In early October 2023, Palestinian journalist Plestia Alaqad was a recent university graduate dreaming of a career in journalism. By the end of November, her homeland was unrecognisable. She was broadcasting videos of violence and destruction to millions online, becoming known across the world as “The Eyes of Gaza.”

The Eyes of Gaza book launch with Plestia was deeply moving and reassuring. She spoke about Gaza with tenderness and truth, reminding us that even amidst devastation, life insists on joy. As she said, “Sadness and joy can coexist.”

She shared that, back in Gaza, she and her friends once wanted to celebrate a young girl’s birthday. They searched everywhere for a cake – which was impossible to find – so they brought cupcakes instead. They sang and laughed loudly, trying to drown out the sound of the bombs. “It’s important to have joy,” Plestia said, “and not let the oppressors steal it.”

An elderly man once told her, “Let them be,” referring to people celebrating or being loud. “Tomorrow, they might be killed.” That sentence lingered in the room.

At Families for Palestine, we say “Joy is resistance,” and it’s true. We’ve found ways for grief and sadness to coexist with joy. Finding joy, building connections, nurturing culture and hope – these are all acts of resistance. And they all infuriate the coloniser. So, let us do it as often as we can.

Plestia also spoke about the challenges of telling Gaza’s story through journalism. In one article she was asked to write, the word “genocide” was replaced with “war” – even after the UN had found that Israel is committing genocide. In the end, Plestia refused to publish the piece unless it could openly call genocide what it is. It was a powerful lesson for all of us: to speak with grace and defiance, and to never bow to the demands of the coloniser or their accomplices.

She often refers to Gaza as she — describing her as a mother who has nothing left to give her children, even though she tries so hard. This metaphor was profoundly moving – a reminder of what it means to love one’s land deeply and to humanise it.

Plestia recalled a moment when a young girl offered her a sandwich in the midst of food shortages, and the video went viral. She couldn’t understand why; for Gazans, sharing is natural – part of who they are. Only later did she realise that much of the world has forgotten that kind of generosity.

She spoke of the pain of constantly having to prove one’s humanity – “and that itself is dehumanising.” People in Gaza, she said, hold onto their dignity fiercely. Many told her their stories but didn’t want the world to see them displaced or injured: “They’ve never met me before; I don’t want them to meet me now like this.”

Plestia reminded us to be gentle with how we listen and share these stories – some are not meant for the public. Others do choose to be interviewed, hoping their voices might reach beyond the rubble.

When asked how she deals with survivor’s guilt, she replied simply: “Do something. Take action.”

Her answer to a question about faith was equally powerful – that one’s relationship with religion doesn’t necessarily change through war, but one’s view of the world does. The patience and resilience of the people of Gaza, she said, come from their faith.

Thank you, Plestia, Bilal Hafda, and Sydney Muslim Writers Festival, for the afternoon of sadness, joy, defiance, and hope.