Between What Was and What Remains: A Conversation on Memory, Space, and the Changing Landscapes of Palestine

In this interview, I had the privilege of speaking with Dr. Bahzad Al Akhras, a Palestinian medical doctor from Gaza and a mental health researcher, about the changing landscapes of Palestine, particularly in the context of geopolitics and the genocide. He shares his personal experiences and reflections on how the daily realities shape the ways people experience the country’s landscapes. 

Era: Thank you for agreeing to the interview. My first question, to introduce you to our audience, could you tell us a bit about yourself? 

Bahzad : My name is Bahzad. I am a medical doctor. I was working at a community mental health centre in Gaza, specifically the Gaza Strip, Khan Yunis City. I have been evacuated from Gaza to continue my studies here in the UK. My PhD is focusing on community mental health. 

Era: Starting with the theme of the magazine,I want to ask, what comes to your mind when I say that term “Changing Landscapes” in the context of Palestine? 

Bahzad: It’s a different and very particular question when asked to someone from Gaza. When I hear the word “landscape,” I usually imagine scenic mountains, hills, sunsets, modern buildings by the sea, forests, and various elements of nature coming together beautifully. But none of that really exists in Gaza. Gaza is a tiny, densely populated coastal strip facing the sea, but without any significant landmarks. The coastline looks almost the same from the southernmost point to the northernmost - just about 40 kilometres. We have no hills or mountains. Beyond the sea, what you see is a dense urban area, one of the most crowded in the world: over 2 million people living in just 360 square kilometres. So the natural diversity that usually comes to mind with the word “landscape” simply doesn’t exist here. Gaza’s landscape is essentially the sea, concrete buildings, and an extremely dense population. 

This is very different from, for example, the West Bank. They don’t have the sea, but they have beautiful mountain views, houses built on hills, small valleys, and even small rivers. It’s much more naturally diverse than Gaza’s narrow coastal strip. So when I hear the word “landscape,” I think of this contrast. 

Era: You mentioned that landscapes in Gaza and the West Bank differ significantly despite both being part of Palestine. Much of that stems from geopolitics. How do you see geopolitical conditions influencing landscape and people’s experience of it? 

Bahzad: Gaza’s landscape has a very specific meaning because, apart from the sea, nothing stays fixed. Houses are constantly destroyed and rebuilt due to repeated escalations and wars. Some areas are more devastated than others, but overall, nothing remains stable for long. For example, places I remember from my childhood simply don’t exist anymore. They were demolished and left as empty land with rubbles. When I returned to Gaza in 2021 after finishing my master’s degree, the escalation that year targeted the heart of Gaza City - one of the most modern, lively, urban areas with cafes, restaurants, and vibrant streets. Overnight, what was once the most beautiful part of the city became rubble. 

Even the sea - our only consistent landscape - changed drastically in the last two years, when mass displacement forced people to pitch tents along the beach. The view became filled with tents, harsh living conditions, and makeshift toilets built right on the sandy beaches. So even the “fixed” landscape of the sea was completely transformed. 

This is very different from the West Bank. I haven’t been able to travel freely since 2000, when I was nine. Gaza has been closed since then, so I’ve only passed through the West Bank without being able to make a stop. But from what I’ve seen from the brief glimpses, its architecture is beautiful. Many buildings are made from white stones from the mountains. Homes sit on hills overlooking olive fields. It’s aesthetically very beautiful and different from Gaza. And if we talk about the areas beyond Gaza and the West Bank - the 1948 territories - they are incredibly beautiful. When I travelled to Jerusalem for a visa appointment, I saw some of the most beautiful landscapes I’ve ever encountered. You can even see the Mediterranean Sea from high points in Jerusalem. So outside Gaza’s borders, the landscapes are truly exceptional.

Era: That perspective is fascinating - being in your own country but unable to stop and enjoy its landscapes. You mentioned that Gaza’s landscape is not diverse now. Was it the same during your parents’ or grandparents’ time? How has it changed over generations? 

Bahzad: It was completely different for them. My parents and grandparents could visit any place in Palestine, and even beyond it. My grandfather was a taxi driver. He used to drive from Cairo to Damascus, passing through cities like Jerusalem, Ramallah, Nablus, Al-Bireh, Haifa, Jaffa, and Acre. We still have beautiful photos of him in those cities. 

My parents also lived through a period when travel was easier. As I mentioned, I visited the West Bank when I was nine - we simply took a bus. But after 2000, and after the Second Intifada, everything changed. Travel between Gaza and the West Bank became restricted. My father studied in the West Bank, at An-Najah University, in the 1980s. He always says it’s the most beautiful university in the world. He could freely travel daily from Gaza to Nablus, visit Jerusalem, enjoy the Old City and its historic sites, and go to Bethlehem. My uncle once told me that he spontaneously decided to visit my father at university one night - he just took the car and drove there, passing by gorgeous coastal farmlands and wide fields of crops, watermelon, corn, and other agricultural landscapes. So yes, they experienced a richness of landscape that my generation largely hasn’t. As I said, I passed through some areas, but unfortunately, 99% of Gazans today have never seen them. 

Era: My final question is about the future. Your grandparents saw the landscapes of the entire country; your parents saw less; you have seen even less; and now most people, especially children, have seen almost nothing of Palestine, beyond the Gaza Strip. What do you think the future looks like for Palestinians’ ability to know and see their own landscapes if geopolitics continues to interrupt people’s lives? 

Bahzad: What worries me is that just as I grew up hearing my parents’ and grandparents’ stories about the landscapes outside Gaza, future generations will grow up hearing our stories, except ours will only be about Gaza itself. And even Gaza as I knew it is mostly gone. More than 80% of it has been destroyed. The “fixed” landscape I described - the sea, the urban buildings, the crowded neighbourhoods - none of that exists in the same way anymore. Children today will grow up with memories of tents, rubble, destroyed infrastructure, and desert-like conditions.

Gaza has a very young population; half are under 18. Their understanding of “landscape” will be completely shaped by destruction. As I shared earlier, I have childhood memories of seeing the West Bank. A nine-year-old today only sees tents, flooded makeshift camps in winter, collapsed buildings, destroyed roads, and animal-drawn carts instead of actual streets or transportation. 

I think landscape isn’t just nature - it’s also related to the architecture, transport, public spaces, trees lining the streets, etc. None of that exists for children in Gaza now. And if nothing changes, if rebuilding isn’t possible, a child growing up today will associate “landscape” with ruins and displacement. That’s what I fear for the future.

Era: This was truly eye-opening for me. Thank you for your time.  

Bahzad: Thank you. 

About the Guest: Bahzad Ziyad is a Palestinian medical doctor and mental health specialist, specializing in childhood trauma and community mental health. A 2019–20 Chevening Scholar, he earned an MSc in Child and Adolescent Mental Health with distinction from King’s College London. His work and current PhD aims to advance decolonial approaches to mental health, integrating indigenous concepts into humanitarian response and psychosocial practice.