سما

My grandmother was one of the most special people in my life and I still don’t feel capable of describing everything she was to me and my family. But someone recently told me that they felt like they knew her through my writing, and while this barely scratches the surface of who she was, I hope that I can keep her memory alive in some way. I love you, Sito. Your lemon trees miss you. Thank you for staying and fighting for as long as you did 🌱🍋

We remember Hossam Shabat today and always.

broke my fast with birthday cake 🥳

For @gqmiddleeast I wrote about the history and future of Arabic typography and art as a form of resistance. Beyond moving from right to left, a complete Arabic font requires up to 500 individual pieces of type – roughly eight times the size of the Latin character set — and western software was not created with our language in mind. Those of us who grew up in the Middle East rarely think about the amount of ligature forms that go into making a basic restaurant storefront, but it took years to crack the problem. I was first inspired to look into this after visiting the New York Public Library’s first exhibit on the MENA community: “Niyū Yūrk: Middle Eastern and North African Lives in the City.” (If you haven’t seen it yet, please go check it out before it closes!!) I was struck by something designer Wael Morcos said: Print is a way of preserving language, and to design means to think of the future. You’re creating an archive for the next generation to use. Even if you don’t get around to reading the whole article, I highly recommend looking up the Palestine Poster Project, a site that has archived over 25,000 posters about Palestine worldwide, inspiring Arab designers for decades. I’ve included some of my favorites newspaper/magazine logos and posters here (especially “Al-Nasr” / “Victory” by Ismail Shammout, depicting Vietnamese-Palestinian solidarity with a gorgeous typeface). All art is political. Ramadan Kareem and free Palestine ❤️‍🔥

was asked to write something unedited for @sashafrerejones end of year recap (as did many writers i admire). here are a few of my favorite excerpts 🫀 honored to be in company with them all. i wrote this just before sido passed and now the word grief has taken on a new meaning — it’s as if something in me knew. so i think 2026 will need to be filled with art and words and healing.

My Sido was so many things to so many people. A son, farmer, brother, fighter, husband, father, bus driver, shopkeeper, and grandfather. And we are all better for knowing and loving him. I wish everybody could know the little details about him that made him who he was. He would yell at me and my cousins to keep our voices down as kids, but he would never leave the room. I think he secretly loved the noise of a house full of love — a house that he built after being displaced so many times in his life. He was the most pious, most generous man I’ve ever known. I still remember waking up in the middle of the night as a child and seeing his bedside light on, because he would get up for Qiyam Al-Layl any chance he could. I felt protected my whole life knowing he was always praying for all of us. He also loved chocolate. A lot. Twix, Quality Street, Mars Bars — he loved it all. When I was younger we used to pack a full suitcase of chocolate just for him, and he would hide the packages in the funniest places so that no one would find them. He was happy to share anything, but everyone knew not to touch his Kit-Kats. That always made us smile. I was so lucky to have seen him just a few weeks ago, to have held his hand and said goodbye. It doesn’t matter how much time we had together, I will always wish we had more. Rest in peace to our beloved Sido, Ahmad Abed Yousef Daoud, son of Deir al-Ghusun, Palestine. I wish more than anything that we could have laid you to rest in the soil of the land you tended to your whole childhood. إِنَّا لِلَّٰهِ وَإِنَّا إِلَيْهِ رَاجِعُونَ

your turn @judetaha !

fed some goats, painted some tiles, and took some pictures

The New York Times must take accountability for its coverage of Israel’s genocide in Gaza. 300+ writers, scholars, & figures pledge to withhold contributions to @nytopinion until the @wawog_now coalitions’ three demands are met. I am one of the initiating signatories. Sign, link in bio! “The NYT turns to its opinion pages to shore up its image, recruiting respected writers and public figures to lend their diverse–often tokenized–perspectives and forms of expertise.” — Slides 3-5 excerpts from my investigation for @prismreports in September. #boycottnewyorktimes #newyorktimes #genocide #gaza #boycottdivestunsubscribe

Abandoned by Western peers, Palestinian journalists remain committed to reporting on the genocide, @samaakhullar writes. The world has failed Palestinian journalists. In the past two years, Israel has killed 278+ media workers in Gaza. Since Palestinian reporter Samaa Khullar began writing this article, almost every week, a journalist has been killed by Israel in the most horrific ways imaginable. Watching the genocide unfold from the U.S., Khullar has never felt so ashamed of the journalism industry. “Where is the outrage? In what universe is it normal to be calm & measured & “objective?” How are these war crimes going unchecked? How many more prewritten wills do we have to read before Western journalists acknowledge our rage?” For solace & to help make sense of the roles that people of conscience can play in the media, Khullar sought advice from other Palestinian journalists on the ground & in the diaspora. Mohammad Alsaafin & Ahmad Al-Batta remembered how their martyred colleagues remained committed to the truth even as it cost them their lives. @abubakerabedw spoke of burying his cousin’s corpse, then going on air with another live report. @lawrrah condemned the Israeli Occupation Forces & state propaganda that aim to destroy the reputations of Palestinian journalists on top of the extermination campaign waged against them. Broadcasting Israel’s atrocities has done nothing to stop the genocide. If the West is looking for unfiltered journalism, Palestinian journalists have been providing it for two years. “These journalists became our eyes & ears on the ground, & many of us have cared & worried for them just as we would our own family,” Samaa Khullar said. “When we lose someone, […] the grief threatens to swallow us whole. Most of the time, I struggle to keep my head above water.” ⏳In just a few hours, join us for our virtual event, “Killing the Story,” to hear from journalists & media professionals on their experiences while attempting to cover the genocide in Palestine. There’s still time to register & a recording will be available if you’re unable to attend. [Title slide features art by Raphaël Fabre via @formesdesluttes .] Link in bio.

summer’s over !

Revisiting @samaakhullar ‘s #Issue00 piece on June Jordan’s scathing letter to Adrienne Rich, expressing a crucial call to collective responsibility. Written over 30 years ago, Jordan’s words still echo with unsettling urgency. Today more than ever, Samaa’s piece reminds us as those outside of Palestine and in the diaspora, to confront our complicity. We must continue to bear witness and hold one another accountable, especially journalists.