A new generation bears witness

Al-Muthaqaf al-Mushtabik, an Arabic term meaning "engaged intellectual", has garnered resonance within intellectual circles in Palestine, Lebanon and beyond. The concept draws from the work of the anti-fascist philosopher Antonio Gramsci, who coined the term "organic intellectual"—a thinker deeply connected to the masses, serving as an educator and mobiliser at the grassroots level. 

In Palestine, the precise moment this term moved from academic discourse into broader public awareness remains indistinct, but its prominence likely increased after 6 March 2017, the day Basil al-'Araj, a self-declared engaged intellectual, was killed by the Israeli army in the Qadura refugee camp near Ramallah.

In his concise and poignant final testament, al-'Araj posed a profound question: should the wills of martyrs attempt to answer the questions of the living? Reflecting on his own impending martyrdom, he wrote: "Is there anything more eloquent and expressive than the act of martyrdom?... This question is for you, the alive; why should I answer it? You must look for it yourselves. As for us in the graves, we are only looking for the mercy of Allah."

I am often struck by the ease with which many Palestinians seem to accept a particular existential role: that of collective martyr, sacrificing their lives for an ideal of justice—one that extends beyond the immediate concerns of statehood, sovereignty and basic human rights. 

We do not embrace death; rather, it is our very life force that compels Gazans to sing, with remarkable resilience, even moments after burying their loved ones in Gaza's mass graves. This defiant assertion of life in the face of loss, is captured in one of their most popular songs, often sung by large crowds: "We will remain here until pain dissipates; we will live here until the music becomes sweet again." 

This Palestinian resilience—forged through experience of war, loss and the enduring strength of the human spirit—yields a distinctive form of engaged Palestinian intellectual, exceeding the theoretical frameworks envisioned by Gramsci.

This complex tapestry of collective experience makes it extremely challenging for an outsider—say, a New York Times writer, with little or no Arabic—to convey the reality of the Palestinian condition. 

Reality in Palestine is often best understood and communicated by Palestinians themselves, frequently through the evocative power of songs and poems, as purely rational language can sometimes feel inadequate.

Even a Palestinian finds it difficult to fully articulate the pain of Gaza using words alone. So how can a Western journalist, separated by cultural and experiential divides, and influenced by established biases, be expected to authentically convey that experience? 

Throughout his long career, the US intellectual Noam Chomsky has highlighted the persistent pro-Israel bias in Western media. In a May 1988 interview, he spoke of an "extraordinary double standard in favor of Israel". 26 years later, he described the "shameful" subservience of American media to "grotesque" Israeli propaganda, consistently justifying the actions of "an aggressive state." 

Even Chomsky, perhaps, did not foresee the scale of violence we are now seeing in Gaza, or the media's unrelenting adherence to pro-Israeli perspectives, in the face of mounting evidence of devastation and genocide. 

How can this bias persist when over 180,000 Palestinians have been killed, wounded or remain missing in just 19 months? Stark numbers alone fail to convey the full human impact of the genocide. Even vast casualty figures can be rationalised through some flawed reasoning, a confusing mix of arguments intended to ease the Western conscience. 

The familiar refrain persists: "Israel has the right to defend itself." This line, endlessly repeated, rings hollow when innocent civilians, predominantly women and children, are revealed as the primary victims of this supposed "self-defence."

The new voices reporting from Gaza

In October 2023, Israel barred all foreign journalists from entering Gaza. While the official rationale cited Israel's concerns for journalists’ safety, the underlying motive was obvious: total control of the narrative. 

But in doing so, Israel inadvertently amplified the Palestinian voice. Trapped and isolated, Palestinians were left with no alternative but to fully champion their own cause. It was then that a new era of the Palestinian engaged intellectual emerged, much to Israel's disquiet. Gaza's professional journalists, with remarkable courage, donned their press vests and took to the streets.  

This time, the narrative of Gaza—and the broader Palestinian struggle for freedom—is primarily being shaped by Palestinians themselves. Despite mainstream media's continued tendency to disregard the scale of Israeli criminality in Gaza, alternative media—including social media platforms and independent outlets—have effectively amplified Palestinian voices.  

This period has also seen an intensification of censorship, with Meta playing a significant role. But even amid genocide and starvation, Palestinians in Gaza have managed to continue to communicate their messages, navigating social media platforms and finding ways to overcome biased algorithms. 

Despite Israel's documented history of targeting Palestinian journalists, few initially anticipated the extent to which all journalists would become targets. A grim reality soon became evident: according to Gaza’s authorities, over 230 journalists have been killed since 7 October 2023. Tragically, as journalists have fallen, a new generation of voices has emerged, bolstered by a network of social media activists and influencers, many of whom are remarkably young. 

Countless impactful voices have been erased, like Wafa Aludaini, who was tragically killed with her family on 30 September 2024. I knew her for years. Her writing, in simple English, conveyed deep emotion. 

"I want to share my people's story with the world," she wrote to me several years before the latest war, explaining the obstacles she faced due to her hijab and veil. Soon, this determined Palestinian woman became a recognised voice for not just independent outlets, but mainstream Western media too.

Many other familiar faces, friends, colleagues and students disappeared similarly, their deaths conveyed through brief, sorrowful messages. Most of these young journalists were educated in Gaza, as the blockade restricted their movement. They lacked affiliations with Western institutions. Many lacked formal journalism degrees or were still students.  

They communicated the Palestinian narrative with an authenticity that had long been absent. The clarity and moral force of the Palestinian struggle, conveyed through the voices of young people in Gaza, have begun to challenge decades of Western media bias. 

"We don't need Western journalists to tell our stories"

Māori intellectual Linda Tuhiwai Smith's influential work, "Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and Indigenous Peoples," remains exceptionally relevant to the context of Gaza and the narratives of marginalised groups globally. It highlights how communication through the affected group's own cultural and linguistic frameworks yields different power dynamics, priorities and ultimately impacts. 

Despite the devastation in Gaza, a new understanding of the tragic realities there, and throughout Palestine, is emerging. These lessons will endure. A key lesson is that Palestinians, like other victims of conflict and colonialism, are not inherently dependent on the West for their truths to be known and acknowledged. 

On 24 March, Hossam Shabat, a young Palestinian journalist, was killed by Israel. A year earlier, he wrote on social media: "The biggest problem is not Western journalists being unable to enter (Gaza), but the fact that Western media doesn't respect and value Palestinian journalists." 

"My colleagues and I risk our lives daily to report on this devastation," he continued. "No one knows Gaza as we do, and no one understands the complexities like we do. If you care about Gaza, amplify Palestinian voices. We don't need Western journalists to tell our stories; we are capable of reporting our own." 

Hossam's words held profound truth, amplified by his tragic death. Despite his youth, he understood that as a Palestinian journalist and intellectual, he needed no external permission to narrate his people's story.  

He was killed in a drone bombing that targeted his car in the eastern part of Beit Lahia, northern Gaza. Alongside numerous other journalists, educators, academics, students, and artists, he elevated the concept of the engaged intellectual to a new level of lived reality.  

Gramsci would likely have recognised the profound resonance of his ideas within the Palestinian context and would have undoubtedly felt a sense of pride in these Palestinian inheritors of his intellectual legacy.