laws we endured. The home demolitions echo the traumatic forced removals we experienced in Sophiatown in Johannesburg and District Six in Cape Town. The systemic categorisation, pervasive surveillance, and the stripping away of rights based on identity remind me all too vividly of our own history. I see a landscape marred by mass incarceration, the weight of military rule and the damaging narrative of “security” used as a pretext for ongoing tyranny. I see much more, and worse.
I have, however, also witnessed walls, physical and metaphorical, tumbling down, and I have seen hearts begin to heal in places where suffering has left deep scars.
This, then, brings me to the deliberate destruction of healthcare in Gaza, a situation that calls us all to action with a moral urgency that demands our attention.
Under the Geneva Conventions and the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court, intentionally attacking hospitals and medical personnel is a war crime. The Geneva Conventions oblige all parties in a war to protect medical facilities, patients and staff at all times. Yet in Gaza, such attacks have not only become widespread — they are systematic.
In April 2024, Dr Tlaleng Mofokeng — the South African medical doctor serving as the UN Special Rapporteur on the Right to Health — warned the Human Rights Council that the health system in Gaza had been “completely obliterated” and that the right to health had been “decimated at every level”. By October 2024, she had introduced a new term for what she was witnessing — “medicide”: the use of military force and state policy to systematically destroy access to medical care. In June 2025, she declared that the right to health in Gaza had become “virtually non-existent”.
Two Israeli organisations — B’Tselem and Physicians for Human Rights Israel — have now produced reports that independently affirm Mofokeng’s findings. Their language is restrained, but the substance is devastating. Both organisations conclude that the Israeli government is deliberately attacking medical personnel and institutions in gross violation of international law.
Physicians for Human Rights Israel documents the arrest, torture and killing of medical personnel, the blocking of medical evacuations and the destruction of hospitals and clinics. They have verified hundreds of cases of healthcare workers detained by Israeli forces — including doctors, nurses, paramedics, pharmacists, students and administrators. Many have reported torture. Some have died in custody. Others remain missing after hospital invasions.
The average length of imprisonment for those detained is eight months. Among those named in the report is Dr Adnan Ahmed Attia Al-Bursh, whose body remains in Israeli custody after his death in detention. Several others — including hospital directors — were abducted from medical facilities, and remain unaccounted for.
In parallel, B’Tselem documents the broader infrastructure of destruction: the targeted obliteration of Gaza’s capacity to function as a society. It describes how the killing of civilians, forced expulsions and destruction of homes are co-ordinated with attacks on basic systems — including health, water and shelter — to produce unlivable conditions. The report argues that what we are witnessing is not a deviation from previous patterns of control, but a transition to what it bluntly calls “annihilation”.
Dr Mofokeng has described Gaza as a place where “the right to life no longer exists”. Children are dying of sepsis for lack of antibiotics, women are giving birth without anaesthesia and amputees are left untreated for lack of surgical supplies. Gaza’s healthcare system has not collapsed; it has been dismantled.
As a South African, I recall — and give profound thanks for — the role that global solidarity played in ending apartheid.
The struggle against apartheid was not won by moral outrage alone. It was won by mass struggle at home, and sustained by concrete action abroad: mass protest, boycotts, divestment and strikes which steadily eroded impunity for the apartheid regime and the majority of white South African society that sustained it. The situation of the Palestinian people today requires the same clarity and courage. It requires the same kind of direct and effective action in defence of our shared humanity.
South Africa has called for accountability at the International Court of Justice and has joined other states, mostly from the Global South, in calling for accountability through The Hague Group. Governments in Namibia and Colombia, among others, have taken clear actions in support of the people of Gaza.
Ordinary people across the world are also taking action, often in courageous and principled ways. Communities of faith have been coming together in churches, mosques, synagogues and elsewhere to affirm their solidarity with the people of Gaza. And from students in the US to dockworkers in Greece and shack dwellers in South Africa secular organisations and individuals have acted in defence of the inviolable and universal value of human life.
The path forward must begin with an immediate ceasefire. The blockade must be lifted. Humanitarian access, including medical support, must be granted without obstruction. There must be a decisive end to the deliberately engineered famine. Food must be made available immediately, safely and at scale.
After these immediate actions there will need to be an international commitment to building a just peace. There will need to be massive long-term investment in healing and repair, a process that will need to continue for generations. For people of faith there will also need to be deep repentance for our failure to act swiftly and effectively enough.
Archbishop Desmond Tutu famously said: “If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor.” That statement is as true today in Gaza as it is in the Congo or Sudan. We are all called to action. To direct and effective action. On this, there can be no equivocation.
• Dr Makgoba is the Anglican Archbishop of Cape Town
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