Plestia Alaqad is a young Palestinian journalist, who in October 2023 bore witness to the genocide in Gaza and became internationally famous. She became known as ‘The Eyes of Gaza’ and later published an eponymous diary in April 2025. Plestia spoke with Jaseena Al-Helo and Imogen Sabey about her book and her experiences.
Jaseena Al-Helo: مرحباً، أنا اسمي جَسِينة، أنا من فلسطين – القدس، وأدرس القانون والعربية في الجامعة.
أهلاً وسهلاً فيكِ أُختي، والله نورتينا. شكراً من قلبي على وقتك وعلى كل اللي عم تعمليه. والله إنتِ مصدر إلهام إلي، من أول ما شفت شجاعتك على إنستغرام، لليوم اللي التقينا فيه في ديسمبر ٢٠٢٣ في عشاء التبرعات لغزة، وقت قرأت قصيدتي وأخذنا صورة سوا، لهسا.
إنه شرف إلي أكون معكِ اليوم مش كمُحاوِرة، بس كأخت فلسطينية كمان.
آسفة على العربي المكسّر تبعي، يعني ما توخزيني، والدتي هون في سيدني 🙂
إن شاء الله هلأ نبدأ في الأسئلة.
[Transliteration:
Marhaba, ana ismi Jaseena. Ana min Falasteen, il Quds, wa adros il qanoun w il 3arabiy bil jami3a.
Ahlan wa sahlan fiki ukhti, wallah nawwarteena. Shukran min qalbi 3ala waqtik w 3ala kull illi 3am ta3mleh. Wallah inti maṣdar ilham ili, min awal ma shuft shaja3tik 3ala Instagram, layyom illi iltaqayna fih bi December 2023 fi 3asha2 at tabarru3at li Ghazza, wa2t garaayt qaṣidti w akhadhna ṣura sawa, la hassa.
Inno sharaf ili akoon ma3ki ilyom mish ka mu7awira, bass ka ukht Falasteeniyye kaman.
Asfeh 3ala il 3arabi il mkassar taba3i, ya3ni ma t wakhzeeni. Walidit hon fi Sydney.
Inshallah hala nabda fil as2ila.
Translation:
Hello, my name is Jaseena. I am from Jerusalem, Palestine, and I study Law and Arabic at university. Welcome, my sister. You have truly brightened our space. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for your time and for everything you are doing.
You have been a source of inspiration to me. From the moment I saw your bravery on Instagram, to the night we met in December 2023 at the fundraising dinner for Gaza, when I read my poem and we took a photo together, until now. It is truly an honour to be speaking with you today, not just as an interviewer, but as a fellow Palestinian sister.]
Please forgive my broken Arabic. I was born and raised here in Sydney.
Inshallah, we can begin the questions now.
JAH: In the first chapter, I was struck by the simplicity that you had. You know, tea with Mama, cafes, tennis with your friends. And you painted Gaza, not just as a place under siege, but as a place that was full of life. So my question is: how do we preserve that image of Gaza, of candy stores, familiar streets, warm nights, when the world has reduced her to ruins and just statistics?
Plestia Alaqad: That’s a very good question. But the thing is, I don’t think we can preserve that image of Gaza. It’s hard to preserve that image of Gaza because this version of Gaza no longer exists, at least now. The version of Gaza that exists now [is one where] Palestinians are getting killed, are getting starved to death, are getting burned alive. So right now, with all of that happening, it’s hard to talk about the version of Gaza that I grew up in, that I used to know and love.
Imogen Sabey: I wanted to ask you about the role that storytelling plays in your life, because it seems to be really important in your writing and in your diaries. Could you tell us what role storytelling played in your family?
PA: That’s a really great question. For me as a Palestinian, storytelling is a really important tool. Because when I think of 1948 [the Nakba], 1967 [the Naqsa], when I think of Palestinian history… our grandparents, they didn’t have cameras or phones. They didn’t have smartphones, social media, and all that access to tell stories. What our grandparents had was being an eyewitness and telling their own stories. That’s why I feel like stories are important, especially when I was in Gaza in October, November 2023. I didn’t always have access to internet connection. Many things, many stories I wanted to capture, but my phone wasn’t charged, I didn’t have a camera. Back then, I didn’t always have internet access, and all that I had was storytelling. That’s why I feel like it’s an important tool, and it’s how we make sure that our stories don’t die.
IS: When you were growing up, what books and stories about Palestine shaped your childhood?
PA: I remember one of the first books that I read that was related to Palestine was Bainama Yanam Al Alam, Susan Abulhawa’s Mornings In Jenin*. I remember I read it when I was in school, and even though I am Palestinian, living in Palestine, the book helped me understand Palestine more.
