BUENOS AIRES - The Tehran Times has interviewed Carlos Trotta, an Argentine doctor and volunteer with Doctors Without Borders, who has dedicated his life to accompanying those suffering the most extreme consequences of inequality, violence, and injustice. 

From rural hospitals in the province of Buenos Aires to the devastated neighborhoods in the United States, including contexts of extreme poverty in the Bronx, Trotta has followed a path marked by the tension between technical excellence and the need for a humanistic perspective, capable of recognizing the patient not only as a medical case but as a human being affected by vulnerability and oppression.

His decision to go to Gaza, during Operation Cast Lead in 2008, was not an isolated act but the culmination of a trajectory combining medical practice, social commitment, and a profound ethical sense. There, he was a direct witness to the systematic dehumanization of the Palestinian population, the violence exerted under the guise of political legitimacy, and a blockade that not only limits access to basic resources but seeks to break the spirit of an entire community.

In the interview, Trotta reflects on medicine as accompaniment and resistance, denounces the manipulation of information by the media, and offers a raw analysis of international politics that masks the brutality of decades-long conflict. His account forces us to look beyond headlines, to listen to the voices of those who suffer, and question ourselves as a society: How do we respond to injustice when it is right in front of us?

Here is the text of the interview:

Question: What led you to decide to provide medical services in Gaza?

A: I have to be a bit self-referential here, although I don’t really enjoy it. Looking back, I realize that I was closing a circle. My first years after finishing medical school in Buenos Aires were spent in Rural Medicine, working at a hospital in the Ingenio El Edén. I was just over 20 years old and faced a very harsh social reality: during the sugar harvest, workers from Bolivia arrived in cattle wagons, in terrible health conditions.

I understood that my technical training alone was insufficient to address these problems. I continued seeking technical excellence: I was a surgical resident in San Martín, worked for four years at a top-level clinic in the United States, including the Bronx, where inequality and poverty were brutal. All this led me to seek a more humanistic vision of medicine: to accompany the patient, not just treat them. Doctors Without Borders allowed me to combine technical assistance with testimony and accompaniment.

The answer to why I got involved in this is simple: why not? Medicine cannot be limited to technical skill; if you don’t incorporate a social, political, and humanistic perspective, you will fall short.
 

Q: In December 2008, during Operation Cast Lead, you arrived in Gaza. What was the contrast between what you imagined and what you found?

A: I was watching the images on television and, driven by a mix of impulse and responsibility, I called Doctors Without Borders to offer myself as a vascular surgeon. Within just 72 hours, I was on my way to Jerusalem, my mind full of uncertainty and no idea what awaited me. Initially, I thought my contribution would be purely technical, focused on surgeries and medical procedures, but I soon realized that the most important thing went far beyond medicine: it was human accompaniment, being present amidst the pain, offering a hug, a word, a gesture that says “you are not alone.”

What I found was heartbreaking and, at the same time, familiar: the destruction of schools, mosques, hospitals, United Nations offices, systematic killings… A reality that, despite the years, has not changed; what we see today is the continuation of what already existed back then. Gaza is predominantly young: nearly two-thirds of its inhabitants are under 25, but many appear prematurely aged by constant stress, daily violence, and hopelessness. This reality hits hard, shakes you inside, and forces you to ask yourself again and again how we respond as human beings to the suffering of others, and how much our indifference perpetuates these injustices.
 

Q: How do you perceive the difference between media coverage and the reality you experienced?
 

A: Dehumanization is key. If you present the Palestinians as fanatical, ignorant, or terrorists, the public accepts any cruel measure without questioning it. We see this in many places: dehumanize to act without guilt. The manipulation of information is part of the strategy to make the brutality invisible and minimize the idea of genocide.
Without being a political analyst—because I’m not—you start to read and testify about what you have witnessed, which is one of the hallmarks of Doctors Without Borders. You go to places where you can accompany and provide technical assistance, but above all, you testify and say, sometimes without accusing, “I was in this place and I saw this. You do what is right.” That is what I try to do.
Beyond a political analysis, this is more than a humanitarian crisis: it is a crisis of humanity. If we do not react to what we see live, if we do not act upon the figures and the facts, we are clearly failing as human beings.
 

Q: You joined a flotilla to Gaza. How was that experience?
 

