In the second instalment stemming from architect and researcher Malkit Shoshan’s project ‘Border Ecologies on the Gaza Strip’, a Palestinian family shares its story of land, labour and loss. (read Part One here) Right now, Palestinians are returning to an unrecognisable and destroyed land — their land. Through the testimony of Shoshan’s interlocutor, Amir Qudaih, we continue to stand in solidarity with those suffering the impacts of genocidal violence and extreme machinations of spatial politics.
Introduction by Malkit Shoshan
For the 2023 Venice Architecture Biennale, FAST (Foundation for Achieving Seamless Territory) collected more than a dozen oral histories of daily life on the farm through ongoing conversations with Amir Qudaih and his family. Linking mundane objects, such as watermelon, sardines, sand, and sediment, to bureaucratic protocols, Israeli-imposed restrictions, and continued acts of violence, these stories attest to the Khuza’a community’s continual engagement in collective acts of survival, resistance, mutual aid, and solidarity.
One such story, Wheat and Weddings, is centred around wheat, an indispensable crop and staple food in Palestine, and on two small wheat fields used to host marriage ceremonies. In Gaza, late spring marks both a celebration of the end of the wheat harvest and the beginning of the wedding season. Unlike other farmland in the area, on which farmers rotate crops year-round, these two fields are used only for monocropping to allow space for communal gatherings and wedding parties in the summer. The installation was centred on a dining table and a custom-made tablecloth that featured interwoven stories of daily life on the farm. Two projections juxtapose short videos of this farm life with footage of the perpetual violence the villagers face, all of which was captured on mobile phones by Khuza’a’s farmers. The exhibition also included photographs, short stories and testimonies, and a website that makes the exhibition material accessible online for those who cannot visit in person, in particular the Qudaih family.
Despite the ongoing violence that our families and friends are experiencing, our conversations continue to bring us hope and a sense of humanity. Amid sharing our devastation, we also share stories of everyday life. We exchange personal anecdotes, favorite foods, and recipes, laughing and discussing our families and love — particularly Amir's wedding plans in Cairo, set in a venue overlooking the pyramids, which was initially scheduled for February 2024. I shared these plans with my teenage kids, who enthusiastically expressed their desire to join, noting that Travis Scott was having a concert there. On October 6th, Amir and I were supposed to meet at my apartment in Brooklyn. Amir wanted to introduce me to his fiancée in person, someone I had already heard many stories about and was eager to meet. I prepared a pie and got everything ready to host them, but traffic delays kept pushing our meeting. Eventually, we decided to postpone it to the next morning, Saturday, October 7th.
"The unprecedented numbers of bombs dropped on Gaza make it incredibly challenging to imagine what it means to “heal” the land."
- Malkit Shoshan
Unfortunately, that meeting did not happen. Amir’s wedding was postponed multiple times, and our conversations shifted as they became filled with footage and sounds of horror. I spent more than a month watching the news, listening to testimonies, talking with family and friends, learning as many details as I could about what had happened. The level of horrifying violence, the burnt bodies, the rapes, the extreme violence against families, children, women and girls. It was just too overwhelming to describe with words or comprehend and the retaliation that is still going on a year later — unleashing the banality of evil on a scale beyond anything we could have imagined. Yet, we continue to engage with each other, striving to hold onto a shared humanity — not only because we like each other but also for our sanity and our defiance against a reality we dread and cannot control. The mass killing unfolding of children, women, and men since October has changed the tone of our exchanges. Our conversations now begin carefully: “ How is your family doing?” We check in, asking, “Is everyone alive?”
For the exhibition in Venice, we collected Testimonies of survival by the Qudaih family depicting their struggle against air raids, bombs, pesticides, and poison sprayed on their farmland. Mitigating the toxicity of their land while continuously producing food is a laborious and, at times, impossible burden. “Herbicides sprayed by Israel damaged 2,026 acres of grazing area in the first half of 2018 alone.” (According to Giaha and Bezelem)
Today, the unprecedented numbers of bombs dropped on Gaza make it incredibly challenging to imagine what it means to “heal” the land, remediate and bring back vitality to the soil such that it can have the capacity to support the returning population.
MALKIT SHOSHAN While gathering materials for Border Ecologies, your family shared a poignant postcard that depicted the cooperation between Gazan and Israeli farmers. Today, when we look at the border, the agricultural fields on both sides appear mostly inactive and ruined. Your family farm has been completely destroyed, and, because of perceived risks, the land across the border is largely abandoned as well. Tragically, it’s not just the farmland that has been lost, but also human lives; many of those who dreamed and dedicated their lives to pursuing peace have been killed. Can you speak about the individuals featured on this postcard, such as your father's partner, and the vision they held for the village?
AMIR QUDAIH My father, driven by a vision of a thriving community, co-founded a non-profit organization between 1990 and 1993. This organization aimed to be a lifeline for our small village, where farming was the backbone of our survival. It served as a hub for knowledge, fostering sustainable agricultural practices and empowering farmers to rebuild after the frequent devastation inflicted by the Israeli military. My father, recognising the potential for cross-border collaboration, expanded the non-profit's reach. He forged partnerships with international and local organizations, fostering a spirit of cooperation. In August 2000, he and his co-founder, a relative of mine, participated in a leadership training program at the Histadrut. There, they engaged with talented agriculturalists from the other side of the border, sharing knowledge, exploring innovative farming techniques, and dreaming of a future where our land would be utilised to its full potential.
On July 21, 2024, an Israeli airstrike shattered these dreams. It targeted a shelter where my father's lifelong friend and co-founder, along with his brother, wife, and children – six innocent souls, including two young daughters – tragically lost their lives. This is not an isolated tragedy. I am certain that countless untold stories of hope and resilience exist within Gaza, stories that have been brutally silenced by the relentless machinery of genocide similar to this.
