Zeina Jallad: “I dream of a sky without missiles and drones”
“Today, Palestinians are not only fighting against policies that aim to eradicate them, but also against the crumbling of the very concept of law. By persisting, by safeguarding their land, their memories, their language, their familial bonds, they are upholding the very values that international law is designed to protect…” The issues of Palestine and Gaza, war crimes, “sumud” as a life philosophy, her personal struggle and that of her beleaguered people, human rights, and international law, which often shows double standards – “a law that won’t save us unless we fight for it” – were among the topics we discussed.
Dr. Jallad, director of the Center for Palestinian Land Studies and assistant professor of international law at the American University of Beirut, also shared her vision of a free Palestine that “is not just about ending the occupation, but also about transforming our society and ourselves, and that has to come from within.” She is of the opinion that reconciliation and coexistence between Israelis and Palestinians are possible, as long as the latter’s existence is first guaranteed against the genocidal policies of the former, and on the basis of truth, freedom, and dignity. She dreams of, “a permanent home. A sky free of missiles and drones. A life without fear. A future where our children’s lives aren’t defined by their suffering, but by their prosperity.”
“Sumud” in Arabic signifies steadfastness, but it doesn’t carry a passive connotation. It is a daily act of defiance. It’s families remaining in their homes despite eviction orders, teachers conducting classes amidst the ruins of their schools, farmers continuing to till their fields despite being under attack.”
– The humanitarian crisis in Gaza, with relentless IDF strikes on civilians, is evolving into an unparalleled tragedy. What immediate actions do you think the international community should take?
Firstly, let’s acknowledge that this humanitarian crisis isn’t the result of a natural disaster; it’s man-made and perpetuated by specific policies. What we need from other countries isn’t more aid promises, but a withdrawal from bilateral and all other interstate agreements that shield Israel from the repercussions of its actions. Trade with the EU, military cooperation, and diplomatic privileges have fostered an environment where civilian massacres are effectively rewarded.
Suspending Israel’s involvement in international organizations should be viewed as a means to uphold justice. It’s ethically indefensible to permit a country to perpetrate gross human rights abuses without facing any international repercussions. Israel is either obstructing humanitarian aid to Gaza or manipulating it to appear cooperative, thereby exacerbating the starvation conditions faced by the local populace.
– Do you believe that initiatives like the Freedom Flotilla and the March to Gaza have been successful?
These initiatives aimed to break the silence surrounding the humanitarian crisis in Gaza. They were acts of defiance against a genocidal military force. They transcended borders, united people from all over the globe and shattered the misconception of Palestinians being isolated and forgotten. These initiatives were among the most noble expressions of our global collective conscience. Not because they provided food and medical aid, but because they inspired courage. They made significant cracks in the wall of silence and complicity, and those cracks are of great importance.
– Could you elaborate on the concept of “sumud”, which you’ve publicly mentioned before?
“Sumud” translates to “steadfastness” in Arabic, but its meaning is far from passive. It represents daily acts of defiance. It’s families who refuse to leave their homes despite eviction orders, teachers who continue to hold classes amidst their school’s ruins, and farmers who persist in cultivating their fields despite being under attack. The Sumud Initiative, which participated in the March to Gaza, is founded on this principle. It fosters collaboration through initiatives such as legal aid services, women’s empowerment, and youth education. Consequently, sumud transforms from a philosophy into an infrastructure of collective resistance that extends beyond Palestine, addressing a world increasingly marked by displacement, erasure, and fragmentation. Sumud becomes a language, a means of envisioning justice even as institutions crumble. It globalizes the issue of Palestine, converting our local resistances into a universal political vision.
– As the first Arab woman to earn a JSD from Columbia University School of Law, what challenges did you encounter?
Yes, I was the first, and a close friend of mine once quipped, “You might be the last!”. While that joke holds a degree of truth, being the first Arab woman to attain this degree isn’t a source of pride for me. Rather, it highlights how many doors remain firmly shut to women like myself and how seldom people of Palestinian origin are permitted entry into such spaces. This is a testament to the failure of education systems that profess to be inclusive, but routinely uphold exclusions.
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Despite receiving the highest academic honors from Columbia Law School, I cannot separate my personal achievements from the ongoing destruction in Palestine. As I was being celebrated in New York, entire Palestinian villages were being razed to the ground, eradicating communities that could have fostered the next generation of scientists. It takes a village to raise a child, but what does it take to raise a scientist? A teacher? A doctor? In Palestine, we have lost too many of these potential influencers. We’ve even lost those capable of rebuilding our healthcare, education, and justice systems. Many have been killed, displaced, or silenced. Therefore, I cannot discuss my education without acknowledging its cost — not to me, but to my people. Nor can I talk about my time at academic institutions without acknowledging their resistance to voices like mine.
While at university, I was expected to analyze, not accuse. To theorize, not highlight the arbitrary actions of those in power. To critique in a way that wouldn’t make anyone uncomfortable. What kept me grounded was the knowledge that my purpose there was not just to succeed as an individual, but to bring awareness to certain issues. My presence at the university was less about visibility and more about responsibility. Now, more than ever, we need to create opportunities for Palestinians. We need to invest in our thinkers, writers, builders, caregivers, women, and men. Not because success in Western institutions defines our worth, but because we need our people to be strong and well-educated in order to rebuild our land and lives.
– How has your Palestinian identity influenced your approach to international law and human rights?
