Imagine if every pen in Gaza stopped moving, every victim’s voice faded into silence, and every image was erased from collective memory.

What if no one wrote about Gaza? Would the genocide vanish as if it never happened, or would it continue in the shadows, away from the world’s eyes, reduced to a cold statistic in the forgotten pages of history?

In an era where the world witnesses a mass slaughter unfolding under the gaze of cameras, the question is not just about existence, but about survival in memory. Genocide is not merely the killing of bodies; it is an attempt to erase narratives and memories. I remember reading about the tragedies of other peoples and wondering: How can the world forget? Today, in Gaza, I see the answer with painful clarity.

In this article, I explain and affirm that writing and documentation are not a literary or journalistic luxury. They are a fateful battle against oblivion and misleading narratives. It is the Palestinians’ weapon in confronting the Israeli genocide machine, which targets not only the land but human memory itself. Through words, Palestinians transform their suffering into an eternal testimony. These testimonies challenge erasure and call on the world to bear witness to a crime against humanity. This is not just writing; it is a cry for life.

Writing as a means to preserve memory

Why must we write? In a world drowning in a digital flood of images and short videos, writing might seem outdated. Yet, it is in fact the most powerful tool for preserving memory. Writing is not just recording events; it is building a black box for history. It safeguards precise details and human emotions that might fade with time. In Gaza, where bombs destroy buildings and souls, writing becomes a refuge for collective memory. Sometimes, I think about how a single word can revive the face of a child lost to his mother, or the smell of bread in a demolished home.

These writings are not mere narration. They are documentation of daily moments: the sound of planes, the scent of destruction and the cries of children. The uniqueness of Gaza’s writers lies in them being eyewitnesses living the genocide moment by moment. Unlike external observers, they convey reality from inside the inferno, making their writings more authentic and impactful. Books like An Expected Massacre by Chris Hedges draw on Palestinian testimonies to depict the genocide as a deliberate event.

Thus, writing becomes a shield against attempts at erasure. It preserves memory for a people facing daily denial. It is not just ink on paper; it is blood flowing through the veins of history.

The ethical and human dimension of writing

Writing is not just a Palestinian need; it is a global human necessity. In an age where events accelerate, documentation becomes a moral duty for anyone witnessing injustice. It is not only Palestinians who need to write, but the entire world, because silence means complicity with the executioner. How can we sleep soundly if we allow narratives to be erased?

Here, writing transforms from mere “narration” to “testimony” on a crime against humanity. Every written word is a condemnation of the genocide and a call for justice. The danger of “complicit witness silence” is immense. If what happens is not written, the genocide turns into a forgotten event, allowing it to be repeated. In Gaza, where thousands are killed and millions displaced, writing becomes a human act that restores humanity to the victims, turning numbers into living stories.

It is a reminder that every person deserves to have their story told, not buried in oblivion.

The importance of documentation in the era of genocide

Documentation is a direct act of resistance against attempts at erasure and denial. In Gaza, where Israel seeks to wipe out Palestinian existence, every report or memoir becomes a shield against the “second genocide”: oblivion. But let’s think deeply: documentation is not just gathering evidence. It is building a bridge between the past and the future, ensuring that crimes are not buried under the rubble of politics.

Documentation protects memory from distortion and provides evidence for future accountability, as in international war crimes trials. Without documentation, denial becomes easy, and the executioner turns into a victim in their own narratives. In Gaza, documentation helps expose lies, such as claims of “self-defence” used to justify mass killing. It also builds a database for international justice, perhaps at The Hague or elsewhere.

Examples from other peoples illustrate this clearly. In the Great Famine in Ireland (1845-1852), survivors’ memoirs, like Roger Cantwell’s account describing how his family survived hunger and death, helped preserve collective memory. This led to museums and historical studies that reveal British colonialism. These memoirs were not just personal stories; they became evidence of a collective crime, transforming hunger into a political lesson.

In Rwanda (1994), books like We Wish to Inform You That Tomorrow We Will Be Killed with Our Families by Philip Gourevitch documented the genocide. They preserved the victims’ memory and aided in preventing repetition through global education. In Bosnia, testimonies contributed to war crimes trials, such as those in Srebrenica, turning writing into a tool.

