In Memoriam: We Are Not Numbers

In Memoriam. We pay tribute to four young Gazans, all of whom were part of the We Are Not Numbers community.

Huda Al-Sosi

The WANN Family

October 31, 2023

We Are Not Numbers is sad to announce that we have lost another member of our family. Huda Al-Sosi was killed in an Israeli air strike on Oct. 23 which also took the lives of relatives. The status of her two children is unconfirmed.

May Huda and her deceased family members rest in peace.

Huda was a member of the newest, 18th cohort of We Are Not Numbers. She was an ambitious journalist who was eager to write about the people and conditions of Palestine.

Although she had not yet published at our website, she published two bylined pieces in The Electronic Intifada. Braving Israel’s bombs to hug my parents was written after an Israeli bombing of May 2022 and described her family’s insistance on “resuming our lives” despite the destruction. Gaza’s queen of quilling, published in August 2022, profiled the artist Eman Al-Tayeb, whose “daily practice is impeded by the Israeli occupation and blockade.” Huda reported:

Al-Tayeb considers herself fortunate to be able to pursue art. She believes it allows her to persist in the hardships of daily life in Gaza.

“There is always hope,” she said.

According to Huda’s friends, when she was informed that she had been accepted into WANN, it was the happiest day of her life; she was “over the moon.” She attended all the training sessions before the schedule was interrupted by the Israeli aggression. She loved writing, and she also loved art and reading.

We are adding tributes to Huda as they are able to come in, given the challenging communication circumstances.

Ahmed Dremly

Huda, an aspiring writer, dreamt of being a voice for Palestinians like Ali Abunimah.

Ahmad Abo Rizik

Huda Al-Sosi was a beacon of strength and kindness. I met her during training sessions with We Are Not Numbers. She was full of power and energy and was fueled with passion and the love of Palestine. She longed to reveal to the world the stories and struggles of those living in the shadow of the Israeli occupation, painting a vivid picture of life in this troubled region.

In the short two months that I had the privilege of knowing Huda, I quickly realized that she was a force of nature. Her strength and determination were matched only by her kindness and willingness to help those around her. She had a way of lighting up any room with her infectious energy and her radiant smile.

Huda was not just a teammate, she was a source of inspiration. Her dedication to our common cause was unwavering. Her boundless compassion and selflessness left a lasting impact on everyone fortunate enough to cross her path.

Huda’s words held the power to bridge cultures, to create understanding, and to advocate for her homeland. In a heartbreaking twist of fate, Huda’s dreams were shattered by the relentless violence that plagued Gaza. An Israeli airstrike, intended for reasons unknown, took her and seven members of her family from this world.

The news of her tragic and untimely death struck our hearts with a profound sense of grief. The loss of such a beautiful soul is a stark reminder of the fragility of life, and it’s a pain that we all share.

Huda’s absence leaves a void that cannot be filled, but her memory and the impact she made on all of us will live on. We, her friends on the We Are Not Numbers team, are deeply moved by her spirit and her unfulfilled dreams, and we have vowed to keep her legacy alive. We pledge to continue writing, to carry on her mission of sharing the untold stories of Gaza’s resilient people.

Huda Al-Sosi will not become just another number in the relentless cycle of war; she will forever be remembered as the voice that spoke for her people, an enduring testament to the human spirit in the face of adversity.

Zaina Al Qudwa

From day one of writing training, everyone recognized Huda’s passion and dedication to writing. She never arrived late for any training session and was always the first to engage in any activity. As a mother, she would leave her children at a nearby daycare to be able to attend all sessions. During a class discussion, she mentioned having a story that she believed deserved worldwide publication, but she chose not to disclose its content.

Just a few days after the war began, the members of Cohort 18 of We Are Not Numbers decided to create a video to showcase how life in Gaza is under Israeli aggression. Each participant was required to write and record a short message. Huda wanted the world to understand that “The situation here in Gaza during this war is so difficult and indescribably bad. We prepared our bags with necessary things in case we need them to rush quickly from our homes due to nearby bombardments or Israeli evacuation messages. We didn’t sleep well last night, and I consider myself the luckiest one in the world to have just one hour sleeping this morning. The heavy Israel bombardments is everywhere, attacking residential buildings without any prior warning!”

Unfortunately, no one ever will see and hear Huda sharing her message. Her beautiful dreams came to end when an Israeli missile claimed her life. This is merely a glimpse of her larger story, which was filled with ambitious dreams, a promising future, and a loving family that the occupation ultimately destroyed.

