As a Palestinian woman from Gaza, I come from a family that survived the Nakba of 1948, a catastrophic event that forced over 700,000 Palestinians from their homes. In the past fifteen months, we have tragically lost entire branches of our family in Israel’s ongoing war, a war the International Court of Justice (ICJ) deemed genocidal.
Despite these overwhelming losses, we remain resilient. Even as Israel and the United States threaten the ethnic cleansing of Gaza, we stand firm in our fight for survival and our right to exist on our land.
Over the last fifteen months, Israel’s war has revealed its effort to erase Palestinian existence, not only through military violence but through the suppression of our narrative. This erasure is evident in the media, the destruction of Palestinian identity in schools and hospitals, and the criminalization of peaceful protest. Yet, our unity and solidarity have only grown stronger in the face of these efforts. These values remain the foundation of our resistance.
Criminalized for solidarity: My arrest in Toronto
Last year, I was arrested on the Avenue Road bridge in Toronto for peacefully crossing it, after police imposed a ban on pro-Palestinian protests. Though the charges were ultimately dropped, this experience exposed the growing tide of anti-Palestinian racism, which fuels police violence and silences our community. Despite this legal victory, the trauma of being targeted for our solidarity with Gaza remains.
One vivid example occurred during the Land Day protest last March. As we peacefully marched, demanding a ceasefire in Gaza and an arms embargo on Israel, police confined us using a controversial crowd-control tactic known as “kettling” before brutally attacking the protesters. I witnessed an older woman lose consciousness and a man bleeding from his eye. These acts of violence should outrage us all, urging us to stand against such injustice.
Since then, I’ve attended weekly demonstrations, only to face more police brutality. This disproportionate response is fueled by rhetoric from figures like Premier Doug Ford, who dismissed our peaceful protests as “hate rallies.”
The ongoing Nakba: Stories of loss and resilience
My family, like many Palestinians in Gaza, still identifies as refugees. We speak often of the towns and villages we were forced to leave. My family hails from al-Majdal, once a thriving market town known for its textiles. In 1948, Zionist forces destroyed the city to erase any trace of Palestinian life, replacing it with the Israeli city of Ashkelon.
Years later, my father returned to al-Majdal, hoping to visit his childhood home. When he knocked on the door, a Moroccan-Jewish woman answered, explaining that the house was now hers. My father did not give up—he went into the backyard and took a pomegranate, an olive branch, and a handful of soil—symbols of his unbroken connection to the land.
My uncle, also a Nakba survivor, recalled how Zionist militias rounded up all the men from al-Majdal and abandoned them at the Egyptian border. Like so many Palestinians, he has never returned home, condemned to live as a permanent refugee. This trauma is a shared experience for many in my family and community.
The Nakba is not just a historical event but a structure that continues to unfold. Palestinians remain displaced, their homes destroyed, and their lives disrupted. My aunt, a nurse at Al-Shifa Hospital, fled Israeli violence as a young woman. Now, in her 90s, she was forced to flee again—this time not from bombs but from the famine imposed by Israel’s blockade.
Over the last fifteen months, I have lost over twenty family members in the Jabalia refugee camp, the largest in Gaza. Each death is not just a loss of life but a reminder that the Nakba is not over.
Inspiring solidarity: Our fight for justice
For many in my community, the fear of police retaliation silences their voices in the face of systemic violations. But despite the oppression, my resolve remains unshaken. The racism I face is part of the same oppression my family has endured for generations. It only strengthens my commitment to this cause.
The Nakba of 1948 was not a singular event; it marked the beginning of a continuous system of dispossession and displacement that continues today. My family, like millions of Palestinians, still carries the scars of that forced exile. The Nakba was not merely a tragedy—it was the beginning of a broader process of erasure, an effort to remove Palestinians from their land, history, and identity.
Today, this cycle continues, but it is now more visible than ever. Israel’s policies, supported by the United States, have escalated into what many, including myself, view as a modern-day Nakba. The repeated airstrikes, brutal siege, and ongoing settlement expansion are not isolated incidents—they are part of a systematic plan to permanently alter the demographic landscape of Palestine. Israel’s government, emboldened by U.S. support, continues its ethnic cleansing campaign.
This is the reality we face: a direct continuation of the Nakba. Just as my grandparents were driven from their homes in 1948, today’s Palestinians—whether in Gaza, the West Bank, or within Israel’s borders—suffer the same fate. The language used to justify these policies—calling Palestinians a “demographic threat” or “terrorists”—echoes the same dehumanizing rhetoric used in 1948. The international community’s silence and the complicity of world powers have allowed this process to continue unchecked.
A struggle against settler colonialism and apartheid
The Nakba is not simply a historical memory but a living process. The forced displacement, the destruction of homes, the violence, and the denial of human rights continue, but in new, more sophisticated forms. What we witness today in Gaza and Palestine is not just military occupation—it is a deliberate and calculated effort to erase Palestinians from our land, our homes, and our history.
This struggle is not just a Palestinian fight; it is a global fight against settler colonialism, apartheid, and all forms of racial oppression. Just as South Africa’s apartheid regime sought to erase Black South Africans, Israel’s policies aim to do the same to the Palestinian people. The language of dehumanization being used today against Palestinians is the same language used to justify colonial projects throughout history. This is not just an occupation; it is an effort to erase our people from existence.
Our resistance is not just about survival—it is a fight against all forms of settler colonialism. It is a fight for dignity, the right to live free from oppression, and the recognition of our humanity. The Palestinian liberation struggle is part of the larger global fight for justice and against all forms of violence, dispossession, and erasure.
The Nakba will not be forgotten as long as we breathe and remember. The international community may remain complicit, but our solidarity and resilience will not falter. Our fight for justice is not just about reclaiming land; it is about reclaiming our right to exist, to live free from oppression, and to have our history and identity recognized. We cannot afford to lose this fight—not just for Palestinians but for all of humanity.
And so, we continue. Our resistance grows stronger with every story shared, every protest organized, and every act of solidarity. The Nakba is not an event of the past but a process that continues today. And we will not rest until it ends.
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