The announcement of the ceasefire in Gaza undoubtedly marks a critical moment in the ongoing conflict. For those of us who witnessed, experienced, then watched, mourned and advocated from afar, the pause in hostilities provided an opportunity to reflect on the past 15 months and the heavy price paid for this brief lull.

As a Palestinian, receiving this news felt like standing in the eye of a storm, in a ghostly moment of calm surrounded by chaos and destruction. To me, at least this marks the end of the bloodshed, but the truth is, those we lost will never come back and these scars will never heal. How does a ceasefire change this fact?

Ceasefires are often hailed as diplomatic victories, but to me they feel more like pauses in an ongoing nightmare. This latest agreement is a reminder that for the people of Gaza, survival often depends on the fragility of politics. Children, mothers and fathers are all burdened with unbearable uncertainty. I find myself asking: Is this really a step toward peace, or just another chapter in a story of delayed justice and long suffering?

The terms of the ceasefire, reached under intense international pressure, include a halt to airstrikes and rocket launches, as well as provisions to allow humanitarian aid into Gaza. These measures are urgently needed. But the need for these measures, which have become critical, is also an indictment of the international community’s failure to act quickly enough to prevent the crisis. Aid is vital, but it cannot heal the compressing, bleeding wounds. Temporary peace cannot replace the right to live freely and to dream beyond existence.

The International Court of Justice (ICJ), the International Criminal Court (ICC) and their warrants are intended to address crimes committed against our people, but are overshadowed by political inaction. After the war, will the world pursue these mechanisms, or will justice be buried in bureaucracy and indifference? The failure to implement accountability before, during and after conflict reveals how deeply flawed these institutions are.

Aid is important, but it cannot heal the wounds of oppression. Temporary peace cannot replace the right to live freely and to dream beyond existence. This raises another key question: Will Palestinians gain full control over their political and diplomatic path to justice, or will they be permanently removed from the political scene and portrayed in the role of victims? While it is vital that the international community recognizes our plight, we must chart a path to independence from unreliable global powers.

For Palestinians, especially in Gaza, the siege is a war in itself. It’s violence without the bombs, but no less destructive. The lockdown, now in its 17th year, has eroded people’s lives. It robs families of opportunity, denies them access to basic rights, and forces them to fight daily struggles beyond human endurance. How do we rebuild our lives in this situation, knowing that the ceasefire may soon collapse? How can we dream of the future when the present feels like a permanent state of mourning?

During the war, decisions such as the suspension of funding to the United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees (UNRWA) exacerbated the humanitarian crisis. The failure of the international community, including entities as diverse as the United Nations, the G8 or BRICS, to intervene in time to restore vital lifelines for Palestinians further highlights its failure to protect civilian lives and uphold humanitarian law. What happens when a safety net that is already too fragile is arbitrarily stripped away without a strong enough global resistance to mitigate the crisis?

The international community, especially Western powers, must face up to its role in maintaining this cycle. Statements in support of a ceasefire ring hollow without meaningful action, accountability, protection of civilians and a real commitment to address the root causes of this conflict. The imbalance of power, the brutal reality of the occupation, the suffocating blockade – these are not secondary issues. They are at the heart of the matter.

How can we trust that the same U.S. government—currently led by Biden and soon to be led by Trump—pressured for a ceasefire when its actions continue to undermine peace in the region? The decision by President-elect Donald Trump’s first administration to move the U.S. embassy to Jerusalem and recognize the Golan Heights as part of Israel is a stark reminder of an agenda that prioritizes power over justice. Additionally, concerns remain that the current administration will shift its focus to the West Bank, bringing the same policies of violence and displacement there. These decisions demonstrate that any pause in violence does not amount to a shift in policy or priorities.

As I process this moment, I feel both a glimmer of hope and a surge of anger. Hope this pause will save lives and rage that it took so much pain to get to this vulnerable point. The cameras will soon move away and the world’s attention will shift, but for us, this is not the end. A ceasefire is not peace. They are moments of calm in the midst of an endless storm. Until justice is achieved, until dignity and equality are no longer distant dreams, this cycle will continue.

This is not to diminish the importance of the ceasefire for those whose lives hang by a thread every day. For many, this means the difference between life and death. But as a Palestinian, I cannot ignore the deeper truth: peace is more than the absence of war. This is the existence of justice. It is the freedom to live without fear, the freedom to rebuild without destruction, the freedom to dream without limits. Anything less is not peace. This is survival. For those who deserve more, survival is not enough.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect the editorial position of Al Jazeera.