Refaat Alareer

Mohammed Zaher Hamo

Yousef Maher Dawas

From Words to Action: The Power of Resilience and Resistance in Gaza’s Stories

London’s P21 Gallery is a platform for Arab Arts and Culture. Betty Townley reports on their recent exhibition featuring over three hundred works by Gazan creatives.

Source: P21 Gallery Facebook

PART I

“I don't know what to write anymore” writer and activist Larry Kramer told an AIDS forum in 1991, “... because I have said what I have said tonight, in one form or another, for ten fucking years.” I think about this quote often, what it means to feel your words are failing, to wake up everyday to more death and suffering, powerless to halt the devastation.

At the closing night of the exhibition ‘Stories for Gaza: We Are Not Numbers’, Dr. Rafeef Ziadah – a Palestinian poet, scholar, and activist - uttered the same refrain. She asked the crowd to put their phones down and to be present in the room. ‘I’m so sick of saying these poems’ she began. ‘I wrote them years ago and every year they just become more and more relevant’. When she recited her work, ‘it was so powerful’, exhibition co-curator Taya Amit remembers ‘she left us in silence and in tears.’ 

But at what point does an emotional reaction become one with the capacity to make change?  

I sat down with Taya Amit and Almuhannad Allahham - curators of the May exhibition which brought stories from emerging Gazan writers to the P21 Gallery in London - to talk about resilience, the power of resistance poetry, and turning empathy into action.

We Are Not Numbers (WANN) was founded 10 years ago by Pam Bailey and Ahmed 

Alnaouq.  Bailey, an American journalist, was endeavouring to publish Alnaouq’s essay in the Western media. The work was in memory of his younger brother Ayman, killed at twenty-three by an Israeli airstrike. WANN, which pairs professional English writers with Gazan poets and storytellers, has now published over 1300 stories. 

The exhibition, which displayed works by 350 contributors, was the first curatorial venture for Taya, an international development graduate whose focus is Israel’s history, and Almuhannad, a doctoral researcher at the University of Ghent. 

When I ask how and why they became involved with We Are Not Numbers, Almuhannad centres on resilience. “What do I mean by resilient?” he elaborates. “They [the Palestinian people] have witnessed many critical events - like the first Nakba in 1948, the occupation of Gaza and the West Bank after the 1967 war, the war against refugee camps in Lebanon, the first and second intifada. And finally, the Gaza siege. All these events have brought nothing, but we still have many people who are resilient.”

This resilience also helped Taya cope with doubts about the exhibition after October 7th. She recalls a moment of hesitation, half way through their exhibition planning. 

“I thought WANN would go into survival mode. I thought it might be ridiculous to do an exhibition in London with a war happening.”

“But [WANN’s] ethos stood stronger than ever. They remained determined to control their narrative, and not rely on a mainstream media that continuously fails them”.  

Unsurprisingly, the two are deeply committed to the power of words as activism (or ‘artivism’ as they prefer) in the face of the powerful and destructive.

Almuhannad explains, “I can help in building the resilience of Gazans to give them the power to resist as much as possible. How can I do this? By knowing them; not just discovering them through the headlines or what we see in the news, but creating a connection.” 

………….

PART 2

The notion of ‘knowing’ those suffering in Gaza is a complicated one. Visual images and testimonies of incomprehensible horror, dead children, torture, decomposed bodies, have so far failed to produce a uniform galvanising reaction. Routinely viewing images of horror can make us indifferent to what we’re seeing.

How vivid must terrible acts be presented for us to ‘see’? What do we have to take in, as a Western society, before things change? Social media gives us direct access to the abominations of war and occupation, but paralyses us at the same time. There is a layer of glass between viewer and subject. The barrier is unambiguous, impermeable. We have our places on either side, and we are limited to our respective roles of viewer and sufferer.

I, too, feel trapped and uneasy behind that glass screen. We share images and words and we write, protest, speak, boycott, donate. These are all actions that quell a feeling of powerlessness for a while, but not much more. The most shared Instagram image of the current situation in Rafah was AI-generated – as inhuman as something can be. Is widespread willingness to share something so empty an indicator of our shame? It is after all on our side of the glass that the weapons are being made.

I asked Taya and Almuhanad what they thought of the role of images in spreading awareness of the situation in Gaza. 

“I would see words and videos and images all as complementary roles. We cannot depend only on words. We need them all” says Almuhannad.

‘Everyone knows how fucked up it is’ says Taya. ‘It’s more about feeling it rather than educating’. 