These examples prove that documentation is not a luxury, but a necessity for survival. It prevents denial and builds bridges to the future. In Gaza, this means documenting every bombing, every displacement, not just for memory, but to become a weapon in the hands of future generations against ongoing injustice.

The battle over the narrative

In the media world, the Palestinian narrative faces a massive Israeli media machine that broadcasts lies and misinformation. Let’s speak frankly: This machine is not just media outlets; it is a government-supported propaganda system using enormous budgets to spread narratives that justify genocide.

For example, during the war on Gaza, Israel used social media campaigns to disseminate fake videos or those taken out of context, such as claims that “Hamas uses civilians as human shields”, while hiding the reality of bombing hospitals and schools. This propaganda collaborates with much of the media that is biased, adopting and repeating Israeli narratives without verification, leading to the erasure of Palestinian narratives.

The result? A distorted image that makes the victim appear as the criminal. Language like “conflict” instead of “occupation” is used to soften the crime. In contrast, Palestinians’ resources are limited: smartphones, social media and simple pens. But the strength of the Palestinian narrative stems from its authenticity and realism, as in the testimonies of journalists who risk their lives to convey the truth.

For instance, despite Israeli propaganda, Israel lost the “algorithm war”, as authentic Palestinian videos spread on TikTok and Instagram, exposing the brutality and attracting global support. These narratives surpass propaganda because they are built on personal testimony, making them an effective weapon in the narrative battle. In the end, truth prevails, but the battle is long and requires all of us to be part of it.

Silencing journalists: evidence of Israel’s fear of the truth

The targeting and killing of Gazan journalists is clear evidence of Israel’s fear of the truth. Since October 2023, more than 250 journalists have been killed in Gaza, most of them Palestinians, in deliberate attacks. This targeting is not random but intentional, aimed at silencing voices. A recent example is the bombing of hospitals that killed five journalists.

Foreign journalists are also barred from entry, isolating Gaza from the world. These practices reveal Israel’s failure in the narrative battle, despite its media power. Instead of confronting facts, it resorts to killing, confirming that writing threatens its narrative. Organisations like the Committee to Protect Journalists have documented these crimes, noting they are part of a historical pattern to silence Palestinian media. It is a reminder that truth is stronger than weapons.

Intersection with global memory

Palestinians do not write in isolation; they connect their tragedy to global human memory. Just as other peoples documented their tragedies, Palestinians do so today. In Ireland’s Great Famine, testimonies and memoirs helped build a collective memory against colonialism, leading to independence movements. In Rwanda, writings and images preserved the genocide’s memory to prevent repetition, as in Jack Beacon’s works.

In Bosnia, narratives contributed to holding criminals accountable in Srebrenica. In Cambodia, programs like those at Yale documented the genocide under the Khmer Rouge, leading to international trials. This intersection makes the Palestinian narrative part of human memory, not an isolated issue.

Books like Genocide in Gaza by Avi Shlaim link the genocide to colonial history, affirming the importance of global documentation. It is a call for all of us to see the connections between tragedies.

Documentation for generations and history

Writing is a human archive that preserves sacrifices and suffering for future generations. In Gaza, where heritage is erased, words become the only means to ensure that the next generation knows what happened was not just numbers, but lives and memories. Imagine a Palestinian child in the future reading about their grandparents; this documentation gives them strength.

This documentation protects Palestinian rights from being lost over time, transforming tragedy into a lesson for the world. As in other cases, this archive will become the basis for justice, preserving memory against oblivion.

Conclusion

In the end, writing affirms that it is an act of resistance and confrontation against erasure. It is the weapon that turns the victim into a witness and the genocide into a documented crime. We call on every pen to write and every witness to narrate, so that oblivion does not prevail.

This writing is not just a national duty, but a human and ethical one, connecting us all in the battle against injustice. For in every written word, the Palestinian and Palestine live on.

The views expressed in this article may or may not reflect those of Pearls and Irritations.