We Are Not Numbers: New project helps Gaza writers tell their story
An estimated 2,300 Palestinians in Gaza were killed during the summer assault by Israel. Each one was a mother, father, brother, sister, friend or spouse to someone left behind, and their deep feeling of grieving and loss is still palpable – almost like the phantom pain after the amputation of an arm or leg. Yet the stories behind these numbers have not been told.
In a Gaza war diary to be published by the UK’s Comma Press at the end of February, Atef Abu Saif writes:
Imagine what it is like to be converted into a number. That you are not a unique, living, breathing, laughing, loving individual. You are merely a digit in a much larger number, one that just keeps on growing. Your entire life is reduced to a number. When a human being is made into a number, his or her story disappears…Nobody asks to hear the stories behind these numbers. Nobody uncovers the beauty of the lives they led – the beauty that vanishes with every attack, disappearing behind a thick, opaque wall of numbers.
A new project called We Are Not Numbers is about to launch that is designed to attract attention for those stories – both their beauty and their tragedy. I was inspired to create this platform for helping developing writers in Gaza share their stories by a young man named Ahmed Alnaouq. He lives in Deir al-Balah, in the center of Gaza – a town where I spent many happy days with one of my “adopted families.”
Ahmed Alnaouq
Although I first met the 20-year-old English literature major two years ago, I had lost touch with him until just after the summer war. Our Facebook chat went this way: “How are you?” I asked, rather inanely. “I am fine, doing well. How about you?” Ahmed responded. I could tell something was wrong, so I shot back, “Don’t just say ‘fine.’ Tell me something real.” The barriers down, he told me the truth: “I extremely miss my brother. I go to his grave all the time, and when I am alone, I burst out crying.”
Ahmed’s older brother, Ayman, was killed during the assault that Israel called “Operation Protective Edge” (perhaps better labeled “Operation Genocidal Edge”). The two were inseparable, and Ayman had been the primary breadwinner for the family due to his father’s heart ailment. Given Ahmed’s passion for writing and burning desire to master the English language (thus his major – a popular one in Gaza), I encouraged him to write about his brother, to celebrate him, rather than try to hide his grief from me. He was hesitant at first, given my “Western” identity. It turns out that Ayman was a resistance fighter with the Al-Qassam Brigades – so quickly assumed to be “terrorists” even by many pro-Palestinian activists. Yet the few little tidbits of information Ahmed shared made me want to get to know him better. Ayman clearly had played a very positive role in Ahmed’s life, and there was a reason why fighting the Israeli occupation with whatever weapons were at hand seemed to be the only option to the young man. It was, I believed, a critical story to tell – and share.
Source: mondoweiss.net