The UK's largest Palestinian theatre production appears on stage
The UK's largest celebration of performing arts and culture from the Arab world has returned to London, with a focus on art from Palestine. The festival staged the UK's largest Palestinian theatre production to date at the Southbank Centre at the weekend. Part dance, part theatre, MILK is a play focused on disaster, telling the story of women who have lost their children, focusing on the moments before and after the tragic events. It is directed by Bashar Murkus and Khulood Basel of the Haifa-based Khashabi Ensemble. And as with every edition of Shubbak festival – which takes place once every two years – uncertainty about whether the artists will make it to the UK is fuelled by growing visa restrictions. This year, the Khashabi Ensemble was held up due to closures at Ben Gurion Sirport after Houthi air strikes. Members ended up taking an alternative route through Jordan. Artistic director Alia Al Zoghbi said the weight of the wars in Gaza and Sudan is hanging over this year's festival, which runs until mid-June. 'This year was a particularly difficult one for us because we really have to ask ourselves what are festivals for, when a group of people is being erased, their heritage and culture is being erased,' she told The National. She hopes to bridge the uncertainty by presenting a line of up of 'artists as archivists, as dreamers who hold mirrors to the world as it is, and are so crucial to society. They can help us imagine how different the world would be. This festival stands squarely before our grief and rage and at the same time reflects on our hopes and dreams,' she said. The festival opened on Friday with a fashion show showcasing clothing brands from Palestine, Lebanon and Syria at the Southbank Centre. Designers selected by the fashion platform 3EIB include the Ramallah-based Nol Collective, Trashy Clothing and Nafs Space, and their collections were available in a pop-up at the centre's foyer at the weekend. The festival is no stranger to war and adversity, having launched in 2011, capturing the optimism generated by the Arab Spring, and subsequently serving as a platform for Syrian artists exiled by the ensuing civil war. Al Zoghbi hopes to continue this legacy, and has incorporated three plays put on by the London-based PalArts Collective into its programme this year. Ahmed Masoud's black comedy Application 39 imagines Gaza hosting the Olympics in the year 2048 and runs all of this week at Teatro Technis. Other theatre productions include Koulounisation, by Franco-Algerian director and artist Salim Djaferi, which explores the language of colonisation that lingers in discussions of the Algerian war of Independence. The one-man performance at the Battersea Arts Centre is played by Djaferi and will bring together storytelling, theatre and visual arts. The British-Lebanese DJ Saliah will present her first original live show, The Scene Between, at Village Underground as part of the festival's collaboration with SXSW. The artist made her debut appearance at Glastonbury in 2022, and is known for blending old Arabic pop songs with contemporary dance music and hip-hop. Beauty and identity will be explored through Talking Textures, a photography exhibition curated by Yasemin Hamdan at Coal Drops Yard from June 4 to 7. This will be followed by an Eid Souq organised by the festival, where skincare products such as traditional soaps, henna and kohl, as well as textiles and food, will be sold during the Eid weekend. Two generations of artists will be presented through the works of Syrian-born painter and sculptor Issam Kourbaj, and Leicester-based painter Sarah Al Sarraj, whose recent collection explores Islamic astronomy and indigenous knowledge systems.