Talking to Taya and Almuhannad about the value of exhibiting writing, I begin to understand that a moment where readers connect with the humanity of the writer can be a protest. “The dehumanisation of both sides – but mostly the Palestinian people – has been the most horrific weapon in this war” explains Taya. ‘We decided that we were going to exhibit all the stories that had been written across a ten-year period. We didn’t want it to be an exhibition about the current war exclusively’. 

Aiming to reflect the vast changes needed to end the occupation in Palestine, they chose to display a huge volume of work. Readers would have to physically zoom in and out, breaking through the one-way, impersonal dynamic of viewing images online. They exhibited reams of writing, presenting a holistic view on Gaza and broader Palestine.

Source: P21 Gallery Facebook

One wall of the exhibition displayed every story written by WANN’s creators – thousands, and too many to read. The effect of featuring such a mass of work was ‘claustrophobic’ says Taya, and intended to be so. ‘It was immersive; we covered a whole wall. It wasn’t for people to read, it was about impact.’ Elsewhere, selected quotes were displayed alongside the refrain ‘I am one amongst many’. 

For We Are Not Numbers, working with English-speaking mentors is essential in crossing global barriers. The Arabic language has a long tradition of resistance poetry, which WANN’s writers continue. Did it feel like something was missing, for these Palestinian stories to be written in English? 

In response, Taya recalls the words of artist Malak Mattar, addressing attendees on the event’s closing night: 

“She said ‘you are all complicit. I say this not to aggravate you, I say it because you are all important.’” 

“The problem is not only in the Middle East” Almuhannad expands, “it’s that people in the West are not listening. “Unfortunately, what is happening is because we are not able to deliver our message to the Western audience. We have people who can communicate with the Arabic people, with the 22 countries, but we don't have enough resources or instruments to communicate our stories to the people here in Europe. “

To move towards a free Palestine, the curators agree, will require vast, holistic change. The exhibition aimed to both reflect this and help bring it about. Taya recalls the closing night, featuring speeches and presentations by key figures. 

“In this intimate space, you realise the power of words. Over an hour you have different people speaking and everyone moves through this emotional roller coaster. You're gripping onto their words. When it's something tragic you're heartbroken and then the slightest glimmer of a sentence that is hopeful lifts you up and you feel ‘okay, I can handle this’. For me it was a literal experience of what the power of words does when you really pay attention. The whole exhibition was to feel and to transform feeling into action.” 

Only a space where pessimism, hope, tragedy, heartbreak co-exist – a space alien to images, only created by the words of storytelling – is capacious enough to hold everything at once.

“The loudest thing [the exhibition] could do is ignite a fire of feeling, Almuhannad concludes, “then someone chooses how they transform it.”

Source: P21 Gallery Facebook

All profits from the exhibition, and any donations made by exhibit visitors, went directly to paying Gaza’s We Are Not Numbers contributors. You can find out more about the organisation, exhibition, and how to support WANN here.

https://www.nonviolenceinternational.net/donate_wann

Betty Townley is a freelance writer from South London, focusing on culture and the arts.

Good News Comes For Eman

From We Are Not Numbers

Basman Derawi

Gaza Strip

January 14, 2024

Eman Dewari along with her husband Tayseer Abu Holy and her four children (from left to right) Mohab, Aser, Mohaymen, and Eliaa. The children were all under the age of 16. Photo provided by Basman Dewari.

They have thrown my heart into the fire. 

Now, they add another gallon

of gasoline. 

They killed Eman, my young sister. 

Leaving my mother’s heart 

suspended between earth and sky.

The good news is 

that she is no longer on earth. 

She no longer belongs 

to a world that buried her 

under the rubble of her house. 

Her killer did not allow 

any attempt to rescue her.

They let her spend the night 

cold, alone, tasting her own blood, 

away from her child 

she was trying to reach 

when her home fell 

all over her head.

The good news is 

she will meet my dad. 

I am sure she missed him a lot. 

She will live in a space 

where sounds can’t hurt anymore. 

She will spend time again 

with her family without seeing the shadow 

of their death reflected on the curtains 

in a dark room illuminated 

by the flashing of missiles.

The bad news is she will miss her mother and siblings. 

Maybe she will miss one amputated dream.

Yet the good news is 

she is not going to miss 

any of her children. 

They killed them all together.

Editor’s note: Eman Derawi was killed with her family by Israel on Jan. 4, 2024. Basman Derawi has also commemorated in poems his good friends Essa Essa, killed on Nov. 22, 2023, and Oudah Al Haw, killed on Jan. 3, 2024.

Mentor Kevin Hadduck,

Helena, Montana, USA