Gaza professor gives first-hand account of scholasticide in Gaza

Dr Mohammedwesaam Amer writes from his refuge in Cambridge this article in the Journal of Palestine Studies of the scholasticide, its devastating impact upon students and faculty alike – those who are still alive – and how the challenge should be met.

Journal of Palestine Studies

To cite this article: Mohammedwesam Amer (17 Jan 2025): Personal Reflections on Israel’s War
on Education in Gaza, Journal of Palestine Studies, DOI: 10.1080/0377919X.2024.2447220

To link to this article: https://doi.org/10.1080/0377919X.2024.2447220
Published online: 17 Jan 2025.

ABSTRACT
Israel’s ongoing war on Gaza has decimated its education sector, leaving not a single higher education institution standing and turning schools into shelters for the displaced. In this essay, the author, himself a professor, dean, and father of school-age children from Gaza, reflects on the physical and psychological impacts of Israel’s scholasticide in the besieged enclave. Writing from Cambridge, UK, where he fled from the genocide, the author shares his experiences teaching students in Gaza from afar, the hardships
he and others experienced as educators even before October 7, and some thoughts on how Palestinians can plan for their future.

KEYWORDS
education; Gaza war;
scholasticide; Israeli
genocide; October 7

The impact of Israel’s war on the education of Gaza’s Palestinians has been profoundly devastating and personal for me as a professor, a dean, and a father. Events that have transpired since October 7 have upended my life and the lives of my colleagues and students. Although at the time of writing, I am relatively safe outside Gaza, I fear for my relatives, neighbors, students, and colleagues who are still there, still being displaced, still struggling to find clean drinking water and food every day—like I did for months, standing in queues for up to six hours to get mere morsels of bread. As educators, we were forced to teach in makeshift classrooms in displacement tents and demolished buildings amid the relentless bombing and destruction.

In this essay, I share my reflections on the physical and psychological impacts of Israel’s war, not only on educational infrastructure in Gaza, but also on my colleagues and students, in order to offer some thoughts on how we can plan for our future. Israel’s unceasing bombardment, coupled with its seventeen-year siege, have inflicted extensive and critical damage on Gaza’s educational institutions—a form of willful destruction Karma Nabulsi terms scholasticide.1 All twelve higher education institutions in Gaza have been bombed and destroyed; not a single institution has been left standing in the Gaza Strip today.2

The Ministry of Education in Gaza has also been reduced to rubble. In many instances, the contents of these institutions have been obliterated or looted. Adding to the devastation, Israel repurposed some university campuses for military use.3 For example, Israa University was transformed into an Israeli military base during the early stages of the Israeli ground invasion and was later completely leveled.4 Moreover, some surviving university campuses were initially converted into shelters for displaced Palestinians but were later destroyed by the Israeli army.

Thirteen months into this ongoing war, my concern continues to be how we could ever return to academic work at our schools and universities to build our children’s futures—a concern I share with all academics and university administrators in Gaza. Before October 7, nearly all children in Gaza were enrolled in K-12 education, with rates ranging from 94 – 100 percent. The besieged enclave was home to 796 schools,6 including those operated by the UN Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees in the Near East (UNRWA), the government, and private entities. As of 2022, the literacy rate in Gaza stood at an impressive 98.2 percent.7 UNRWA, a cornerstone of Gaza’s education system, was critical in achieving this. Having once provided essential K-12 education to Palestinian refugees and served as a vital support for the entire educational sector, the UNRWA schools in Gaza that have not been destroyed now serve as shelters for displaced Palestinians. Added to this strain is the Israeli-led campaign to criminalize UNRWA, which has financially devastated the organization over the years.8

The deliberate targeting of UNRWA not only denies students access to primary and preparatory education, but also threatens the very future of education in Gaza. Students in these schools lose access to the quality education necessary to succeed academically and transition to secondary and higher education, leading to a decline in the number of students adequately prepared for university. This weakening of the educational system discourages educators, undermines intellectual growth, and erodes the prospects of entire generations in Gaza. My daughters are experiencing this erosion directly. Like all children in Gaza, they have not been in their classrooms nor met with their teachers and peers for nearly a year. As a father and educator, this is immensely painful and concerning to me.

