In the aftermath of prolonged conflict, Gazans are confronting the immense challenge of rebuilding their homes and communities from the ground up. The scale of destruction is staggering, with the United Nations estimating the cost of damage at £53 billion ($70 billion) and nearly 300,000 houses and apartments damaged or destroyed. Over 60 million tonnes of rubble litter the Gaza Strip, mixed with unexploded ordnance and the remnants of daily life. These figures underscore the enormity of the task facing residents who have begun the painstaking process of clearing debris and salvaging what they can.
Amid a still-fragile ceasefire, Palestinians are taking the first steps toward recovery, driven by necessity and a deep connection to their land. Many, like Abu Iyad Hamdouna, a 63-year-old resident of Sheikh Radwan in Gaza City, express both determination and sorrow. Standing before the mangled remains of what was once his home, he says, “It was here. But there’s no house left.” He adds, “At this rate, I think it’ll take 10 years. We’ll be dead… we’ll die without seeing reconstruction.” His words reflect a widespread sentiment among Gazans who fear they may not live to see their neighbourhoods restored.
Others, such as Nihad al-Madhoun and his nephew Said, are already sifting through wreckage in hopes of reusing materials. “The removal of rubble alone might take more than five years,” al-Madhoun says. “And we will wait. We have no other option.” Their efforts highlight the resilience of civilians who, despite limited resources and ongoing risks, are attempting to rebuild using whatever means are available—salvaging breeze blocks, brushing dust off furniture, and clearing streets by hand.
The push for Palestinian-led reconstruction has gained traction among experts and advocates who argue that those most affected must be at the forefront of planning and execution. A broad coalition of around 700 Palestinian reconstruction experts spent 13 months developing the Phoenix plan, which was published in February 2025. This initiative emphasizes local ownership, technical expertise, and cultural sensitivity in rebuilding efforts, rejecting models imposed from outside that fail to account for Gaza’s unique social, urban, and political context.
Proponents of Gazan-led recovery contrast this approach with postwar reconstructions elsewhere, noting critical differences. Unlike Japan after World War II, Gaza remains under conditions of instability, with military operations still occurring and a larger proportion of the population displaced. These factors complicate long-term planning and require rebuilding strategies that are adaptive, inclusive, and rooted in the lived realities of residents.
The humanitarian situation remains dire. Essential services such as water, electricity, and healthcare are severely disrupted, and access to construction materials is heavily restricted. International aid organizations have warned that without sustained financial support and eased access for supplies, even the most well-intentioned local efforts will struggle to gain momentum. Still, many Gazans insist that external assistance must not override Palestinian agency in deciding how their communities are rebuilt.
As rubble continues to be cleared and makeshift workshops emerge in damaged areas, the question of who leads Gaza’s recovery is not merely logistical—It’s deeply political and symbolic. For many Palestinians, leading the rebuild is an assertion of rights, dignity, and self-determination after years of devastation. Whether the international community will support a process led by Gazans themselves remains one of the most consequential questions shaping the Strip’s future.
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