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The National
2 days ago
- The National
Plestia Alaqad published her Gaza diaries 'for children of a free Palestine'
Plestia Alaqad doesn't want her readers to believe that anything in her book, The Eyes of Gaza, really happened. And even more so, she prays you'll never be able to relate. 'I don't want to live in a world where people are relating to the book,' Alaqad tells The National. 'My target audience is the upcoming generations who will read this book in a free Palestine, and they will be in disbelief. They'll be like, 'how is that possible? How did this happen? How was that OK?' 'I'm hoping when they read it, the world will be a better place – so much better that they won't even believe what I wrote really happened to us, or that such an evil existed,' Alaqad continues. But as her book – which collects her diaries from October 7 through the day she was forced to flee her home and the months that she watched the tragedy continue from afar – hits shelves across the world, it's still all too real to ignore. 'We say the Nakba happened in 1948 but in reality it never stopped. Today, we're in 2025 and the Nakba is still continuing. There is still a genocide that is unfolding in the Gaza Strip. Palestinians are getting killed – are getting starved. And we don't know when the killing will stop,' says Alaqad. Alaqad was 21 when the war began, living with her family in Gaza and just beginning her career as a journalist. She dreamt of one day becoming a writer – not of tragedy, but of beauty. 'I was always thinking that my first book would be poetry, or a novel. Something with positive vibes,' says Alaqad. But overnight, she became one of the most essential voices reporting from inside the besieged enclave, publishing short, emotionally raw Instagram videos that reached millions. For many struggling to process what they were seeing or to parse conflicting narratives – Alaqad was not just the eyes of Gaza, but its heart and soul. 'In Gaza, I feel we always take on jobs that can help our homeland, that can help our people. The reason I wanted to become a journalist is to show the world through my eyes – to cover what was happening and to humanise us,' says Alaqad. As vital as her videos were in the first days of the catastrophe, the words she wrote when she put her camera down are quietly more devastating. In her first few entries, her instincts are more logical and immediate – where to go, what to carry, how to keep herself and her loved ones safe – but as the violence grows harder to fathom, her dispatches grow more internally complex and scattered. For Alaqad, that was the intention. 'I want the reader to feel all sort of emotions – to feel sad at a point, to feel hopeful at a point and then to feel hopeless. Because if you're going to see Gaza through my eyes, that is the way I truly felt about it. You start your day feeling like, 'Oh my God, I'll get killed today. There isn't food, there isn't anything. Oh, my God, what is this life?' Then five minutes later, a little child is being kind to you, and you start feeling optimistic. For me, this is Gaza.' At times, the horror she describes is interrupted by humour, such as children worrying about donkeys left behind in the rubble, or friend clutching a houseplant while fleeing. Alaqad understands the dissonance. 'Humour is a coping mechanism,' she says. 'We don't laugh because it's funny. We laugh because it's the only way to survive.' 'It's part of who we are. I met a Lebanese comedian several months ago, and my friends and I were telling him stories and laughing. He said to us, 'I'm confused, am I allowed to laugh with you? Will that be offensive?' I told him: 'yeah, you can laugh – not because it's funny, but because that's how we get through it,' says Alaqad. And that tension – between reporter and refugee, storyteller and subject, urgency and uncertainty – defines not only the book, but also Alaqad's life since. Since leaving Gaza with her family on November 22, 2023, the young writer has struggled to move forward with her life, or even find time to be Plestia the young woman rather than Plestia the platform for peace. 'Whenever I try to move forward in life, it feels like what's happening in Gaza pulls me backward. Even if I'm physically outside, with access to food, clean water – I can't help but be in Gaza in my heart,' says Alaqad. As a result, she's paused her master's studies, turned down full-time jobs, and refuses to commit to long-term projects. 'How can I plan anything when I don't know when the genocide will stop?,' she asks. 'Earlier this year, when they announced a ceasefire, I thought the moment the borders opened, I'd go back. I even started talking to different organisations that can help me enter Gaza, but of course, none of them were able to help,' Alaqad explains. Alaqad holds on to one guiding hope – that when the violence ends, her real work will begin. 'I want to go back to report on the rebuilding of Gaza, and that's holding me back from doing a lot of things. In the back of my brain I'm like, 'maybe in two days, maybe in one week, the genocide will be over.' So I can't commit to this or that, to sign a contract, because I need to be able to go back the moment it's possible. 'I've always wanted to start a podcast, but now is not a good time. What if I start talking to guests, and it ends, and I'm able to go back? Then I'll have to drop everything, and that wouldn't be fair to everyone, and so on. So I just don't do it. I can't just plan my life minus Gaza. I'm always holding on to the hope that the genocide will be over.' In the meantime, as she takes speaking engagements across the world, works freelance and continues to raise awareness about the death and starvation where her home once stood, she's spending her free time reading. She's reading a lot of bestsellers new and old – Tuesdays with Morrie and The Five People You Meet in Heaven by Mitch Albom, White Nights by Fyodor Dostoevsky, and various works by Agatha Christie. 'I think it helps me understand how the world works. I stick with bestsellers, because I want to know why these books resonated with millions of people. Because when you understand this, you understand what people are interested in. 'There are many books, in my opinion, that should sell millions of copies, and they don't. I think it's because people don't want to know this truth. It will make them feel bad about the world we live in. 'People want easy truths. Everyone wants to feel better about themselves. No one wants to feel like, 'Oh my God, there's a lot happening in Gaza, but I'm helpless. There's nothing I can do. That's an ugly feeling that no one wants to pick,' says Alaqad. In many ways, Alaqad has become disillusioned with the world outside of Gaza. Each day, as she posted the day's tragic updates, a part of her hoped that the world would come to the rescue overnight – waking up each day to find the blaze only growing greater. 'When I started writing, I was 21 years old. Now, I'm 23, turning 24, and I feel I've grown up a lot. I was naive. I no longer have a lot of expectations for the world because of what's happening. I now know it isn't only about Palestine. I have realised and understood just how ugly the world can be.' But each day, rather than sink into despair, Alaqad finds the strength to stay positive. It's a hope that's defined her people since the tragedy began nearly 80 years ago – and a light that she will never let extinguish within her. 'I'm always thinking, 'what's the impact you're going to leave on people? What's the message or purpose behind the work you're doing? Like, if you were to die today, would you be satisfied with what you're doing?' I live for truth – that is my purpose.'