The human cost of Israel’s war on Palestinian education in Gaza is staggering and continues to rise at an unfathomable rate. At the time of writing, the available sources indicate that at least 117 academics, over 11,000 students, and 441 teachers have been killed, with nearly 17,000 students and 1,468 teachers injured,9 though the numbers are undoubtedly higher. Among the prominent scholars lost are Professor Sofyan Taya, president of the Islamic University of Gaza, an award-winning physicist and UNESCO chair, who was killed alongside his family in an airstrike in Jabaliya refugee camp; Heba al-Abadleh, a lecturer at Gaza University and a journalist, was killed together with her family in Khan Younis; Dr. Ahmed Hamdi Abo Absa, dean at the University of Palestine, was shot dead while leaving his house
in Gaza; my friend and colleague, Refaat Alareer, a poet and professor of comparative literature
and creative writing at the Islamic University of Gaza, was killed in an airstrike;10 Professor
Wiesam Essa, a former CARA (Council for At-Risk Academics) fellow at Manchester University
and professor of geography at al-Aqsa University, also lost his life in this war; and Dr. Nida
Affanah, a lecturer in general biology at Palestine University, was killed by an Israeli strike on
her home in Deir al-Balah.

The forces driving us away are powerful. Many educators and students who have survived the war have left, myself included. Here in the UK, I struggle with the reality of the brain drain—the exodus—of Palestinian intellectuals. Throughout my career, I nurtured an academic community in Gaza, working tirelessly to retain talented faculty and encourage our students to stay and build their futures in Gaza. But the relentless war has made this increasingly dif ficult. Leaving Gaza was one of the hardest decisions I have ever made. It felt like I was aban doning not just my home, but also the work and dreams in which I had invested so much. I’ve had to watch colleagues, friends, and former students make the same painful choice to leave in order to survive. Each one who leaves takes with them their expertise, passion, and the potential to inspire the next generation. Every time an intellectual leaves Gaza, it weakens our community and dims the future we’ve been fighting for. The challenge of reversing this braindrain feels immense, especially as I now find myself part of the very exodus I once fought against.

From afar, I occasionally have the opportunity to connect with my students through virtual learning platforms such as Zoom, Google Meet, or WhatsApp video calls. These meetings are made possible only when conditions allow in Gaza, taking into account the availability of an internet connection, temporary pauses in bombardment, and a suitable location. In these meetings, I see the hope fading in my students’ eyes. Many now tell me of their dreams of leaving, not out of a lack of love for their home, but because they feel their potential can no longer be fully realized in Gaza. Seeing them suffer and hearing them lose passion for learning, for their futures, is not just a professional challenge, it is a profound personal loss. Yet, even from a distance, my commitment to Gaza remains strong. I hold onto the hope that one day, we can create the conditions that will allow us to thrive in the place we call home.

Like every academic and student from Gaza, I’ve been unable to return to my university.The once vibrant classrooms where I poured my passion into teaching and guiding students now stand empty and lifeless—if they are standing at all. From the images and footage I have seen of the destruction of our places of learning, the silence is deafening. When I think of my teaching materials and the equipment I once relied on to teach, I feel great sadness. They weren’t just tools, they were extensions of my work, my connection to my students. Now, they lie in ruins, alongside the administrative records that chronicled my students’ progress. Losing those records feels like losing pieces of their stories, and it’s heartbreaking to know that the academic journey we were on together has come to such an abrupt and destructive end. The records, literature, and knowledge that were lost during this war were not just books and scrolls, they were the embodiment of centuries of thought, tradition, and identity of Palestinians.

The destruction was so thorough that it leaves gaps in the historical record, making it difficult for future generations to fully understand their own past.11 Israel has not only interrupted our academic lives, but also shattered them, replacing them with unfathomable fear and uncertainty. I see a generation of students slipping away, their futures bleak. These students who have already endured so much—repeated wars, constant instability—are now facing the unthinkable: the possibility that their education may never resume. It breaks my heart to think of what has been taken from them, not just in terms of academic knowledge, but in the dreams and aspirations that are being crushed under the weight of this war.

The war has also taken away livelihoods, a reality that many of my colleagues are now facing. I’ve lost my job—not because of any professional failing, but because the institutions we once served have been destroyed. Even before the war, we suffered from irregular salary disbursements, sometimes going months without obtaining our wages. To make matters worse, Gaza’s higher education institutions aren’t covered by insurance for infrastructural damage, destruction, or loss of life, which only deepens the financial instability for all of us who are now displaced. But this isn’t just about losing a job or source of income; it’s about losing a part of my identity. I’ve dedicated years to my students and my field, and now that life has been demolished, I’m left to grapple with what remains. The sense of purpose I once felt in my role as an educator has been crushed along with our classrooms.

Safety and security, bedrocks of any educational environment, are now distant memories in Gaza. Since October 7, those of us from Gaza exist in a constant state of anxiety, searching for safe spaces for ourselves and our families. The idea of education, which once felt like a calling, has become secondary to the immediate need for survival. At the beginning of the war, my priorities shifted in ways I never imagined. I no longer thought about my lectures or research; my thoughts were consumed by the need to protect those I love. Instead of focusing on curriculum development, I coordinated food distribution and set up public kitchens to help those displaced. It was a profound shift that left me questioning so much about the life I once led. Indeed, the psychological toll of this war is something I carry with me every moment.