JAH: That’s really insightful, honestly. Yeah, storytelling is such an important thing that I think we all resonate with, because you can see it in front of your eyes, like through media, through live broadcasting, and yet people don’t always want to believe it. So I always tell people storytelling is amazing, because you can connect with the characters, and especially through fiction and non fiction, it gives me something.
PA: Wait just a second! Actually, there was a book. I don’t know how we say it in English — Ghassan Kanafani called ma wara al shams.
JAH: Oh, yeah, I think, um, After the Sun, yeah.
PA: Behind the Sun?
JAH: Yeah?
PA: Men in the Sun! This was the first book, because, like, we studied this book in school, then I bought the full version of it and read it. Then Susan Abdulhawa’s book was the second book. To be accurate.
JAH: Very accurate. I love the details. There were also moments in your book that shook me, personally when I was reading it, and I also listened to it as an audio book, so I got the full experience of your voice.
PA: I didn’t even listen to the audiobook.
JAH: It was great. It was so raw. It was amazing. But specifically, when you wrote about Rasha and Osama, it hit home for me, because those are also the names of my Amto and my Amo. So I was like, oh my goodness. It was so, so specific. It really made me feel how personal this all is, and even your Tayta Fatima, that’s my Tayta’s name, her name is also Fatima. So it made it amazing at this point. You know, maybe we’ve got secret family ties, who knows?
I wanted to ask, do you ever feel exhausted by how often you have to remind people that Palestinians aren’t metaphors or numbers, but we’re actually real, and our stories don’t simply just end in hashtags?
PA: Oh my god, all the time. I feel exhausted because it makes me wonder what type of world we live in where you all need to constantly humanise yourself. That itself is dehumanisation and an act of violence, where you need to say, oh my god, we’re not numbers, we’re humans. We’re just like you. I love nail polish, so I’m a girl just like you. I love this, I love that. It feels like a full time job at this point.
JAH: That makes complete sense. I mean, on a completely different scale, because I obviously grew up here so I’ve had very different experiences, but even from a young age, I was always having to assert my Palestinian identity from age ten and upwards, or even younger. You know, the whole ‘point to your country on the map’, and then having to explain “No, no, I know it’s not on the map, but I exist, guys, my people exist… No, I’m not from Pakistan… When I say Palestine, no, Jerusalem isn’t Israel.” So that constant assertion of identity must be exhausting, and especially for you now, it’s really amplified. And I remember when I was 17 in high school, I was fighting to get Palestine on the back of my Year 12 jersey, and I was told it wasn’t appropriate and that I’m being offensive. And I wasn’t even speaking politically. I was just in that space of trying to exist, like you talk about. So have you ever felt like your identity, even in its quietest forms, is seen as sometimes too loud?
PA: The thing is, what people, what the world, often mistakes about Palestine is, whenever we talk about Palestine, even if we’re talking about food, about culture, about anything, really, just like you said, people mistake it for politics. And I think, oh my god, I’m not talking about politics, I’m just talking about your favourite Palestinian dish. And I think the reason for that is our existence, like our existence as Palestinian, is political. So that’s why, even if you’re just sitting there quietly wearing a keffiyeh, you’ll be antisemitic to too many people in the room. Even if you’re just sitting there wearing a Palestinian top, which is for you, you’re presenting your culture. You’re not doing anything harmful. Many people around you will be offended, even though you didn’t open your mouth and say anything.
IS: And you wrote about how when you were a child, you wrote a diary, that was something that you had done regularly. And then as the genocide was unfolding, you continued to write that diary. At what point did you decide to publish it? When did it stop becoming a personal thing that you were doing to help yourself process it, or to write down what was going on, and then become necessary for the world to read?
PA: I think it happened the most when I left, because I understood that these diaries aren’t a personal thing, because what’s written there isn’t only my story. It’s the story of millions of Palestinians. So I felt it’s like my duty to get the message out there to the world.
IS: Did you show it to other people before you published it?
PA: I sent it to some people to read a diary entry or two or the introduction or so, but no one read the whole thing before it was being published. Except professionals.
JAH: What would you say — not in anger, but in truth — to people who still refuse to acknowledge what’s happening? Is there a story you wish they would see, perhaps even once, to understand?
PA: If I had to choose one story for the world to see, it would be Hind Rajab’s story. I specifically chose this story because she said she’s a young girl, she’s literally a child, and some media even referred to her as a woman. And I think her story speaks for itself.
IS: You also write about how you didn’t feel like you chose journalism, it was more of an obligation. If you had grown up in a free Palestine, would you have chosen something different, and what would it have been?
PA: The thing is, I don’t know what I don’t know, like the different version of Plestia that is born in a free Palestine, what she would choose. But in Gaza, we choose our professions more like a mission, not obligation. It feels like a mission to be a journalist, to be this, to be a doctor, to be an architect. It doesn’t always come from a place of genuine passion only.
