“For us, the people of Gaza, resistance is surviving without dehumanising ourselves.”

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Di ciò che succede a Gaza dai media sappiamo prima di tutto perché si parla di morti, di uccisioni, di umiliazioni, di fame. Raramente si parla dei vivi e di come procede l’esistenza dei vivi. Ancora più di rado, poi, i vivi parlano in prima persona, e si raccontano sui media italiani e occidentali. Prima del 7 October, Arkan al Sayed era uno degli abitanti di Gaza, una persona comune. 25enne, aveva aperto da pochissimo e con fatica il suo studio da architetto freelance. Si dedicava al work, a una carriera che ama moltissimo e per la quale era disposto a impegnarsi a fondo. Con il 7 ottobre tutto è stato travolto, e come tantissime persone a Gaza, grazie all’aiuto di persone disponibili Arkan ha dato vita a An online fundraiser per chiedere aiuto ai cittadini di tutto il mondo, e trovare di che sostentarsi e sostentare la sua famiglia. Lo abbiamo intervistato per far arrivare una voce da Gaza, la voce di una persona comune. Perché se è vero che i giornalisti internazionali a Gaza non possono entrare, è anche vero che i modi per fare (buon) giornalismo su Gaza anche a distanza ci sono. Kritica, da quando è nata, non smette e non smetterà di cercarli.

Prima del 7 ottobre abitavi a Gaza City, poi i bombing subito dopo il 7 ottobre hanno distrutto in poche settimane il tuo ufficio prima, dove lavoravi come architetto freelance, e la tua casa, successivamente. Cos’è successo dopo che la tua casa è stata distrutta? Dove vi siete spostati e quante volte avete dovuto cambiare di luogo?
Dopo che la mia casa è stata distrutta, io e la mia famiglia siamo rimasti senza nulla, tranne i vestiti che indossavamo. Mentre cercavamo di restare e resistere nella nostra casa a Gaza City, siamo stati colpiti da un bombardamento diretto che ci ha costretti ad andarcene. Mia madre, mio fratello ed io siamo rimasti feriti nell’attacco. Siamo fuggiti a piedi in condizioni estremamente difficili verso un ospedale nel centro di Gaza, a sud di Wadi Gaza (l’ospedale Al-Aqsa a Deir al-Balah). Abbiamo trascorso diverse notti dormendo nei corridoi dell’ospedale. Successivamente ci siamo trasferiti a casa di un parente, poi a casa di un altro parente, poi in una tenda e infine in un’altra tenda. Durante una tregua a gennaio, siamo tornati a casa e abbiamo scoperto che l’80% era distrutta e inagibile. Ogni volta pensavamo che il posto sarebbe stato più sicuro, ma non c’è nessun posto sicuro a Gaza. Ho perso il conto di quante volte abbiamo dovuto cambiare residenza, ospedale, casa di parenti, tenda, fino a quando siamo finiti in una tenda. Ogni trasloco era come una nuova ferita e un ulteriore peso di dolore.

What is your current situation? Where are you located?
Today I live in a small tent and in what is left of our collapsed house (which is dangerous and uninhabitable, but we take shelter there at night to escape the heat of the tent, which is very hot because the walls are made of fabric, but perhaps slightly less hot). There is no privacy, no comfort, and no certainty for tomorrow. The tent is not a home, it is a thin piece of cloth that protects us from nothing and the remains of the house could collapse on us at any moment.

Come fate per mangiare, lavarvi, soddisfare le esigenze basilari ogni giorno mentre vivete da sfollati?
Every day is a fight for survival. We rely on a bit of bread and tinned food, supplied mainly by the and through the donations I receive from the campaign GoFundMe which I have organised. Clean water is the biggest challenge; sometimes we spend long hours waiting for a small container of water. We dedicate one day a week for bathing, when water is available, and otherwise we try to keep ourselves clean with the little water we have. As for cooking, unfortunately there is no gas, so we have to light fires. Finding firewood is difficult and its price is very high. Most of the time I have to burn a small amount of wood mixed with a lot of plastic, worn-out fabrics and foam taken from broken domestic refrigerators. It is very unhealthy and I have started to have respiratory problems, but there is no other choice.

Is there solidarity among the displaced people in the tents? Do you help each other? Or are there competitions and wars between people?
Due to the indescribable suffering, solidarity has become very limited. However, here people exchange clothes and sometimes small pieces of wood for fire. There are times when despair overwhelms everyone, not because people are selfish, but because everyone is hungry. We are all victims, but we try to protect and support each other as much as possible.

What happens when you are attacked? How do you deal with injuries or deaths?
During an attack, chaos reigns. We run without knowing where to go. Wounds are barely treated, there is no medicine or adequate medical care. People die not only from bombings but also from the lack of resources and medical attention. I remember when my cousin was martyred; we ran to the hospital and found him lying on the ground in the hospital courtyard with no one attending to him. Not because humanity was lacking, but because the situation was out of control. Many martyrs lie on the ground and the wounded bear their pain waiting for a doctor to reach them. In reality, the number of martyrs and wounded sometimes exceeds the capacity of medical teams. Death has become so frequent that even funerals are held hastily. Yet, every loss makes us feel as if the world has ended for another family.

How do the moneys we collect abroad help you? Can you have them delivered to Gaza, and through what channels? Are the banks still functioning?
Donations from abroad are our only lifeline. Without them, I cannot provide food or basic necessities for my family. The money is received via bank transfers, but the banks are not functioning normally, so we have to rely on black market dealers who charge high commissions to deliver cash to us. However, any amount that reaches us, no matter how small, makes the difference between starvation and survival.

