Sanctuary Politics and Media Rhetoric Fuel Rising Violence Against Law Enforcement

Paul Riverbank, 1/25/2026Gaza’s suffering mounts amid winter, as U.S. political rhetoric fuels threats against law enforcement.

Philippe Lazzarini, leading the UN’s relief agency in the region, summed it up recently with bleak restraint: “Plunging temperatures, wind, rain and floods. Winter keeps compounding the misery.” It’s the kind of suffering that seldom makes for lengthy news cycles anymore, yet in the numbers – hundreds of thousands forced from homes, huddled in splintered schools and battered tents – the human cost can’t be ignored.

For Gaza’s children, the cost is tragically measured in lives. According to the local Health Ministry, at least ten children have died from the cold just this winter. Ali Abu Zur, barely three months old, didn’t survive a chilly night in Nuseirat camp. Doctors at Al Aqsa Martyrs and Nasser Medical Complex do what they can, but their hands are tied. “Children are fragile,” Dr. Ahmad Al Faraa told us, sounding more tired than frustrated. “Their fat tissue is limited; their energy reserves, low.”

Yet hypothermia isn’t the only thief stalking these nights. Hunger, too, takes its toll quietly and persistently. Dr. Al Faraa notices it in the smallest of his patients: infants born thin, their mothers weakened by scarce rations and a lack of prenatal care. “Most babies come in underweight now,” the doctor noted. Mothers skip meals to feed children, and the cycle of frailty continues.

Disease, too, slips easily from person to person. Crowded tents, little clean water, and the bare minimum of medicine let colds turn to pneumonia and diarrhea become deadly for the smallest.

And security is, at best, a temporary illusion. The story of Mohammad, 15, and his cousin Sulaiman, 13, lingers unbearably at Gaza’s main hospital. Their family had sent them to gather wood, but only their bodies returned, casualties in a war zone where even the simple act of seeking warmth carries risk. “He’s just sleeping. He’ll wake up now. There’s nothing wrong with him,” Mohammad’s father kept repeating as if words might stall the truth. The Israeli military maintains their target was militants; the evidence left the family unconvinced.

Rain doesn’t just dampen tents – it collapses what little shelter remains. Health official Dr. Munir Al-Barsh says 24 people have died this way recently. The scale of devastation is hard to picture: more than nine out of ten buildings, Lazzarini notes, have at least some damage. Rain reveals just how unstable these skeletons have become, and unexploded ordnance only tightens the sense of unease.

The front lines still shift. Along Gaza’s so-called “Yellow Line,” gunfire is an unwelcome soundtrack, even with supposed lulls elsewhere. Delivering aid or repairing broken tents becomes a gamble each day. Workers keep going, but always with one eye on the sky.

Meanwhile, America has its own storms. In Ohio, Justin Mesael Novoa, 21, is now in custody after federal agents discovered messages online threatening violence against ICE agents – language laced with fury and reckless bravado. Agents searched his home and surfaced firearms, body armor, a Palestinian flag. Novoa, caught off guard by the knock at his door, reportedly admitted, “Alright, you got me. That was me.”

It’s not a lone case. In West Virginia, Cody Smith, just 20, is accused of similar threats: videos posted promising to attack not just federal agents but Trump supporters too. State police seized him quickly, and now both men stand as warnings of how quickly online rage moves offline.

Federal officials worry about this trend. As public arguments over immigration sharpen, ICE officers have become lightning rods. Some Democratic politicians wield harsh rhetoric; a Minnesota mayor dubbed ICE an “occupying force,” and Arizona’s attorney general speculated on violence against the agency. In an era when political language runs hot, Department of Homeland Security spokesperson Tricia McLaughlin blames a larger climate: “Sanctuary politicians and the media create an environment that demonizes law enforcement. We’re seeing the fallout.”

While these debates rage, the crises they touch are not contained by borders. In Gaza, another father watches his son’s chest, willing it to rise. Aid workers tape another sheet against the wind, unsure how long it will hold. And, on the other side of the world, threats flicker on screens before hardening into federal charges.

Perhaps that is the reality now: problems stack atop each other – cold, empty cupboards, simmering fervor online – and the world lurches on, waiting for the next headline, the next storm, the next loss. The solutions feel as elusive as warmth in a tent battered by winter winds.

