Good morning. The higher education system in the UK is a global beacon, drawing hundreds of thousands of international students to its universities’ lecture halls and libraries each year.
For many students, getting a spot at a coveted university is incredibly difficult. For students in Gaza, it is almost impossible.
Gaza’s education system was already struggling before October 2023, constrained by an almost 20-year blockade by Israel that sealed off its two million inhabitants from land, sea and air. Now, after Israel’s two-year war, which a UN inquiry designated as a genocide, the education system is on the brink of collapse, according to Unicef.
And yet, amid such devastation, students still tried to stitch together their futures. A small number were able to escape to study abroad. Among them is 27-year-old Aseel Mousa, who spent the earliest months of the war reporting from inside Gaza before arriving in the UK to study in Leicester. Palestine has dominated global headlines this year, yet we still too rarely hear from Palestinians themselves.
For this First Edition, it felt right to step aside and let Mousa speak in her own voice. That’s after the headlines.
In depth: ‘I crossed a border – but the war followed me’
Aseel is one of fewer than 100 students who managed to reach the UK during Israel’s war in Gaza. Before her remarkable essay, it’s worth pausing to take in the scale of what she fled.
This war has deep roots, but its most recent iteration began after an attack by Hamas and other Palestinian factions in October 2023, which killed about 1,200 Israelis and saw 251 taken hostage. When Israel launched its ground operations a week later, most expected a short campaign. Instead, the fighting dragged on for two years, and Israel is now facing charges of genocide.
The vast majority of people that Israel killed in Gaza were civilians. The death toll exceeds 70,000, with almost 170,000 injured. Entire family lines have vanished in single Israeli strikes. The reported casualties amount to roughly a tenth of Gaza’s prewar population of 2.3 million, and many more lie beneath the rubble that blankets much of the territory.
While both sides agreed to a ceasefire, Israel is still killing Palestinians in Gaza (and in the West Bank). The humanitarian situation remains dire, as a result of Israel’s continued blockade of aid.
This is the reality Aseel documented in her journalism before securing a visa that allowed her to leave the enclave and continue her studies. Although she crossed a border, the conflict followed her, darkening every new moment she experienced in the UK. This is only a snapshot of the brutality that defined her life, and the prolonged effects of the blockade and Israel’s illegal occupation of the Palestinian territories.
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In her own words: a Gaza student on being unable to escape the war
My master’s year in the UK has been a year of achieving my dreams and ambitions, and a year of guilt, pain and helplessness.
It has been a year filled with achievements that I am ashamed to share with my family or friends in Gaza. How can I tell them about my high marks on the assignments I submit to the university while they can’t even access the internet to continue their studies or work because Israel repeatedly cuts off telecommunications in Gaza during the genocide? How can I show them pictures of the meals I try to cook in my student accommodation, when people back home are being shot by Israeli snipers while trying to secure flour? How am I supposed to balance the need to live with the need to share in their suffering?
I have long dreamed of studying in the UK. I knocked on every door, applied for highly competitive scholarships, and though each rejection or postponement to the next year left me frustrated, I kept working on my skills and expanding my network in journalism. My dream was a big one: to write for international news agencies, especially the Guardian. I dreamed of visiting the Guardian office in London.
And today, I am in central London, living that dream. I go to the Guardian office whenever I want. I have close relationships with colleagues. I earned my master’s in international relations from the University of Leicester. I have travelled to seven countries in one year.
My UK student residency opened up my world, enabling me to secure a Schengen visa and an electronic visa to visit Istanbul. It allowed me to see my displaced family in Egypt without needing Israeli permits, a freedom that still feels miraculous. In Gaza, such simple planning is impossible; thousands of Palestinians have lost opportunities for study, work, or attending conferences due to Israel’s occupation and blockade, and many have died waiting for Israeli exit permits for life-saving medical treatment in the West Bank or Jerusalem.
But while I was fulfilling my dream of studying in the UK, I have lost everything in Gaza. My home in Tel al-Hawa, my friends who were killed by Israeli airstrikes, and my city – the place I dream of day and night to return to. And yet I am terrified of that day as much as I long for it, because deep down I know that nothing I loved still exists.
I remember being in Barcelona, calling my younger brother on video to show him the sea. I kept saying, “Hamoud, look! This is like al-Rashid street!” – the beach road in Gaza.
When Anas al-Sharif and five journalists were killed, it was one of the darkest days for Gaza, and for my heart. The next morning, I wore black to mourn them and walked through the streets of Leicester, watching life go on completely normally. No one talked about the massacre of five of Gaza’s most extraordinary journalists who sacrificed their lives to be the voice of the voiceless. No one cared.
I often look at people’s faces here and wonder what life feels like when a person is born a “global citizen” – with a British, American, or German passport. What does it feel like to have security, stability, a proper health system, strong education, job opportunities, a functioning airport and seaport? The injustice feels overwhelming. Palestinians don’t deserve this suffering.
I never planned to settle outside Gaza. But with the genocide, I was forced to seek asylum. Whenever I remember that I might be prevented from entering Gaza for at least seven years, I feel as if I am losing my mind.
The UK is a beautiful country. I wish I could have collected beautiful memories during my time here: something to take home and share with the people I love in Gaza. But I find myself always talking about bombing, killing, destruction and genocide.
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