On June 29th we held our second online workshop with Shahd Alnaami, a talented writer based in Gaza. Joined by people all around the world, the title of the workshop was ‘Writing for Gaza – Stories of Resistance and Hope’ and Shahd used Palestinian embroidery, tatreez, as the motif of her workshop, which included a moving video in which she interviewed her grandmother as they discussed this traditional craft.

Shahd has said that she is tired of being defined by pain and suffering and wanted the writing activities she designed to highlight the richness, colour and beauty of this traditional art form. She certainly did that, and so much more. Her gentle wisdom and courage in holding this space, even after a very stressful morning, was truly inspiring. One attendee afterwards emailed to say it was the best workshop she had ever been to. Another said ‘The experience makes me feel that the tip of my whole life had been touched … and helps me imagine I may explore well beyond the tip.’

Shahd is twenty-one years old. She has lost her 13 year old sister in this genocide and countless other people close to her. One of the questions asked was ‘Is there anything at the moment that helps you feel safe?’ Shahd replied that there is no safety, anywhere, at any time. As no international journalists are allowed into Gaza, we must shine a light on those voices from inside the region. There was no hatred in this space; only an outpouring of love, support and solidarity.

I am so moved and humbled by Shahd’s courageous spirit. The horrors that continue to take place in Gaza and across the West Bank have made me lose faith in humanity at times: our own government’s complicity (and now, with the proscription of Palestine Action as a ‘terrorist’ organisation); people’s ability to look the other way and not speak out, our ‘never again’ narrative shattered to pieces. And then I see Shahd, revising for an exam by candlelight, posting on social media about the birdsong that is still present in Gaza, picking herself back up after yet another tragedy, and somehow my faith is restored.

There were two writing activities over the course of the workshop and then right at the end, we asked participants to type into the chat one of the lines, phrases or words that stood out for them from what they’d written. With this, Shahd and I wove together the words to create a group poem. The power of collaboration. I hope you enjoy it.

The morning light; emergent not immediate
The light that brightens our future is already in us.

When you live a life you’ve made yourself,

woven by mothers,
hold and share love together, a thobe of colour for living

for I want only colours. Colours don’t weep.
The thobe sways as she walks; the stitched olive tree talks,
embroidered waves that lap against the shore

symbolise persistence, eternity, devotion.

Tatreez taught me how to let go, and how to be better prepared,
the embroiderers’ thread drawing us together and finding the whole.
We are not just thread and colour;

weaving our shared hope
we thread our lives with every stitch.
Thread by thread, stitch by stitch, we build the future together
Stitch by stitch, thread by thread,

memories stitched together joining the past and present.

I’ve laid under these quilts since I was a little child,

learning from my grandmother the weight of what a life is,
stories etched in us like tatreez,
grandmothers carrying the resistance.

Wake up, woman. Be a cypress.
I am dove, I always hold my space of peace and emanate this to the world

and you try to erase me, to erase my existence,

yet here I am, as present as the river and the sea, as steadfast as the cypress tree.
People should know the colours and symbols

of what is being eradicated rather than just our torn revenants,

for Love and Hope are stronger than Fear;

to appreciate and to create authentically is to be human.
Why fight for a better world

if it wasn’t for my daughter to live in a world

where she will dance in a world;

where she will dance with Palestinian children like her?

You can’t destroy beauty, the ability to create it,

or the passion to appreciate it.

The land is not mere descriptive background to our lives,

it is feeding ground, it is the air we breathe, it is inextricably existent with us.

A little rebel thread, never expected,

at first unwelcomed maybe even feared, shows us the way.
An inch of stitch brushing her skin –

the hidden inside, an existence, a proof of life before this moment,

cloth that soaks tears of pain, and also joy.

Stitch of pain, may I see you and come to cherish you;

I slip over the hair and shoulders of my beloved

as a stitch becomes a brooch for my friend and

I wear my story on my sleeve, the stitches of my perseverance.
Healing defies the wound,
my new true north;

should I launch a metaphor that will stay with you, needle?
The thread pulls, connected in vision
so let me translate the truth:

mourning dove, why this sky?

A bump in the road,
the key to open the door into my home;
you touch my arm with yours.

A vision through e-sims and an unreliable but unbreakable connection.
A different, very personal window on Gaza –

so different from the violent reports and images on world news.

Rescue – a word –

for how much fits in this history of love?
Mistake=luck=(mis)chance;
like my friend Martha pointed out, mix up the letters of ‘mistake’ and we find’ a kismet.’
There are no mistakes when so many hearts cry out;

the gift, the pattern is not a mistake –
the mistake left a mark, but it was beautiful anyway.

We are broken, imperfect, beautiful, real;

and hopefully woven with love.
Stitched from a choir of thousands and

from all these roots that remain,

we will rise again.

There is always Hope.

There is always Hope.

#FreePalestine

Thank you for reading this blog post. Compliment it with reading about the first workshop with Shahd Alnaami in February inspired by the theme of libraries & my piece entitled ‘Mother’ that I performed at an Open Mic that Shahd also played a role in.

The post Writing for Gaza – Stories of Resistance of Hope appeared first on Rebecca Stonehill.