The National
2 days ago
- The National
Plestia Alaqad wrote The Eyes of Gaza 'for children of a free Palestine'
Plestia Alaqad doesn't want her readers to believe that anything in her book, The Eyes of Gaza, really happened. And even more so, she prays you'll never be able to relate. 'I don't want to live in a world where people are relating to the book,' Alaqad tells The National. 'My target audience is the upcoming generations who will read this book in a free Palestine, and they will be in disbelief. They'll be like, 'how is that possible? How did this happen? How was that OK?' 'I'm hoping when they read it, the world will be a better place – so much better that they won't even believe what I wrote really happened to us, or that such an evil existed,' Alaqad continues. But as her book – which collects her diaries from October 7 through the day she was forced to flee her home and the months that she watched the tragedy continue from afar – hits shelves across the world, it's still all too real to ignore. 'We say the Nakba happened in 1948 but in reality it never stopped. Today, we're in 2025 and the Nakba is still continuing. There is still a genocide that is unfolding in the Gaza Strip. Palestinians are getting killed – are getting starved. And we don't know when the killing will stop,' says Alaqad. Alaqad was 21 when the war began, living with her family in Gaza and just beginning her career as a journalist. She dreamt of one day becoming a writer – not of tragedy, but of beauty. 'I was always thinking that my first book would be poetry, or a novel. Something with positive vibes,' says Alaqad. But overnight, she became one of the most essential voices reporting from inside the besieged enclave, publishing short, emotionally raw Instagram videos that reached millions. For many struggling to process what they were seeing or to parse conflicting narratives – Alaqad was not just the eyes of Gaza, but its heart and soul. 'In Gaza, I feel we always take on jobs that can help our homeland, that can help our people. The reason I wanted to become a journalist is to show the world through my eyes – to cover what was happening and to humanise us,' says Alaqad. As vital as her videos were in the first days of the catastrophe, the words she wrote when she put her camera down are quietly more devastating. In her first few entries, her instincts are more logical and immediate – where to go, what to carry, how to keep herself and her loved ones safe – but as the violence grows harder to fathom, her dispatches grow more internally complex and scattered. For Alaqad, that was the intention. 'I want the reader to feel all sort of emotions – to feel sad at a point, to feel hopeful at a point and then to feel hopeless. Because if you're going to see Gaza through my eyes, that is the way I truly felt about it. You start your day feeling like, 'Oh my God, I'll get killed today. There isn't food, there isn't anything. Oh, my God, what is this life?' Then five minutes later, a little child is being kind to you, and you start feeling optimistic. For me, this is Gaza.' At times, the horror she describes is interrupted by humour, such as children worrying about donkeys left behind in the rubble, or friend clutching a houseplant while fleeing. Alaqad understands the dissonance. 'Humour is a coping mechanism,' she says. 'We don't laugh because it's funny. We laugh because it's the only way to survive.' 'It's part of who we are. I met a Lebanese comedian several months ago, and my friends and I were telling him stories and laughing. He said to us, 'I'm confused, am I allowed to laugh with you? Will that be offensive?' I told him: 'yeah, you can laugh – not because it's funny, but because that's how we get through it,' says Alaqad. And that tension – between reporter and refugee, storyteller and subject, urgency and uncertainty – defines not only the book, but also Alaqad's life since. Since leaving Gaza with her family on November 22, 2023, the young writer has struggled to move forward with her life, or even find time to be Plestia the young woman rather than Plestia the platform for peace. 'Whenever I try to move forward in life, it feels like what's happening in Gaza pulls me backward. Even if I'm physically outside, with access to food, clean water – I can't help but be in Gaza in my heart,' says Alaqad. As a result, she's paused her master's studies, turned down full-time jobs, and refuses to commit to long-term projects. 'How can I plan anything when I don't know when the genocide will stop?,' she asks. 