There’s a cold that seeps into Gaza’s bones every winter, relentless and biting, carrying more than just discomfort. This year, it’s not weather alone pressing on families already worn thin by chaos and heartbreak; it’s hunger, disease, and the lingering threat overhead. Step outside what’s left of your home – if you have one – and the wind finds every gap in a plastic tarp, every shattered wall. The rain doesn’t wait politely, and the mud piles up wherever children try to sleep.Philippe Lazzarini, leading the UN’s relief agency in the region, summed it up recently with bleak restraint: “Plunging temperatures, wind, rain and floods. Winter keeps compounding the misery.” It’s the kind of suffering that seldom makes for lengthy news cycles anymore, yet in the numbers – hundreds of thousands forced from homes, huddled in splintered schools and battered tents – the human cost can’t be ignored.For Gaza’s children, the cost is tragically measured in lives. According to the local Health Ministry, at least ten children have died from the cold just this winter. Ali Abu Zur, barely three months old, didn’t survive a chilly night in Nuseirat camp. Doctors at Al Aqsa Martyrs and Nasser Medical Complex do what they can, but their hands are tied. “Children are fragile,” Dr. Ahmad Al Faraa told us, sounding more tired than frustrated. “Their fat tissue is limited; their energy reserves, low.”Yet hypothermia isn’t the only thief stalking these nights. Hunger, too, takes its toll quietly and persistently. Dr. Al Faraa notices it in the smallest of his patients: infants born thin, their mothers weakened by scarce rations and a lack of prenatal care. “Most babies come in underweight now,” the doctor noted. Mothers skip meals to feed children, and the cycle of frailty continues.Disease, too, slips easily from person to person. Crowded tents, little clean water, and the bare minimum of medicine let colds turn to pneumonia and diarrhea become deadly for the smallest.And security is, at best, a temporary illusion. The story of Mohammad, 15, and his cousin Sulaiman, 13, lingers unbearably at Gaza’s main hospital. Their family had sent them to gather wood, but only their bodies returned, casualties in a war zone where even the simple act of seeking warmth carries risk. “He’s just sleeping. He’ll wake up now. There’s nothing wrong with him,” Mohammad’s father kept repeating as if words might stall the truth. The Israeli military maintains their target was militants; the evidence left the family unconvinced.Rain doesn’t just dampen tents – it collapses what little shelter remains. Health official Dr. Munir Al-Barsh says 24 people have died this way recently. The scale of devastation is hard to picture: more than nine out of ten buildings, Lazzarini notes, have at least some damage. Rain reveals just how unstable these skeletons have become, and unexploded ordnance only tightens the sense of unease.The front lines still shift. Along Gaza’s so-called “Yellow Line,” gunfire is an unwelcome soundtrack, even with supposed lulls elsewhere. Delivering aid or repairing broken tents becomes a gamble each day. Workers keep going, but always with one eye on the sky.Meanwhile, America has its own storms. In Ohio, Justin Mesael Novoa, 21, is now in custody after federal agents discovered messages online threatening violence against ICE agents – language laced with fury and reckless bravado. Agents searched his home and surfaced firearms, body armor, a Palestinian flag. Novoa, caught off guard by the knock at his door, reportedly admitted, “Alright, you got me. That was me.”It’s not a lone case. In West Virginia, Cody Smith, just 20, is accused of similar threats: videos posted promising to attack not just federal agents but Trump supporters too. State police seized him quickly, and now both men stand as warnings of how quickly online rage moves offline.Federal officials worry about this trend. As public arguments over immigration sharpen, ICE officers have become lightning rods. Some Democratic politicians wield harsh rhetoric; a Minnesota mayor dubbed ICE an “occupying force,” and Arizona’s attorney general speculated on violence against the agency. In an era when political language runs hot, Department of Homeland Security spokesperson Tricia McLaughlin blames a larger climate: “Sanctuary politicians and the media create an environment that demonizes law enforcement. We’re seeing the fallout.”While these debates rage, the crises they touch are not contained by borders. In Gaza, another father watches his son’s chest, willing it to rise. Aid workers tape another sheet against the wind, unsure how long it will hold. And, on the other side of the world, threats flicker on screens before hardening into federal charges.Perhaps that is the reality now: problems stack atop each other – cold, empty cupboards, simmering fervor online – and the world lurches on, waiting for the next headline, the next storm, the next loss. The solutions feel as elusive as warmth in a tent battered by winter winds.