IS: And before October 2023, what was it like being a young person in that version of Gaza that wasn’t really receiving global publicity, when there wasn’t constant bombing?
PA: Before October 2023, being in, even living in Gaza was challenging, because I was like a young person full of passion, full of dreams, wanting to apply, for example, for scholarships, for your fellowships, for your programmes abroad, to get more experience. But, for example, the borders aren’t always open, or you might get amazing opportunities but your visa will get rejected because you’re Palestinian, or the borders will suddenly explode. And my point here isn’t about travelling. My point here is the amount of limitations we had as Palestinian people, even when you want to dream big and do more, you’re still limited with what you can do.
JAH: Being Palestinian, it’s not necessarily a burden, because personally, I take it as an honour, that we have to do so much for our people. But I get what you mean. You’re not just choosing something directly, like, ‘this is what I would have done’ or something. You have to do something for your people. Especially with my grandfather being here, I’m like, listen, it’s not gonna die with the young. We’re gonna prove we’re gonna keep talking; you give them that faith and you give that hope for the rest of your people. And when I was reading your book, I saw that on page 15, you were writing about the fear of being separated from family and losing them. And in a very different sense, I related to that simply by living extremely far away from my family as a Palestinian and diaspora, and it’s a fear that I carry silently. So has that fear changed how you love people or how you live now?
PA: No, it doesn’t really change anything. It’s just that, as a Palestinian person, like as Palestinian people, we’re so divided by experience from the rest of the world. I think that’s the challenging point, sometimes feeling that others may have empathy or sympathy towards you, may pity you, but not fully understand you, which is not their fault and which is not something that they should understand. But it’s sad that we live in a world where Palestinians relate to trauma, to displacement, to bombing, to God.
JAH: But I guess it unites us amongst our different experiences. And I think especially right now, there’s a painful contradiction, while some people continue to deny our suffering, there’s also, you know, weekly protests, there’s convoys, there’s solidarity across continents. So do you think it’s possible to hold space for both despair of erasure, but also the beauty of global resistance? And do you have hope that hearts can change?
PA: Oh, I already see it changing. I already see the support around the world, even in countries and cities I’ve never heard of before. So yeah, I’m grateful that at least people are talking about what’s happening, and are raising awareness about what’s happening, especially the Madleen boat. Even if the aid wasn’t delivered, their message was delivered, and it’s vital, it’s far, way [more] powerful than any aid. So that’s the thing, Palestinians just want to feel that the world is seeing us, is listening to us, is still talking about us.
IS: How did you feel watching that news unfold, when the Madleen was setting out and then when it was intercepted by Israeli forces?
PA: For me, what was powerful is even the name of the boat and how it’s named in honour of a Palestinian lady, that’s number one. And what happened? What happened to the boat? It’s sad to say that it’s expected, like it’s expected from Israel to do that. I’m just glad at least they made it back to their homes alive.
IS: I also wanted to mention the protests at universities around the world, including at the University of Sydney, because we had very big encampment here last year, for months, to protest against the genocide in Gaza. What has your response been like, to see that sort of activism happening in support of Gaza, and has that made any difference to how you see the global response to it?
PA: Yeah, it was heartwarming, especially seeing the student encampments. And it gives me hope a lot, as you previously said, how they thought the old will die and the young will forget. So the student encampments coming from young students, happening in universities — a place where people should be educated about what’s happening — for me, it was history. It was something huge, you know, and the proof of that is how many student encampments police were trying to shut down. I mean, it’s a harmless encampment. So if it doesn’t have a huge impact, why would police try to shut it down?
IS: I think that would be really heartwarming for a lot of people to hear, because many people in Australia and in Sydney have been protesting a lot against that, and there’s been these huge movements, and there are still protests every week.
PA: Yeah, to see, especially here in Australia, to be that far away from home yet to see people here care about what’s happening, or talking, or raising awareness, or coming up with ways to how to help, or even through this thing every Sunday for 20 months now, is something that gives us Palestinians hope.
JAH: Yeah, it is. It’s very heartwarming to see a lot of the world wake up, even though there’s still ignorance. But I guess as Palestinians, going from people confusing your country, especially living so far away a few years ago, to now everyone knowing about it, is a sign of history.
IS: It’s just something that you can’t get away from. Every conversation seems to come back to it. It’s ever-present, especially in Australia, I think it’s had a huge effect on our community.
JAH: Yeah, it has. But actually, that reminds me of this weird shift that has occurred when saying that you’re Palestinian post October 2023 — I’m not sure if you’ve experienced the same thing being out of Gaza, but when you tell people you’re Palestinian, often the response I get is “Oh, I’m so sorry”, or like, “Oh, I’m so sad for you”. And it’s such a weird thing, because as Palestinians, we’re raised to be so brave and so courageous, and we never really fall into victimising ourselves, despite having endured ongoing occupation for so many years. So have you experienced a similar shift where people have a lot of pity or perhaps look down on you?