MS I'd like to pull out another entry from Border Ecologies that recounts the repeated violent acts against the land and environment, specifically involving the use of herbicides. The agricultural fields were poisoned and targeted by various forms of artillery, and the farm has been bombed multiple times. Unfortunately, the soil is no stranger to such attacks. However, the scale of ammunition, poison, and toxic substances released into the soil, air, waterways, and both human and non-human life is unprecedented. Could you discuss this and share your past experiences?
AQ In our village, located east of Khan Yunis, the land is our lifeblood. Without it, our very existence is threatened. We cherish this land deeply and nurture it with reverence. As I shared in our award-winning project, "Border Ecologies and the Gaza Strip," presented at the Biennale, we practice sustainable farming methods. We allow the land to rest after each harvest, replenishing its vitality. We use natural fertilisers, fostering its health and ensuring its longevity, unlike the exploitative practices of large-scale industrial farms that relentlessly deplete the soil. The Israeli military has rained down countless tons of explosives upon our small corner of Gaza, poisoning the earth. The land, once a source of life, now struggles to support agriculture due to the pervasive presence of toxic substances.
"The sheer scale of destruction is unprecedented. The question now is not just how farmers will recover from this devastation, but how the very land itself can be restored to a state where it can once again sustain life."
- Amir Qudaih
Yet, despite this relentless assault, farmers tirelessly seek innovative ways to reclaim their land, to heal the wounds inflicted upon it. At this current ongoing genocide, the Israeli military dropped thousands of tons of explosives, eliminating over 80% of our homes and farms. The sheer scale of destruction is unprecedented. The question now is not just how farmers will recover from this devastation, but how the very land itself can be restored to a state where it can once again sustain life. The soil, poisoned and scarred, faces an uncertain future. This is a profound source of anxiety for us. We fear and expect there will be more wars and hard challenges will face after this current genocide ends, especially removing the debris and destruction, and the hard of reusing the soil. A relentless cycle of attacks perpetrated by Israelis against our people, our animals, and our land.
MSIn the new location, what kind of solidarity networks formed to help with ordinary needs like sleeping, eating, caring for children and the elderly, and dealing with health challenges?
AQ After October 7th 2023 — and the consequent attacks on our village, which destroyed our home — all the people of the village, including my family, were forced to leave. They ended up in a UN school in the city. Over 7,000 souls were crammed into this small space, facing imminent danger and destitution. My father, who is a leader in our community, knew they needed to get organised. He made teams: one for safety, one for sharing food and supplies fairly and another dedicated to maintaining hygiene and preventing the outbreak of disease.
With the support of other family members, my father tirelessly oversaw these efforts. I started fundraising and contributed by sending funds to my family to purchase essential supplies, ensuring the safety and well-being of those sheltering within the school. My mother, embodying the spirit of community, provided daily sustenance, baking bread for the children and families using a makeshift clay oven within the school grounds.
This fragile haven of safety was shattered when the school itself became a target, struck by Israeli bombs and artillery fire. They were forced to flee once more, finding refuge in a makeshift encampment of tents near the sea. The scorching summer heat and the freezing winter rains offered little respite. The Israeli blockade choked off all essential supplies, plunging the community into a devastating famine. Witnessing the suffering firsthand, I watched as individuals endured a harrowing 30% weight loss, succumbing to malnutrition and preventable infections. My own parents, weakened by starvation, resorted to desperate measures, boiling seawater and scavenging for meager sustenance. Yet, even in the face of such unimaginable hardship, the spirit of community remained unbroken. Food, water, and even the tender embrace of motherhood were shared with selfless generosity, offering solace to those who had lost everything. Life in the tents is still a brutal struggle for survival. The relentless winter brought torrential floods, claiming many lives. The constant threat of starvation and disease pushed the limits of human endurance. Yet, against all odds, the community persevered, demonstrating an extraordinary resilience in the face of unimaginable adversity.
MS Throughout all these experiences, what has remained constant for you? Where do you find hope, and can you envision a future beyond mere survival?
AQ Growing up as a Palestinian has been a relentless struggle against the harsh realities that I have been facing. Limitations on food, electricity, movement, and even the freedom to dream have been the constant backdrop of our lives. Yet, within this adversity, hope has become an unwavering necessity, a lifeline for survival. For Palestinians, especially those in Gaza, existence itself is an act of resistance. Even in the darkest hours, we have found ways to nurture joy. A poignant image shared by a friend, depicting a child attempting to fly a homemade kite amidst the shadow of an Israeli warplane that is hunting to kill, encapsulates this resilience. This stark contrast – the fragile beauty of childhood play against the backdrop of killing and destruction – symbolises the enduring spirit of our people.
"For Palestinians, especially those in Gaza, existence itself is an act of resistance. Even in the darkest hours, we have found ways to nurture joy."
- Amir Qudaih
MS Only if you feel comfortable, would you share a photo of your family from before and during the war?
You can read the first instalment of this conversation here.
Bio
Malkit Shoshan is a designer, author, and educator. She is the founding director of the Foundation for Achieving Seamless Territory (FAST), which initiates and develops projects at the intersection of architecture, urban planning and human rights. In her work, she uses spatial design tools to make visible systemic violence, engage with various publics to co-design alternatives that centre social and environmental justice, and advocate for systemic change. Shoshan is a senior Loeb scholar, design critic in Urban Planning at Harvard University’s Graduate School of Design, and a visiting scholar at NYU’s Institute for Public Knowledge. Her work has been published and exhibited internationally. In 2021, together with FAST, she was awarded the Silver Lion at the Venice Architecture Biennale for their collaborative presentation “Border Ecologies and the Gaza Strip.”
