On Oct. 8, President Biden ordered a fleet of military ships and an aircraft carrier closer to the war between Israel and Hamas. Days later, he ordered a second carrier group to steam into the eastern Mediterranean. As a doctor, I don’t pretend to know the geopolitical calculus governing these decisions. But I do know what it feels like to witness the death of a child — and to be haunted by the possibility that it was preventable. I know that, with thousands of children dying in the current Middle East conflict, there are two other ships we ought to send to the region.
The USNS Comfort and USNS Mercy are floating 1,000-bed hospitals equipped with well-trained staff, operating rooms and even intensive care units. They provide mobile medical and surgical services to support disaster relief and humanitarian operations and have been deployed numerous times across the globe. Yet, as one of the worst humanitarian crises of our lifetime unfolds, the Mercy is en route to a planned mission in the Pacific, and the Comfort is moored in Mobile, Ala., undergoing upgrades. Planned partnerships and maintenance are important, but in times of crisis, triage is required. We should send the ships instead to Gaza, where too many children have already perished.
Deploying the ships to care for injured children in Gaza offers a rare opportunity for an unambiguous good in a war that currently feels hopeless.
There would be challenges to readying the mobile medical centers and sailing them to the Mediterranean in a timely manner, but there are few groups more capable of implementing timely logistics. In 2010, the USNS Comfort arrived in Haiti just a week after a devastating earthquake injured thousands and damaged the country’s largest hospital beyond repair. The most efficient strategy would probably involve diverting the fully staffed and equipped Mercy from its routine mission while commencing a speedy readying of the Comfort.
Some might worry that the ships’ deployment to Gaza might help Hamas. But by focusing U.S. aid on children younger than 15, who make up around 40 percent of Gaza’s population, we can ensure that care is directed to noncombatants only. The same holds true for concerns that Hamas could try to smuggle wounded fighters onboard, the way it tried to smuggle them out of Gaza along with injured bystanders. The patients would be young children, and they would return to Gaza with their parents after recovering. If U.S. officials could successfully sort out bystanders from terrorists at the Egyptian border, they would be able to differentiate children from combatants entering their own ship. I’m a doctor, and not adequately trained to understand the complexities of this conflict and the region. But I know that everyone can understand the simplicity of this humanitarian mission.
Others might fear for the safety of our sailors. Certainly, no one is fully safe near a war zone. Because of their size, however, the Comfort and Mercy would have to anchor out at sea with patients arriving via Navy helicopters or smaller boats. This distance from the front lines decreases the risk of disaster from a misfired missile or botched bomb.
President Biden has made clear that he stands behind Israel in its fight against Hamas while also supporting humanitarian efforts for Palestinian civilians. Deploying the USNS Comfort and Mercy to care for injured children in Gaza offers a rare opportunity for an unambiguous good in a war that currently feels hopeless.
I’m a doctor, and not adequately trained to understand the complexities of this conflict and the region. But I know that everyone can understand the simplicity of this humanitarian mission.
About the author: Michael Rose is an assistant professor of medicine and pediatrics at Johns Hopkins University School of Medicine.
