By Ayman Qwaider
When people ask me where I’m from, I say it with both pride and pain: Gaza. A land known for its resilience, resistance, and reality. Born and raised in the Gaza Strip, I was shaped by a world wrapped in layers—layers of occupation, separation, blockade, and yet, despite it all, education.
Education wasn’t just a chapter in my story—it was the story.
From public and UN schools to university halls in Gaza, I studied in classrooms where power outages interrupted lessons, and the hum of drones sometimes replaced the sound of school bells. But even amidst such chaos, I learned. Not just from books, but from the environment around me. It taught me patience. It taught me grit. And above all, it taught me the power of connection.
I remember vividly the thrill of a simple email pinging into my inbox from outside Gaza. It felt like a beam of light breaking through concrete. A message—just a few lines—could lift my spirits, give me hope, remind me I was seen. In a place where borders were barricades and movement was luxury, a text message could become a lifeline. Such was the weight of communication in Gaza—where small gestures carried immense meaning.
I began working with international and community-based organizations, including UN agencies. And early on, it became crystal clear to me: education isn’t just about curriculum. It’s about community. It’s about creating space—literal and metaphorical—for educators to unite, learn from one another, and share strategies to overcome the unique obstacles we face. We forged solidarity not just through shared hardship, but through shared hope.
Then came a turning point.
In 2010, I received a scholarship to pursue a Master’s in Peace, Conflict and Development Studies in Spain. Leaving Gaza was more than a trip—it was an act of defiance against the narrative that Gaza was all there was. For so long, Gaza had felt like the whole world, because it was the only world I was allowed to know. But there I was, boarding a plane, stepping into a space where borders didn’t define me.
In Spain, surrounded by students from Iran, Colombia, Morocco, Germany, the US, Nigeria, and beyond, I finally saw the magic of global learning spaces. It was in those conversations—often over meals or late-night debates—that I realized how powerful it is to humanize ourselves by telling our own stories. No filters. No headlines. Just lived experience.
When I returned, I carried more than a degree—I carried a mission.
We launched the Gaza Children’s Cinema Initiative, a simple yet revolutionary idea: give children in Gaza a chance to watch movies in safe, child-friendly spaces. Why? Because many of these children had never traveled, never seen different cultures, never experienced joy unfiltered by war or blockade. So we brought the world to them through film—different stories, colors, music, food, landscapes. And then we talked. We sparked imagination in a place where imagination often gets stifled.
Today, my work continues—driven by the same core belief that shaped me: connection is resistance.
For the past 15 years, I’ve been part of global education networks like the Enabling Education Network and the Inter-agency Network for Education in Emergencies. These communities are more than professional spaces—they are lifelines. They are where ideas travel faster than borders, where solidarity stretches across oceans, and where isolated educators feel held, heard, and empowered.
Sometimes, I wake up to voice notes and texts from fellow educators in crisis zones, asking for support, tools, training, or just a digital shoulder to lean on. These messages overwhelm me—not because they’re too many, but because they are proof. Proof that despite conflict, despite trauma, people still believe in the power of education, and the necessity of connection.
And that’s what I’ve dedicated my life to: building bridges across the barricades, lighting up the darkness with learning, and turning isolation into inspiration.
Because no matter where you are—from Gaza to Bogotá, from Jordan to Johannesburg—your story matters. And it deserves to be told, heard, and connected.
Today in Gaza and the West Bank, Israel’s genocidal regime, and their enablers in too many other governments, are trying to silence the voices of Palestinian educators and break the connections with their peers locally and globally.
Join me and EENET in ensuring these educators, and all educators, are heard and connected.
Ayman is EENET’s Arabic/MENA Network Manager.
Contact:
aymanqwaider@eenet.org.uk