In this context, I wish to thank an Irish brother and friend named Alex, and his mother Tracey, who helped me to create a GoFundMe campaign. It was set up in circumstances that I couldn't handle alone, and it has become the foundation of our lifeline. I also want to thank my sister Sister Veronica and my older brother Don Paolo. (two religious figures coordinating fundraising for Arkan, editor's note), who believed in our story and helped us survive this hell. Veronica took charge of the campaign and took on the responsibility of being an integral part of our family; I will be eternally grateful to her. I am also grateful to so many wonderful friends in Italy, including Marianna, Rossana, Annaluisa, Diego, Luca, Rosa, Pamela, Beatrice, Anna, Giulia, Daniela, Julia, Francesca, Valentina, Luisa, Morena, Sandra, Stefano, Raffaella, Emanuela, Roberta, Nicolò, Alessandra, Maria, Stefania, Andrea, Daniele, Chiara, Giorgia, Tommy, and many other extraordinary people.

Cosa pensi che dovrebbero fare le popolazioni europee, arabe e di tutto il mondo per i Palestinians? Ti senti abbandonato dal mondo e pensi che ti stiamo deludendo?
Il mondo non dovrebbe limitarsi a stare a guardare, ma deve continuare a diffondere la verità. Le persone possono esercitare pressioni sui propri governi in modo pacifico (non sostengo la violenza; il cambiamento può avvenire solo con mezzi pacifici), dire la verità e protestare.
Yes, at times we feel abandoned by some governments, especially when bombs drop and there is no serious intervention to stop the bloodshed. But we also feel hope when people around the world raise their voices for us.

Cosa puoi raccontare e cosa pensi del sistema messo in piedi da Israele per la distribuzione del cibo? Sei mai andato a cercare il cibo nei centri della Gaza Humanitarian Foundation? Cosa succede lì?
The Israeli distribution system is humiliating and dangerous. People gather in the hope of receiving food, but very often they are hit by bullets or bombs. I have personally been there three times. I try to avoid it as much as possible, because I have seen people killed before my eyes while waiting for a bag of flour. Food should never be used as a weapon, but here it is being used in a way that is difficult to describe.

To date, many Palestinian journalists have been killed by Israel. What do you think of their work and how they face the dangers to document what is happening in Gaza?
The work of Palestinian journalists in Gaza is incredibly brave and deserves all possible respect. Every day they take risks to transmit the truth to the world. Many have been killed by the’Employment israeliana nel tentativo di cancellare la verità e nascondere ciò che sta accadendo ai civili. Nonostante ciò, questi giornalisti continuano il loro lavoro con grande coraggio, perché trasmettere l’immagine reale della sofferenza e proteggere la voce della verità è più importante della paura per la propria vita. La loro presenza è essenziale affinché il mondo comprenda la portata della tragedia che stiamo vivendo, e sono dei veri eroi che portano il messaggio dell’umanità in tempi estremamente difficili.  

On Kritica, we have repeatedly reported on the specific situation of the children of Gaza, thanks to the photojournalism of our collaborator Hamed Sbeata, I am particularly interested in showing how children are living and how they are coping with this genocide. What do you think of the way children are coping with everything that has been happening for the past two years? What do you think will happen to you and them in the near future? Can you imagine a future for Gaza and its people once this nightmare is over?
The children of Gaza carry trauma no child should ever experience. They draw bombs, play at “funerals”, and recognise the sound of every weapon. Yet, sometimes they still smile, and that is their silent resistance. But the truth is, if the situation continues, we are raising a generation deeply wounded. I cannot imagine their future unless the world stops this nightmare.

What do you think about October 7th? When the news of the attack within Israeli territory broke, did you imagine it would be such a devastating event? Were you afraid of retaliation?
When I heard about October 7th, I immediately thought Gaza would pay the price. I was afraid of what would happen, but I never imagined such a level of destruction: entire families wiped out, entire neighbourhoods razed to the ground. No event can justify the collective punishment of millions of civilians.

What was life like in Gaza just before October 7th? Could you enter and leave Gaza?
Clearly, life before October 7th was already difficult, but it was nothing compared to what we are living through now. I lived under a suffocating siege in Gaza, with almost no freedom of movement. But there were still some beautiful places by the sea, where we would go when we felt overwhelmed, just to let out what was inside us. That was the most we could hope for. As an architect, my opportunities were extremely limited, but my ambition was stronger than the harsh reality surrounding me. I overcame every obstacle, started my own business, rented a small office, and tried to create a sense of stability. And now... all of that has been destroyed.
Tutto ciò che avevo costruito è diventato rubble. L’edificio che ospitava il mio ufficio non c’è più e ogni volta che visito le rovine cerco disperatamente anche la più piccola traccia di memoria. I miei sogni sono stati infranti, le mie ambizioni sepolte sotto le macerie. Tutti i risultati per cui ho lavorato così duramente sono scomparsi in un attimo, lasciando dietro di sé un senso opprimente di vuoto e perdita, come se una parte di me fosse stata strappata via per sempre.

Cosa ne pensi della situazione politica palestinese? C’è ancora vita politica in Palestina e come è organizzata? C’è libertà di espressione e di parola, puoi criticare la tua leadership ed esprimere le tue idee? Cosa significa per te “resistenza” e cosa significava prima del 7 ottobre?
The political situation is complex and often feels disconnected from the reality of ordinary people like me. Freedom of expression exists only in part, but survival has become our main concern. For me, “resistance” is no longer just a political word, but means staying alive, protecting my family, and refusing to give up our humanity despite everything.

CREDITS: PHOTO © Arkan Al Sayed

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