I’ve lost family members, and the places that once symbolized hope and learning—our universities and schools—are now sites of trauma. They are no longer sanctuaries of knowledge, but as displacement shelters they are reminders of the depths of the destruction that surrounds us. It’s hard to imagine returning to any semblance of normalcy after all this. It will take a long time for any of us to heal, to feel ready to teach, study, or even think about the future again.

This is compounded by accumulated trauma over the course of seventeen years of siege, occupation, and military assaults. Even before October 7, Israel targeted Palestinian institutions and intellectuals. The blockade alone stifled the intellectual and professional growth of both academics and students in Gaza, myself included. Restrictions on mobility were particularly suffocating. For years, I couldn’t even travel to the West Bank, just a short distance away, to collaborate with colleagues. I was forced to rely on virtual meetings to bring in guest researchers or to participate in conferences. The blockade prevented me from fully engaging with the broader academic community, both within Palestine and internationally, and this isolation was frustrating. Foreign faculty and students were barred from entering Gaza, depriving our educational communities of critical exposure to a diversity of perspectives and knowledge. It was a constant battle to keep the intellectual flame alive in such a restrictive environment.

The blockade also severely restricted the resources to which we had access, including basic educational materials or even online libraries. The constant barriers—whether the checkpoints, roadblocks, separation wall, internet blackouts, or virtual censorship—created a sense of strangulation that permeated every aspect of our academic lives. This was worsened by periodic Israeli bombardments. The 2008–9 and 2014 wars brought devastating consequences to our educational institutions. I remember the sheer destruction that befell our higher education institutions; six airstrikes destroyed entire colleges and damaged over seventy-five laboratories.12 The Islamic University of Gaza, where I spent a great deal of time, was hit particularly hard. The losses were not just financial or physical; they were personal and psychological, tearing apart the fabric of our communities of knowledge. For those of us who remained, the task of rebuilding felt overwhelming. We were left trying to piece together an education system from the rubble.

As an educator in Gaza, I’ve seen firsthand how Israel’s attacks on our educational institu tions are not just about destruction—they’re about dismantling the very essence of our society. Israel’s scholasticide in Gaza is a direct attack on our ability to live and thrive. Education has always been a Palestinian tool for resilience and self-determination, and our educational institutions are more than just buildings; they are the heart of our cultural and intellectual identity. Witnessing the destruction of our educational institutions over the years has felt like watching our collective aspirations for liberation and a peaceful, dignified future being decimated. Each bombed classroom feels like a message that Gaza isn’t meant for us to call home. Each day we’re without education is a day closer to losing our future. The current genocide has only deepened this uncertainty.

The task of rebuilding Gaza’s educational institutions is monumental, but it remains a critical and achievable goal. My experience as an academic during this war has been profoundly challenging and instructive. With traditional classrooms leveled to the ground and in-person lectures halted, distance learning through online platforms has become a lifeline for me and my students, even as we grapple with unreliable internet connections, the lack of financial compensation, and the unrelenting death and destruction. Our students in Gaza are no longer solely learning to become the next generation of scientists, artists, or leaders; they are being forced to also master the harsh art of survival in one of the most brutal bombing campaigns in history. This is not the education we dreamed of providing;
it is a cruel lesson in endurance and survival, leaving us to ponder what the future holds for all of us.

But in the face of such overwhelming challenges, every day, I witness the spirit of education in Gaza persist, even from afar. Indeed, this experience has underscored not just the resilience of Gaza’s students and teachers, but the indispensable role of education in the face of unfathomable adversity. It is this enduring commitment to learning, against all odds, that will ultimately pave the way for a brighter future for Gaza’s students and educators alike. Rebuilding Gaza’s education system requires a multifaceted approach. My personal journey leaving Gaza, settling in Cambridge, and teaching students from afar highlights the urgent need for robust digital solutions and global cooperation to revitalize education in Gaza.

Immediate priorities must include a ceasefire to prevent further devastation and to allow for the provision of emergency aid. Long-term strategies should focus on reconstructing physical infrastructure, modernizing technology, and integrating sustainable practices into the educa tion system. Strengthening e-learning capabilities, supported by international aid, will be essential to ensure that education can continue during and after the reconstruction process.

By fostering these efforts, we can aim not only to restore Gaza’s academic institutions, but also to rebuild them stronger and more resilient than before, perhaps easing our healing process as we begin to dream again of a future.

Acknowledgments
I am deeply grateful to the Council for At-Risk Academics (CARA) and the Institute of International
Education’s Scholar Rescue Fund (IIE-SRF) for their generous support through the joint fellowship.
This opportunity has been transformative, allowing me to pursue my academic aspirations at the
University of Cambridge. My journey from Gaza, to Germany, and then to Cambridge has been chal
lenging, but with the support of CARA and IIE-SRF, what once seemed a distant dream has now become
reality. This fellowship marks a significant milestone in my academic and professional growth and offers renewed hope for me and my family.

