Don’t bury Gaza while its people live

We focus on the numbers. We recite the death toll, the proportion of women and children, the total years of lost life. We share statistics – the number of child amputees, the tons of asbestos-riddled rubble – hoping to shock the still yet unmoved. In our anguish, we quote-tweet politicians with photos of Beit Hanoun, the razed earth pocked with the pale traces of where homes once stood, knowing full well that they are incapable of shame.

I worry in my private moments that we are having the opposite effect of what’s intended. What if these photos and statistics only calcify the occupier's might in the minds of the public? What if, by emphasising the scale of the destruction, we are reinforcing the very feelings of futility we are trying to combat?

Gaza, after all, is not dead. Couples still announce their engagements. Barbers flick their capes over familiar shoulders. Clowns do their best to put smiles on children’s faces. There is even a new library. The genocide continues, but so do the people of Gaza.

Oday Al-Jabour starts his day at 5.30 am. After Fajr prayer, he packs his bag with tools and his laptop and makes his way to the Nasser Hospital Complex in Gaza. By 7 am, the 24-year-old biomedical engineer and a small team of volunteers begin work repairing the hospital’s medical equipment. Though they are meant to finish by 2.30 pm, they often work late into the day. After work, Oday heads home to his tent, where he takes a nap, then begins applying for scholarships for Master’s programmes.

He finished his first degree on 5 March 2025. Just six days later, on 11 March, he began volunteering at the European Hospital. I first became aware of Oday through his Twitter account, where he documents his life amongst the tents and the team’s successes bringing medical devices back to life. His feed is full of selfies with tarpaulin backdrops or photos of whatever maze of wires and chips they are working on that day.

From the outside, their achievements seem nothing short of miraculous. Broken dialysis machines, centrifuges, blood chemistry analysers, and ventilators are all now back in use thanks to their efforts. Oday’s posts documenting the process of repairing a hydraulic operating table were particularly affecting; there were multiple pregnant women waiting to give birth on it in the coming days. But, he stresses, “every device, whether therapeutic or diagnostic, plays a pivotal role in saving lives.”

Oday thinks, in total, they have repaired over 100 devices since he first began volunteering. For all of the team’s success, there are days of frustration. “I'm still a complete beginner,” he says, “and I follow the advice of experienced engineers who have completed professional courses.” Beyond the humanitarian impact of his work, he believes that repairing medical devices is a peaceful means of resisting the occupation.

But he warns, “Everything needs to be removed and rebuilt. For example, medical equipment, such as writing instruments, is being repaired with worn-out parts and equipment that won’t last more than a few months, and the medical devices themselves are over 10 years old.”

Gaza holds thousands of students who, like Oday, want to complete their studies and begin giving back to their communities, but the barriers are immense. Nearly 90,000 of them are currently displaced; most of their classrooms and libraries have been destroyed; digital infrastructure remains severely eroded. Still, they press on.

In 2024, Gaza's three major non-profit universities – Al-Azhar University, Al-Aqsa University, and the Islamic University of Gaza – and their affiliated colleges joined forces to establish the Emergency Committee of Universities in Gaza. The group is dedicated to maintaining access to higher education despite the dire conditions; these institutions form the backbone of Gaza’s higher education sector, representing 80% of it.

Dr Radwan Abu Rukba, Dean of International Relations Affairs at Al-Aqsa University, told me their immediate priorities were transitioning to online learning, as the bombardment and displacement made in-person learning impossible; liaising with telecommunications providers to secure the digital infrastructure necessary for remote learning; reorganising the academic courses that had been disrupted; and providing psychosocial support to students and staff.

“One common misconception is that education has completely stopped,” Dr Radwan said. “In reality, universities have worked to sustain teaching through alternative models, particularly online learning, which has continued to evolve into more flexible forms.”

This is, of course, not the first time Israel has targeted academic infrastructure in Gaza. While nothing could prepare them for the genocide’s level of destruction, Gaza’s universities had already put in place certain measures to deal with the realities of teaching under occupation.

Staff have had to develop a range of approaches to cope with past aggression, such as altering their academic calendar as needed and compressing their course delivery, and the universities have had emergency policies in place to allow for added flexibility. The Covid-19 pandemic had already necessitated that most staff be familiar with remote learning practices.

Over time the Emergency Committee’s focus has moved beyond emergency response to more long-term planning and even a degree of recovery. They are, where possible, restoring some of the university facilities that were damaged and transitioning to more in-person teaching, prioritising applied disciplines such as medicine.

Academic staff are continuing to improve the quality of their digital pedagogy through research and experience. The Committee continues to engage international partners to provide support, funding, and collaborations that elevate the prominence of Palestinian academics.

Still, the lack of internet connectivity puts students and staff at tremendous risk, says Dr Radwan. “We are forced to go to workspaces and cafes because the internet is better than at home,” he explained on a recent webinar with Friends of Palestinian Universities.

But these open spaces have frequently been targeted. “Many cafes and workspaces in Gaza were struck by Israeli military forces, and many students from Al-Aqsa university were killed,” such as a graphic design student from Deir al-Balah, he recalls, who went to a cafe to work on her research.

Sustaining universities requires not only academic adaptation, but also the financial means to keep institutions functioning: paying staff, maintaining basic operations, and ensuring students can remain enrolled. To this end, Taawon has launched the ISNAD programme in partnership with the Ministry of Education and Higher Education and the three universities comprising the Emergency Committee.

The programme provides scholarships for final-year students to cover outstanding tuition debts and to release withheld graduation certifications. This facilitates students’ graduation and entry into the labour force, with an emphasis on disciplines that have the greatest impact on Palestinians in Gaza.

Already, 6,274 students have received scholarships for at least one semester of education. But the programme has more holistic impacts. ISNAD is helping to keep academic courses running, retain faculty, and preserve critical disciplines to Gaza’s survival and future, such as medicine, engineering, and education.

As Farah Zaghbar, a multimedia and web development graduate from the Islamic University of Gaza, puts it, “I graduated through displacement and darkness, with electricity constantly cut off. But I refused to miss that moment. We didn’t stop; we just changed how we learn.”

If you zoom in on those photos of the debris, you will find life, people making the most of the unimaginable. We owe them the platform to tell their stories, not as Pollyannaish human interest pieces, but to give the full weight of what they have endured and overcome.

Alex Foley is a researcher and painter living in Brighton, UK. They have a background in molecular biology of health and disease. They are the co-founder of the Accountability Archive, a web tool preserving fragile digital evidence of pro-genocidal rhetoric from power holders.

Follow them on X: @foleywoley

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Opinions expressed in this article remain those of the author and do not necessarily represent those of The New Arab, its editorial board or staff.