Latest news with #Alnaouq
Express Tribune
14-04-2025
- General
- Express Tribune
We are not numbers'
When Gaza-born, London-based journalist Ahmed Alnaouq lost a staggering 21 members of his family to Israeli air strikes in 2023, he was left with the hallmark survivor's guilt question:"Why am I alive?" Now, speaking to Guardian, Alnaouq thinks he knows the answer: it is so that he can share the raw, human stories of Palestinian grief and resilience with the rest of the world. Adamant that he would get the stories of the people behind the faceless numbers reported in the news, Alnaouq teamed up with American activist Pam Bailey in 2015 to create an online platform titled We Are Not Numbers (WANN) as a way for Palestianians who had lost loved ones to violence to channel their pain. The end result? A decade's worth of 74 moving stories by budding Palestinian writers, all brought together in a book titled We Are Not Numbers: The Voices of Gaza's Youth, to be released on April 24. Each chapter covers a different year, with events that have been covered in the news media given a harrowing personal perspective. "We're chronicling history in Gaza, not by facts and statistics and news stories, but by the lived experiences of the people," Alnaouq told the publication. "It's not a political project; it's a human project." Wanting to die Alnaouq's work with his fellow Palestinian writers stems from a place of personal loss. Even before the violence that claimed members of his family in 2023, the journalist had an acute sense of the grief felt by his fellow Palestinians survivors. His first experience with the aftermath of violence came in the summer of 2014 when he lost his brother and four friends to an Israeli air strike. "I wanted to die," recalled Alnaouq as he recounted his tailspin into depression. "I really, genuinely was waiting for the moment that I die so I can join my brother and just get rid of this life." It was only when he reconnected online with Bailey, whom he had met in Gaza several years earlier, that Alnaouq was able to channel his grief. At Bailey's insistence, Alnaouq wrote a story about his brother in English, despite struggling with the language at the time. "At first, I said no," stated Alnaouq. "My English wasn't very good." However, after three months and several edits following a back-and-forth with Bailey, Alnaouq's story was published online, proving to be a watershed moment for the Palestinian writer. "For the first time, I received messages of sympathy and support from people outside Gaza," he said. Having had little idea of how deeply his words would resonate with a wider audience, Alnaouq continued, "In my mind, I thought that all westerners don't like the Palestinians. They don't want to read our stories. But that proved me wrong. It boosted my confidence and made me feel I was wrong when I said there is no hope in this life." Writing to survive That was the turning point that led Alnaouq to realise that the steps he had taken could also help others in his shoes, leading directly to the birth of WANN. In 2015, 20 Palestinian writers – many of whom were English literature students – used the online platform as a means of therapy to write about the very human consequences of Israeli violence. Their words evinced feelings of not just dread, loss, despair, and poverty, but also painted a picture of the innate beauty, culture and architecture of Gaza, proving that it was more than a "dusty, horrible place" on the news. "We were amazed by how talented young writers in Gaza were," said Alnaouq. "Every six months, we would recruit another 20 or 30. We would train them to write and help with their English. Over the past 10 years, we've published more than 1,500 stories and poems." The writers Alnaouq has collaborated with include award-winning poet Mosab Abu Toha and the Al Jazeera journalist Hind Khoudary. Their combined efforts highlight the need for survivors to communicate their pain with the rest of the world when all else appears lost. "We publish maybe three times more stories than before," said Alnaouq, reflecting on the journey his WANN platform has taken from its inception to the present day. Against all odds Those Alnaouq works with do not just battle a language barrier to get their stories shared; they also face the very real and seemingly insurmountable obstacles of having nothing to write on, and no way of sharing their words with anyone if they do. "Most of our writers lost their homes," illustrated the journalist. "They lost their laptops. They don't have electricity or internet connection. But they write their stories on their phones, wait a few days for [an] internet connection and then submit them to us. Every month we publish 35 to 40 stories." Through We Are Not Numbers: The Voices of Gaza's Youth, Alnaouq and his fellow survivors prove that where there is a will, there definitely is a way. The haunting words of dedicated Palestinian writers who pursue their goal in the face of catastrophic loss remain a testament to the resilience of the human spirit and the stubborn refusal of hope to die.