About the Author
Dr. Mohammedwesam Amer is a visiting researcher and CARA/SRF fellow at the University of
Cambridge, UK. Since 2020, Dr. Amer has been dean of the Faculty of Communication and Languages
at Gaza University in Palestine. He obtained his PhD in media and communication from University of
Hamburg, Germany.

Endnotes

1. Chandni Desai, “The War in Gaza Is Wiping Out Palestine’s Education and Knowledge Systems,” The Conversation, February 8, 2024, https://theconversation.com/the-war-in-gaza-is-wipingout-palestines-education-and-knowledge-systems-222055.

2. Nour Naim, “Israel’s War on the Education Sector in the Gaza Strip,” Arab Center Washington DC, March 20, 2024, https://arabcenterdc.org/resource/israels-war-on-the-education-sector-in the-gaza-strip/. For information about the universities, see Ghazal Golshiri, “All 12 Universities in Gaza Have Been the Target of Israeli Attacks: ‘It’s a War Against Education,’” Le Monde, March 7, 2024, https://www.lemonde.fr/en/international/article/2024/03/07/all-12-universities in-gaza-have-been-the-target-of-israeli-attacks-it-s-a-war-against-education_6592965_4.html#.

3. “Gaza: Israel Deliberately Militarizes Civilian Objects, Turns Schools into Military Bases,” EuroMed-Human Rights Monitor, May 1, 2024, https://euromedmonitor.org/en/article/6296/Gaza: Israel-deliberately-militarizes-civilian-objects,-turns-schools-into-military-bases.

4. “Israel Blows Up Another University in Gaza,” Middle East Monitor, January 18, 2024, https://www.middleeastmonitor.com/20240118-israels-military-occupies-and-destroys-israa university-in-gaza/.

5. “Open Letter by Gaza Academics and Administrators to the World,” Al Jazeera, May 29, 2024, https://www.aljazeera.com/opinions/2024/5/29/open-letter-by-gaza-academics-and university-administrators-to-the-world.

6. “Selected Indicators for Education in Palestine by Level of Education and Region,” Palestinian Central Bureau of Statistics, last accessed September 19, 2024, https://www.pcbs.gov.ps/Portals/Rainbow/Documents/Education2022_E.html.

7. “Literacy Rate of Persons (15 Years and over) in Gaza Strip by Age Groups and Sex, 1995, 1997, 2000–2022,” Palestinian Central Bureau of Statistics, last accessed September 19, 2024, https://www.pcbs.gov.ps/Portals/_Rainbow/Documents/Education-1994-2022-11E3.html.

8. “Israel/OPT: Law to Ban UNRWA Amounts to Criminalization of Humanitarian Aid,” Amnesty International, October 29, 2024, https://www.amnesty.org/en/latest/news/2024/10/israel-opt law-to-ban-unrwa-amounts-to-criminalization-of-humanitarian-aid/.

9. “Are You a Mathematician? Have You Signed the Petition Against Genocide in Gaza?,” British Committee for the Universities of Palestine, November 19, 2024, https://www.bricup.org.uk/activities/mathematicians-petition-against-genocide-in-gaza/; UN Human Rights Office of the
High Commissioner, “UN Experts Deeply Concerned Over ‘Scholasticide’ in Gaza,” news release, April 18, 2024, https://www.ohchr.org/en/press releases/2024/04/un-experts-deeply concerned-over-scholasticide-gaza.

10. Yousef M. Aljamal, “Remembering Refaat Alareer: The Legacy of Gaza’s Storyteller,” JPS 53, no. 2 (2024): 120–24, https://doi.org/10.1080/0377919X.2024.2366654.

11. Nadda Osman, “Israel-Palestine War: Israeli Forces Destroy Central Archive of Gaza City,” Middle East Eye, December 7, 2023, https://www.middleeasteye.net/news/israel-palestine-war israeli-forces-destroy-central-archive-gaza-city.

12. See Ibrahim Rabaia and Lourdes Habash, Destruction of Higher Education (Educide) in the Gaza Strip: Assessment and Support Mechanisms (Paris: French Development Agency, July 2024), https://gazaeducationsector.palestine-studies.org/sites/default/files/pdf/public_records/ Rabaia%26Habash_Destruction%20of%20Higher%20Education%20%28educide%29%20in%20the%20Gaza%20Strip_Assessment%20and%20Support%20mechanisms.pdf and “Which Universities in Gaza Has Israel Destroyed?,” Middle East Eye, May 15, 2024, https://www. middleeasteye.net/explainer-gaza-israel-palestine-war-university-destroy