I believe Palestine is the ultimate test of the credibility of international law. The Palestinian plight has perhaps more than any other situation exposed the gap between what the law purports to do and who it actually protects. Palestinian refugees existed before the International Refugee Convention. Our experiences of loss and exile predate many of the legal instruments that shape the modern human rights regime. I grew up in Palestine, amidst war and rebellion, enduring hardship, fear, and constant disruption to my education due to checkpoints, curfews, and political violence. On paper, I was supposed to be protected. However, in reality, I faced targeting, restrictions, and denials. This contradiction shaped me, and my initial response was not to dismiss the law, but to seek solutions within it. I wanted to understand why the law is failing Palestinians and how we could use or reform it to include those it marginalizes. My Palestinian identity and my legal status are intertwined. One has opened my eyes to the law’s limitations, and the other has equipped me with the tools to address them. Palestinians today are not only resisting policies that aim to eradicate them but are also challenging the very concept of law itself.
Preserving their land, their memories, their language, and their family ties, they stand as defenders of the very values that international law is designed to protect. Our struggle is not illegal, but rather a litmus test of the moral weight that the law still holds.
– As a lawyer, what do you see as the biggest shortcomings of international law and human rights, and how can these be addressed?
The greatest shortcoming is not the absence of law, but rather the refusal to apply it. The international legal framework remains intact, but it’s often deliberately bypassed. Powerful states and institutions have found ways to neutralize international law through bilateral agreements and other means. Human rights are applied selectively, based on the identity of the victim and the interests of the perpetrator. In Palestine, we do not lack legal documentation, evidence, or legal means. What we lack is political will. Thus, the failure is not technical, it’s structural. The same international legal instruments that protect other peoples are systematically failing the Palestinians. This selective application is not accidental, it mirrors the architecture of impunity. To address this, we need to shift the conversation. We need to curtail the institutional privileges of the powerful and challenge self-serving legal exemptions. We need to see international law not as a fixed set of rules, but as a contested field that needs to be reclaimed by those it continues to forsake. Law won’t save us unless we fight for it. This means calling out its failures, exposing its double standards, and resisting its use as a tool of domination. But even when international forums are inaccessible, we are not powerless. We create alternative spaces by thinking outside the box. We record and preserve memory. We tell our stories through films, books, and oral history.
– Could increased participation of women in the administration of justice and public life in general lead to social change within the Palestinian Territories and Gaza itself?
Absolutely. Women don’t just influence the administration of justice. They are redefining what it means to serve justice under occupation. They are at the forefront of defending the land. They educate the younger generations. They often shoulder the dual burden of resisting colonial violence and fighting patriarchy within their own society. However, before we can discuss greater participation by women, we must first create spaces for women to study, speak, be heard, lead, and co-create visions, policies, and institutions. More female lawyers, for example, means more spaces where justice is tied to lived experience, which aids in decolonizing the structures of our own society. I’ve previously expressed that liberation goes beyond simply ending an occupation. It also involves transforming our society and ourselves, a process that must come from within.
– What are your hopes for the future of Palestine and how do you envision it?
My hopes are quiet yet steadfast. I yearn for a future where Palestinians no longer need to justify their humanity. A future where our children are safe, our land is free, and our history is respected. I aim to raise my son under the values of dignity, justice, and compassion, and I want him to grow up in a world where these principles are upheld. Teaching universal values to a child is challenging when they are so openly violated, but I hold firm in the belief that we must preserve them. I envision a nation that welcomes back its people from exile and refugee camps, a future where we are acknowledged not just for our resilience but also for our contributions to the world. A future that fosters more artists, scientists, and thinkers. More Edward Saids and Mahmoud Darwishes. Not generations of maimed children and devastated villages. But this future must be built on accountability. There can be no healing without justice, no future without recognition, no restoration without a full accounting of the past. We cannot accept temporary measures or false solutions that only serve to deepen our fragmentation by undermining our justice. We cannot accept diplomatic language that skirts around the realities of annexation, apartheid, and displacement.
– How likely is a future coexistence of Israelis and Palestinians after so much bloodshed and hatred?
I don’t believe that such coexistence is beyond reach. History provides us with similar examples. However, before we speak of coexistence while a genocide is being live-streamed and the international community remains indifferent, we need to first talk about existence. About people on the brink of collapse. About survival in the face of systematic extermination. Coexistence is unattainable when one side is bombed, starved, displaced, dehumanized, and “erased.” Palestinians, referred to as “human animals” by Israeli Defence Minister Yoav Galad, are denied access to food, water, education, and freedom. There is no shared future that can stem from such a reality. Without truth, there can be no reconciliation, and without dignity, there can be no coexistence. This can only be achieved when Palestinians are free to choose it for themselves.
– Do you truly believe that “solidarity can defeat genocide”, as the discussion you will participate in at the 26th Athens Anti-Racist Festival is titled?
Yes, but only if we stop viewing solidarity as a mere expression of sympathy. Solidarity is not charity. It’s a political act. It’s disruption.
This is about denial, pressure, trade embargoes, and shutting down arms factories. It’s about student protests, legal battles, public confrontations, and the cessation of all privileges that allow this violent system to persist. Every voice makes a difference. Each act of solidarity, regardless of its size, chips away at the wall of impunity. My dream of a free Palestine is not some far-off utopia. It is the vision of a permanent home, skies devoid of missiles and drones, a life free from fear, and a future where our children are defined not by their suffering but by their prosperity.
