we are not numbers
emerging writers from Palestine tell their stories and advocate for their human rights
Art has become a means of survival, and also a way to document war, transforming living testimonies into vivid records for posterity.
Art: Ahmad Al-Daalsa (reproduced with permission)
Over the course of the long war on the Gaza Strip, art has changed, just as our facial features and our city’s architecture has changed.
Art has become a means of survival and a silent protest against the erasure of life.
Artworks that were once a celebration of life and creativity have transformed into a profound act of psychological survival. They have become more poignant and honest, more connected to people’s pain and hopes amidst the rubble left behind by the occupation.
Ahmed Al-Daalseh, a 26-year-old Palestinian visual artist, lives in the Nuseirat refugee camp. Before the war, he transformed every detail of daily life into artistic paintings brimming with joy, amazement, and hope. “I saw the world without barriers,” he recalls. “Every moment around me was an opportunity to inspire me with an artistic work.”
He has witnessed the profound transformations imposed by the war. He says, “I became trapped by my own emotions, unable to think about anything beyond what I was experiencing.”
As the war dragged on, these harsh emotions began to seep into every work of art he produced.
Due to the lack of art materials, Ahmed turned to digital painting using an iPad. His paintings are heavy with war and the psychological documentation of moments of fear and anxiety. At the same time, his art works capture subtle threads of hope.
“Art has become a space for honesty—it’s no longer just about beauty, but about survival by documenting feelings that are too heavy to be expressed,” Ahmed asserts.
Artwork: Hussein Al-Jarjawi (reproduced with permission)
The war has forced artists to redefine their tools and methods. The circumstances of the war prompted 19-year-old visual artist Hussein Al-Jarjawi to use UNRWA food parcels and flour bags as a canvas for his brushes.
“The circumstances forced me to adapt,” he explains. “My pictures have become more direct. They express loss, forced displacement, stubborn hope, and survival.”
Hussein has found that the crises of war have transformed his art into a means of psychological survival. With every recycled canvas he has repurposed, he has transformed Gaza‘s pain into a visual protest against oppression and oblivion.
Far from surrendering, he says, “Art never dies; it thrives in the worst moments, and every painting is a language through which I can scream when my voice is not heard.
“I try to say through my art that we will survive; our souls will not be bombed, even if our homes are.”
Not only has our art changed, but its audience has changed, too. The Palestinian people are searching for voices that resemble ours—artworks that express our suffering and tragedy. And as others all over the world become more aware of the Palestinian cause, they are now able to distinguish between truth and falsehood in how Gaza is represented.
Art: Mohammed Alhaj (reproduced with prior permission)
As the war intensified, thousands of Gazans fled to an area west of Khan Younis, considering it to be a relatively safe zone. On November 16, 2023, the Israeli occupation forces raided the Al-Shifa Medical Complex, wreaking havoc and destruction.
Nearby, the studio of visual artist Mohammed Al-Hajj was destroyed and many of his works were lost.
“I held an exhibition called Transition 2021,” he says. “ It featured a series of paintings showing Palestinians exhausted by displacement. I did not know that I was about to experience what I had depicted in my paintings.”
Mohammed’s art express symbolism and abstraction. The destruction of his studio did not stop Mohammed from writing his story. Turning to the simple and inexpensive tools of ink and pencil, he produced a moving series entitled “Abu Al-Kufiya” in which he portrayed himself as a displaced person who defies the cruelty of war by insisting on dignity and existence.
In another series of 24 black ink drawings entitled “Mawasi Khan Yunis,” he portrayed daily life in the shelters of southern Gaza. Glimpses of the shadow of a tent, a woman’s grief, and the airdrops of aid—each speaks of and depicts a scene of patience.
The comic book, To the World, illustrated by Esraa Albanna
The long war has changed the artistic landscape, transforming it from a search for beauty into a preservation of memory. In Gaza we see a truth that no bomb can dispel: Art is life itself in the midst of destruction.
As the war continues, art has remained resistant to death. Art has become another means of documenting the war, transforming living testimonies into vivid works that resist oblivion in the face of siege and destruction.
As an artist, I believe in the magic of art to depict the narratives of our lives and clearly explain our worlds and words. I use my art to create comics. Despite the current circumstances that prevent me from continuing to draw, I share these with international audiences via social media.
My goal is for the world to realize that the Palestinian cause is not just a painting to be hung on a wall. Rather it is a history replete with the suffering of people who have been trying to free themselves from the grip of occupation since the Balfour Declaration in 1917.
Over 100 years later, we are still waiting for the free people of the world to act and to stop the ongoing oppression against us.
