The Forensic Desert: Inside Gaza’s Crisis of the Missing and the Search for Hassan Al-Qatta

In the predawn darkness of a Gaza morning, Abeer Skaik handed her husband, Ali Al-Qatta, a stack of flyers that represented both their greatest hope and their deepest agony. On each page was a photograph of their 16-year-old son, Hassan, smiling in a red T-shirt, beneath the bold red heading Munashada—an appeal. For Ali, the day’s mission was a 30-kilometer journey from their home in al-Tuffah to the European Hospital in Khan Younis, following a rumor that Israel was releasing a group of detainees. Like thousands of other Palestinian families, the Al-Qattas have spent months navigating a landscape of radical uncertainty, searching for a child who vanished into the vacuum of a conflict that has rendered the identification of the living and the dead nearly impossible.

Hassan’s disappearance is not merely a personal tragedy but a window into a systemic humanitarian crisis that experts have termed a "forensic desert." As the conflict in Gaza continues, an estimated 9,000 to 15,000 people remain missing, according to various human rights organizations and research groups. These individuals exist in a state of "mass irresolution," where the traditional mechanisms of tracing—forensic DNA analysis, biometric databases, and International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) access—have been systematically dismantled or blocked.

The Disappearance of Hassan Al-Qatta: A Chronology of Loss

To understand the plight of the missing in Gaza, one must first look at the specific vulnerabilities of those who vanish. Hassan Al-Qatta was diagnosed with autism spectrum disorder at age five. His life was built on the pillars of routine and sensory stability—washed floors, specific meal orders, and the repetitive safety of a bicycle ride along a familiar stretch of street. When the bombardment began following the October 7 attacks, these pillars collapsed.

Hassan’s parents describe a rapid psychological decline. The vibrations of explosions caused him to tremble and whisper, "Mama, my heart is scared." Displacement fractured him further; he was forced to evacuate four times, eventually losing access to the hygiene routines essential for his regulation. By April 2024, the situation reached a breaking point. Amidst a severe famine where families were forced to eat animal feed, Hassan, overwhelmed by hunger and the sensory "repulsive smell" of the makeshift bread, knocked over a table and fled his home on his bicycle.

He was last seen riding toward the militarized lines that now divide Gaza. His family searched every alleyway, hospital, and morgue, but as the sun set and the electricity failed, Hassan became one of the "evaporated"—a term used by locals for those who disappear without a trace into the ruins or detention centers.

A Landscape of Radical Uncertainty: The Scope of the Crisis

The scale of the missing in Gaza is unprecedented in modern conflict. While the Gaza Health Ministry estimates the number at over 9,500, the Palestinian Center for the Missing and Forcibly Disappeared suggests the figure is closer to 9,000. However, a comprehensive poll conducted by the Institute for Social and Economic Progress (ISEP) in January suggests the true number could be as high as 15,000 out of a population of 2 million.

These missing persons fall into several grim categories:

• The Buried Unidentified: Thousands of bodies remain under the rubble of leveled neighborhoods or in mass graves dug in haste by neighbors to prevent scavengers from reaching the remains.
• The Detained: Thousands have been taken into Israeli custody at checkpoints or during military raids, often held incommunicado without notification to their families or the ICRC.
• The "Evaporated": In some instances, the use of extreme-heat munitions has left no recoverable biological remains, making traditional recovery impossible.

The Forensic Desert: Barriers to Identification

In most modern conflicts, unidentified remains are eventually linked to families through forensic science. However, Gaza has been systematically denied these tools. Since 2007, Israel has maintained a "dual use" list of prohibited items that includes toxicology equipment, genetic analyzers, DNA testing kits, and biometric scanners. Israel argues these items could have military applications, but for Khalil Hamada, the head of Gaza’s forensic medicine department at Al-Shifa Hospital, the restriction is a death blow to the right to identity.

"For years, we appealed to the World Health Organization and the ICRC for forensic equipment," Hamada stated. "Nothing was allowed in." Consequently, Gaza has no biometric database—no fingerprints, no dental records, and no DNA profiles to compare against the remains that are recovered.

In the absence of technology, identification relies on the "visual archive." Families walk through morgues, lifting blankets to look for a specific scar, a dental filling, or a fragment of a tracksuit. When bodies are returned by Israeli forces—such as the 315 remains returned during a ceasefire in late 2025—they often arrive without names or paperwork. Of those, only a fraction are identified, usually through the recognition of a birthmark or a piece of jewelry.

The Labyrinth of Incommunicado Detention

For families who believe their loved ones are still alive, the Israeli detention system represents a "maddening labyrinth." Historically, the Israeli nonprofit HaMoked operated a tracing hotline in coordination with the military. However, this system collapsed in October 2023. Israel argued it had no obligation to provide information on Gaza detainees, and the ICRC was barred from visiting prisoners, a move that Mayy El Sheikh, a spokesperson for the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights, described as a violation of international law.

A limited tracing mechanism was reinstated in May 2024 following High Court petitions, but it remains largely ineffective. Of the 4,985 individuals HaMoked attempted to trace, Israel confirmed detention for 3,353, but for 1,632 others, the response was a standard "no indication" of arrest.

The case of Ehab Diab illustrates the unreliability of these records. Diab was witnessed being arrested by his family in late 2023. For months, the military claimed there was "no indication" of his detention. Nineteen months later, the state finally admitted in court that Diab was "being held as a corpse," having died in custody. Such instances fuel the "purgatory" experienced by parents like Abeer and Ali, who oscillate between the hope that Hassan is in a cell and the terror that he is in an unmarked grave.

Legal and Humanitarian Implications

The crisis of the missing has created a secondary crisis of legal and economic suspension. In Gaza, a death cannot be registered without a body or two witnesses to the death. Without death certificates, families cannot access inheritance, guardianship for orphans, or humanitarian aid tied to family status.

In November 2025, authorities in Gaza proposed a rule change to allow death certificates for those missing for more than six months. However, the judicial authority in Ramallah rejected this, adhering to a four-year waiting period. This discrepancy leaves thousands of families in a state of "paralysis," unable to move forward legally or emotionally.

Broader Impact and the Human Cost of Purgatory

The psychological toll of "ambiguous loss"—a term used by clinicians to describe grief without closure—is devastating the social fabric of Gaza. Abeer Skaik describes her life as a "lived experience of profound, frenetic restlessness." She and Ali refuse to leave the north of Gaza, despite the danger, because their home is the only place Hassan might know to return to.

The international community has expressed growing alarm. The UN High Commissioner for Human Rights has emphasized that Israel, as the occupying power, has a legal obligation to account for the missing and treat human remains with dignity. "The combined effect of obstruction… and the practice of enforced disappearance is foreseeable and preventable: agony for thousands," stated Mayy El Sheikh.

For now, the search continues in the "air itself." Families like the Al-Qattas follow every lead, no matter how thin. They search through piles of rubble and photographs of remains, looking for a sign of a 16-year-old boy on a bicycle. Until the "forensic desert" is irrigated with the tools of modern science and the channels of humanitarian transparency are reopened, the missing of Gaza will remain a haunting testament to the war’s enduring and uncounted cost. Hassan’s voice, preserved in a final, thin voice memo on his mother’s phone saying "I’m hungry," remains the only thread tethering him to a world that has largely lost his trail.