PA: I experienced that in a way, just a couple of years ago. People, whenever you say you’re from Palestine, they hear Pakistan. People didn’t even know that you exist. But right now, when you say you’re from Palestine, people love you and appreciate you… no, it’s not about love — people appreciate you more. Like, we used to live in a world where we were afraid of seeing our identity, but now we can proudly say it.
JAH: Yeah, that makes sense. I guess that’s a hopeful thing that has come out with all the exposure. And something else that I wanted to ask you about, which is a concept that I feel like is a little bit more foreign to the West, is the word martyr and how it can be misunderstood. But I feel like in the Palestinian culture, the concept of al-istishhad (الاستشهاد) (martyrdom), it’s bound to faith, longing and meaning. And a lot of the times you see on the media something which baffles the mind of people: when somebody has been murdered, you might hear them say, well, “Wallah neyaloo” which is “by God, how great he is”. Instead of, you know, a more natural response of, “oh my gosh, that’s so terrible”. So how would you explain al-istishhad to someone who’s never lived with this concept being so prevalent?
PA: The thing about martyrdom, it’s something I wrote about in my book. Okay, people think we celebrate death, but we don’t celebrate death. But death is all around us, and we need a way to convert it back into life. I wrote about it in the introduction of the book. I feel like it’s a concept that the world doesn’t often understand, they don’t even understand why Palestinian mothers, they have a lot of children. “Oh my God, you have five siblings’”, ‘“you have three brothers”, and so on. And I feel like Palestinians, we have so much generational trauma, of getting killed, of going extinct, if that’s the right word. So I feel like that’s the reason mothers in Palestine maybe have a tendency to have more kids.
IS: And there are a lot of misconceptions and misinformation about Palestine as well. I’m sure you would have encountered many people who didn’t understand what was going on, or disagreed with you, or had arguments and all that. Has there been any misconception or like mistake that people have made, that you’ve come into contact really often, that you wish they knew about?
PA: I think one of the main misconceptions would be, is that the world, they don’t know how much we Palestinians value life and love to live. And that there was a whole Gaza before October 2023, because the media often reports about Palestine only when there’s Israeli aggression, genocide and so on. But there’s a whole Gaza when Gaza isn’t getting bombed 24/7. Now, for the past 20 months, it is, obviously. But before that, despite occupation, despite blockade, despite siege, people love to live. I think that’s something they will not often understand the weight of.
JAH: That makes perfect sense. It’s always a bit of a negative lens on Palestine, on Gaza, on everywhere you go. But a lot of my best memories growing up were being in Palestine, being with my family, travelling, going outside, seeing the men give out candy and the kids playing on the street.
PA: And people don’t know how educated we are actually, that’s a good one. People don’t understand or realise how educated and smart Palestinians are. The illiteracy rate in Palestine is very low.
IS: And there was the recent news about the last university in Gaza being destroyed, how did you respond to that?
PA: It’s hard to see that universities and schools are getting bombed. It’s the place where people get their education. So it’s like Israel’s targeting education, like they want us to be uneducated. The other day, I was talking to my colleague, a journalist, and he has kids, and I asked him, “what grades are your kids supposed to be in?” And it took him a while. He paused for a while to realise that it’s been two years now with his kids not having access to education, and instead of being in school to learn, they’re [sheltering] in schools because they’re displaced.
IS: Have there been any sort of makeshift schools that have been constructed during the genocide, or have kids been finding any other ways to learn?
PA: There’s a lot of initiatives and so on. But still, at the end of the day, it’s not like [real] schools.
JAH: I think that’s a great takeaway, that despite everything that’s going on, Palestinians always have the urge to do more, to be more, to learn. It’s like a, you know, a running joke, okay, that if you meet a Palestinian, they’re going to be a doctor, a lawyer, an engineer, a writer, like they’re going to be something. And I feel like that’s something that your book really evokes, that there’s more to us than just numbers on a screen.
JAH: إن شاء الله، منرجع مع بعض على فلسطين حرة في المستقبل القريب!
ونشرب أحسن قهوة ونأكل أحلى كنافة!
[Transliteration:
Inshallah, mnirja3 ma3 ba3ed 3ala Falasteen 7urra fil-mustaqbal il-qarib!
Wa nishrab a7san gahwa w nakol a7la knafeh!
Translation:
God willing, we’ll return together to a free Palestine in the near future. We’ll drink the best coffee and eat the sweetest knafeh.]
*Note: The expression that Plestia uses here, Bainama Yanam Al Alam, is the Arabic title for Susan Abulhawa’s Mornings In Jenin. The English translation of the Arabic title is While the World Sleeps.
Plestia Alaqad’s book, The Eyes of Gaza, was published on 29th April 2025 by Pan Macmillan.