'Earlier this year, when they announced a ceasefire, I thought the moment the borders opened, I'd go back. I even started talking to different organisations that can help me enter Gaza, but of course, none of them were able to help,' Alaqad explains. Alaqad holds on to one guiding hope – that when the violence ends, her real work will begin. 'I want to go back to report on the rebuilding of Gaza, and that's holding me back from doing a lot of things. In the back of my brain I'm like, 'maybe in two days, maybe in one week, the genocide will be over.' So I can't commit to this or that, to sign a contract, because I need to be able to go back the moment it's possible. 'I've always wanted to start a podcast, but now is not a good time. What if I start talking to guests, and it ends, and I'm able to go back? Then I'll have to drop everything, and that wouldn't be fair to everyone, and so on. So I just don't do it. I can't just plan my life minus Gaza. I'm always holding on to the hope that the genocide will be over.' In the meantime, as she takes speaking engagements across the world, works freelance and continues to raise awareness about the death and starvation where her home once stood, she's spending her free time reading. She's reading a lot of bestsellers new and old – Tuesdays with Morrie and The Five People You Meet in heaven by Mitch Albom, White Nights by Fyodor Dostoevsky, and various works by Agatha Christie. 'I think it helps me understand how the world works. I stick with bestsellers, because I want to know why these books resonated with millions of people. Because when you understand this, you understand what people are interested in. 'There are many books, in my opinion, that should sell millions of copies, and they don't. and I think it's because people don't want to know this truth. It will make them feel bad about the world we live in. 'People want easy truths. Everyone wants to feel better about themselves. No one wants to feel like, 'Oh my God, there's a lot happening in Gaza, but I'm helpless. There's nothing I can do. That's an ugly feeling that no one wants to pick,' says Alaqad. In many ways, Alaqad has become disillusioned with the world outside of Gaza. Each day, as she posted the day's tragic updates, a part of her hoped that the world would come to the rescue overnight – waking up each day to find the blaze only growing greater. 'When I started writing, I was 21 years old. Now, I'm 23, turning 24, and I feel I've grown up a lot. I was naive. I no longer have a lot of expectations for the world because of what's happening. I now know it isn't only about Palestine. I have realised and understood just how ugly the world can be.' But each day, rather than sink into despair, Alaqad finds the strength to stay positive. It's a hope that's defined her people since the tragedy began nearly 80 years ago – and a light that she will never let extinguish within her. 'I'm always thinking, what's the impact you're going to leave on people? What's the message or purpose behind the work you're doing? Like, if you were to die today, would you be satisfied with what you're doing? I live for truth – that is my purpose.'
The National
3 days ago
- The National
Israeli forces seize and take command of Gaza Freedom Flotilla
Israeli forces have seized and taken command of the Gaza Freedom Flotilla carrying 12 activists including Greta Thunberg, the Israeli foreign ministry said on Monday, adding that it was heading to Israeli shores. "The 'selfie yacht' of the 'celebrities' is safely making its way to the shores of Israel. The passengers are expected to return to their home countries," the ministry wrote on X. All passengers were safe and unharmed, the ministry later added. "They were provided with sandwiches and water. The show is over." The yacht is carrying a small shipment of humanitarian aid, including rice and baby formula. The Foreign Ministry said it would be taken to Gaza. "The tiny amount of aid that was on the yacht and not consumed by the 'celebrities' will be transferred to Gaza through real humanitarian channels," it wrote. The yacht Madleen is named after a Gazan fisherwoman, according to the organisation, which says the flotilla is "carrying a cargo of hope and humanitarian aid". Game of Thrones actor Liam Cunningham is also on board. The yacht is carrying a small amount of humanitarian aid including baby formula and medical supplies, while also making a symbolic voyage in protest at Israel's blockade. Crew members say they are unarmed civilians who pose no threat.