A: The flotilla was an act of resistance and denunciation. The blockade of Gaza is not only physical but also social and psychological. Our mission was to make it visible, bring minimal aid, and demonstrate international solidarity. Governments prevented the departure of ships, deported participants, and repressed those who had already arrived.
However, visibility is inevitable: Gazans document with their cell phones the brutality that is evident and cannot be hidden. This fight for visibility is crucial. It shows that we cannot look the other way.

For me, it was very important as part of the resistance, as part of the denunciation of what is happening, to highlight the blockade to which the Palestinian population, specifically in Gaza, is subjected—a blockade by land, by air, and also intimate. To show this blockade, to demonstrate the need to bring solidarity and, if possible, at least minimal materials necessary to alleviate the population’s needs to some extent.

But the flotilla is interesting because it is a movement that governments do not undertake. We, as part of civil society, express that something is not right and attempt to show it concretely, not just academically, but even by putting our bodies on the line.

My first contact was an attempt, last year, to bring a large ship carrying 5,100 tons (of humanitarian aid) to Gaza from Istanbul, but Israel’s pressure was so intense that the Turkish government did not allow it to sail. This year, it was attempted again from Malta, but the ship was bombed the same day we were about to board it.

The Egyptian government also did not allow passage: those arriving were deported from the airport, and those who had already entered were violently expelled from the hotels where they were staying. We managed to advance about 200 kilometers by land, but at one point, we were detained at a police station. Evidently, Israel does not want witnesses.
Ever since 2009, there have been huge difficulties for doctors to reach Gaza. All this civil society movement generates visibility: not only of what happens in Gaza but also of how access to food, medical assistance, or aid is blocked. The more they try to hide it, the more visible it becomes.
 

Q: How do the media operate through information and disinformation?
 

A: When you identify an enemy—and in this case, the Arab world and Palestinians, enemies of geopolitical and economic ambitions—the first thing you do is dehumanize them. If you strip the other of all human content, you can act against them in the cruelest terms, without guilt. And you make the public accept perverse measures without saying “enough.”

We have even witnessed this locally and regionally: dehumanizing the other allows committing atrocities without reaction. This manipulation also extends to the language used to talk about resistance: it is called terrorism, irregular combatants, and the language is distorted to install another common sense. Resistance is synonymous with terrorism.

That is why the task of clarifying and transmitting another perspective is difficult but absolutely necessary. The Palestinian issue is not so far away: geographically it may be 12,000 kilometers, but the parallel with any people facing oppressors is evident. This serves as a lesson, even for what may be happening in Argentina: when you see your neighbor’s beard, prepare to get your own wet.
 

Q: And what do you think about the agreement currently being negotiated? What are they really seeking?
 

A: What they seek is to gain time. While the media and governments attempt to calm public opinion with diplomatic words, violence in Gaza does not stop: Israel continues systematically killing the population and illegally appropriating territories. In my view, these negotiations have no real intention of being resolved: they are maneuvers to delay international pressure while allowing Israel to advance with its plan of ethnic cleansing. Netanyahu made it clear before the United Nations: the government’s objective is none other than to complete what he himself called “the work” on the Palestinian people, a work that implies physical, cultural, and historical destruction. The diplomatic façade is just a smoke screen covering a policy of extermination that continues relentlessly day after day.
 

Q: The stigmatization of the Arab and Muslim world is constant. How did you perceive it in direct contact?
 

A: The Israeli population I spoke with described Arabs, specifically Palestinians, as ignorant, fanatical, and someone who does not care about their family. This is pure dehumanization, completely ignoring the historical and cultural richness of the region. As Enrique Dussel said, philosophy did not begin in Greece, but in Egypt. They attempt to erase an entire world from history.

Colonization is not only geographical; it is also mental. A common sense is installed that despises resistance and calls any liberation movement terrorism. That is why transmitting another perspective is essential. The Palestinian people face a national liberation movement and are met with systematic brutality.

This is not a distant or abstract conflict: what happens in Gaza challenges all of us. It is a lesson in humanity, justice, and historical memory. What we see there could happen anywhere oppression, disinformation, and dehumanization are allowed to thrive unchecked. Understanding and making the Palestinian struggle visible is, therefore, also an act of global conscience.