The Guardian
13-04-2025
- General
- The Guardian
Journalist Ahmed Alnaouq: ‘It's our duty to make Gaza's stories immortal'
On 22 October 2023, an Israeli airstrike hit Ahmed Alnaouq's home in Deir al-Balah, central Gaza, killing 21 members of his family, including his 75-year-old father, two brothers, three sisters and all of their children. At the time, Alnaouq was living in London, where he works as a journalist and human rights activist. 'It crushed me,' he says of the attack. Unable to return home, he could only watch helplessly from afar and grieve alone. Later, he tells me that it's not anger or hate that consumes him now, but survivor's guilt. 'All the time I think: 'Why? Why am I alive? Why wasn't I killed with my family?'' The only reason he can think of, he says, is so that he could tell their story to the world. Eight years earlier, Alnaouq had co-founded a platform to help young Palestinians in Gaza write about their lives for an international audience. It began in the aftermath of another airstrike that had claimed the lives of his older brother Ayman and four of his friends during the seven-week Gaza war in the summer of 2014. 'That incident struck me very, very hard,' he tells me quietly from his office in London. 'I sank into a deep depression. I wanted to die. I really, genuinely was waiting for the moment that I die so I can join my brother and just get rid of this life.' Numbly, he watched more deaths being reported in the media – six, eight, 10 more Palestinians killed – with very little sense of the flesh-and-blood people behind the numbers. Then someone he'd met in Gaza a few years earlier, an American journalist and activist named Pam Bailey, messaged Alnaouq on Facebook asking how he was. 'I told her: 'I'm fine'. She said: 'No, tell me something real. Tell me how you feel after losing your brother.' So I told her the truth. I told her I'm very, very depressed. I'm spending all my time at my brother's grave. When I'm all alone, I burst out crying.' In an effort to help him work through his depression and grief, Bailey suggested that Alnaouq write a story about his brother in English. 'At first, I said no. My English wasn't very good.' But eventually he agreed. It took them three months – Alnaouq writing drafts, Bailey sending back detailed edits – to get the story into shape. When it was ready, Bailey published it online. 'That changed my life,' says Alnaouq. 'For the first time, I received messages of sympathy and support from people outside Gaza. In my mind, I thought that all westerners don't like the Palestinians. They don't want to read our stories. But that proved me wrong. It boosted my confidence and made me feel I was wrong when I said there is no hope in this life.' Impressed by the impact of their endeavour, Alnaouq and Bailey had another idea: 'Why don't we replicate this experience for other Palestinians who lost loved ones in Gaza? Why don't we create a platform where young people can tell their stories in English and share them with the world?', says Alnaouq. They called the platform We Are Not Numbers (WANN). It started in 2015 with 20 budding writers – many of them English literature students such as Alnaouq – aided by volunteer mentors from around the world. They wrote of hardship and loss, of feelings of anger and despair and dread in the face of recurring Israeli attacks. They also wrote about the things they loved about their homeland, despite the blockade on Gaza, the scarcity of jobs, the worsening poverty. 'We encouraged our young writers to write about the beauty of the place,' says Alnaouq. 'About how people in Gaza are friendly and hospitable, about the culture, the mosques, churches and cemeteries – about all aspects of life.' The aim, as well as providing a form of therapy for traumatised young people along with vital connections to the outside world, was to 'break the stereotypes' about Gaza for an international audience accustomed to seeing 'this dusty, horrible place' on the news. The project took off. 'We were amazed by how talented young writers in Gaza were,' says Alnaouq. 'Every six months, we would recruit another 20 or 30. We would train them to write and help with their English. Over the past 10 years, we've published more than 1,500 stories and poems.' Among their alumni are the award-winning poet Mosab Abu Toha and the Al Jazeera journalist Hind Khoudary. Now, Alnaouq and Bailey have collected 74 standout pieces from the past decade in a moving book entitled We Are Not Numbers: The Voices of Gaza's Youth (Naomi Klein described it as 'a jailbreak and a miracle'; Riz Ahmed found it 'impossible to put down or forget'). Each chapter covers a year, with big events refracted through highly personal lenses. In 2015, after the devastation of the previous summer's war, one writer, Nada Hammad, observes the 'canvas of grey' across Gaza slowly giving way to 'small splashes of colour' – a wall painted white, graffiti sprouting across temporary housing. 'It was a declaration of survival,' Hammad writes, 'not a struggle to forget.' Subsequent years bring further violence and disruption, but also efforts to live normally amid the chaos. One writer describes his friend's attempts to pursue his love of astronomy in a land without readily available telescopes. We hear about the byzantine complexity of online shopping amid the blockade and the dismay of a young woman who relocates from Abu Dhabi with her family only to find sand in the shower water and power cuts lasting 18 hours. Her initial dislike of her parents' homeland gradually softens into respect for its people who excel in figuring out 'how to thrive with very little'. By the time of the Hamas attacks on Israel on 7 October 2023, Alnaouq was living in the UK. He had moved over in 2019 on a prestigious Chevening scholarship to do a journalism master's degree in Leeds. After graduating, he worked at the Palestinian embassy in London. Then he took over from Bailey as WANN's international director, overseeing the daily running of the organisation. (He also hosts a podcast called Palestine Deep Dive and travels widely to give talks.) On 22 October 2023, came the Israeli bombardment that killed 21 members of his family. This time, unlike 2014, Alnaouq had a way of communicating his loss with a global audience. 'When this bombing happened, I went to social media immediately and started voicing about what happened to my family and I received a lot of media attention.' The response spurred him on to expand WANN's reach beyond the internet. 'We thought: 'Now is our chance. Not only will we have our stories online but we will put them in a book, so that more people will understand what's happening.'' Four contributors, including Alnaouq's brother Mahmoud, have been killed in Gaza since October 2023. 'It's our duty that we make their stories immortal, on paper.' The war hasn't stopped young people in Gaza from writing about their experiences; if anything, it's intensified their need to communicate. 'Now we publish maybe three times more stories than before,' says Alnaouq. 'Most of our writers lost their homes. They lost their laptops. They don't have electricity or internet connection. But they write their stories on their phones, wait a few days for internet connection and then submit them to us. Every month we publish 35 to 40 stories.' 'We're chronicling history in Gaza, not by facts and statistics and news stories, but by the lived experiences of the people. It's not a political project: it's a human project.' We Are Not Numbers: The Voices of Gaza's Youth by Ahmed Alnaouq and Pam Bailey is published by Hutchinson Heinemann (£14.99). To support the Guardian and Observer order your copy at Delivery charges may apply
