The West's Response to Scholasticide: Gaza’s Fight for a Future | Abdullah W.

## Displacement, loss, and daily survival The conversation brings into stark relief how education and everyday life in Gaza have been fractured by sustained violence and systemic constraints. What emerges is a portrait of displacement not as a temporary inconvenience but as a reshaping of identity, memory, and routine. Homes become "stones and dust," as one participant describes, and with them go the tangible anchors of childhood—rooms, family photographs, and the familiar streets that structured daily life. Displacement here is chronic: repeated moves, crowded tents, the constant calculation of where to find water, electricity, and a working internet connection. These are not isolated hardships but the architecture of a day-to-day existence that makes planning for the future feel almost audacious. The emotional toll of this rupture is threaded through the details. Losing a roof over one's head is painful, but losing people—friends, relatives, teachers—is irrevocable. The normal rituals of mourning are overwhelmed by the frequency of death; funerals become a routine visible sign of a city under siege. At the same time, the conversation underscores an unsettling normalization: young people learn to live with uncertainty so intimate it reshapes their expectations of safety. The resulting mental and logistical labor—checking whether one will be "the next target," calculating the risks of movement across destroyed streets, or hauling water up six flights of stairs—consumes much of the bandwidth that would otherwise be devoted to study and self-development. Yet life does not cease. University assignments, exams, and aspirations persist alongside grief, which creates a dissonant picture: students who continue to submit essays and take exams while navigating chaos. That resilience is not romanticized; it is a survival strategy. When people call education a "weapon," they do so literally: in the absence of material power, learning becomes the route to agency. This claim creates moral urgency about how external actors—universities, governments, aid organizations—should respond to the needs of students whose circumstances are anything but normal. ## The barriers to studying in London One of the most striking revelations in the exchange is the gulf between the rhetorical gestures of support and the bureaucratic realities that make relocation nearly impossible. An offer from a reputable Western university can be life-changing in theory, but in practice it becomes a test of eligibility within systems that presuppose institutional stability and financial solvency. The visa hurdle—illustrated by a requirement to show proof of roughly £45,000—is a vivid example. That standard might be defensible within a migration system designed for peacetime applicants but it becomes punitive when applied to candidates from a warzone with destroyed banks, demolished university records, and families stripped of livelihoods. Documentation and procedural expectations compound the problem. Students are asked for transcripts, bank statements, and certificates from institutions that no longer function. Even if such records exist, access to consulates or embassies, safe travel to departure points, and permissions to leave Gaza present separate, often insurmountable obstacles. The encounter thus highlights a structural mismatch: Western immigration and scholarship frameworks are calibrated for a world where administrative infrastructures work reliably. When systems assume normalcy, they effectively exclude those whose very reality is to survive chaos. This mismatch is not merely bureaucratic hair-splitting; it has real consequences. An accepted student who cannot meet proof-of-funds requirements, who cannot obtain essential paperwork, or who cannot find a viable corridor out of Gaza loses not just a place at a university but an imagined future. That suspended hope carries psychological weight equal to many of the tangible losses already sustained in the war. The exchange presses readers to see how institutional rules—ostensibly neutral—can amount to an additional layer of violence when they deny mobility and opportunity to those most in need. ## Education as hope amid systemic obstacles Through the conversation, education repeatedly appears as a form of moral and practical resistance. For many young Gazans, studying is an act of defiance: a refusal to allow the present devastation to determine the trajectory of a life. The persistence of lectures through online platforms, makeshift exams held under difficult conditions, and the commitment of professors who try to keep curricula running all speak to a community that refuses to let its future be erased. Education is not an abstract good; it is the primary mechanism people use to imagine rebuilding, to counter loss with a skillset that might one day translate into livelihood and voice. But hope divorced from meaningful access is fragile. Where universities and governments offer places without addressing the practical impediments, they create a cruel dynamic: the symbolic promise of assistance that collapses under procedural demands. The conversation interrogates the ethics of gestures that stop at recognition without building pathways to realization. There is a call, implicit and explicit, for largescale interventions that match the scale of the crisis—systems that account for destroyed documentation, emergency financial guarantees in place of conventional proof of funds, and evacuation routes that are secure and timely. The irony of education as hope amid structural obstacles is doubled by economic dislocation. Rent inflation, scarcity of basic goods, and the breakdown of banking amplify the impossibility of meeting foreign university requirements. So, even as students double down on learning, the external frameworks meant to help them often require conditions they cannot possibly meet. The result is a moral indictment: if educational opportunities are to be offered to students from warzones, then the modalities of access must be redesigned to reflect exceptional circumstances. ## Exchange programs and evacuation pathways The conversation suggests that partial remedies do exist, but they require creativity, coordination, and a willingness to adapt rules rapidly. Exchange programs and evacuation pathways have been used in other crisis settings to assist students, but scaling these mechanisms for Gaza demands political will and logistical investment. Where universities can partner with governments, NGOs, and diaspora networks to provide scholarships that include emergency relocation funds, streamlined visa processing, and in-transit security arrangements, the promise of study can become tangible. The absence of such coordinated responses is not an inevitability; it is a policy choice. Participants point to the need for alternatives to the standard proof-of-funds model: host institutions might underwrite living costs, provide guaranteed stipends, or accept escrow arrangements arranged by humanitarian partners. Universities could also expand conditional admissions with deferred enrollment, combined with active evacuation plans. Crucially, these measures would not simply be charitable; they would protect the right to education under international humanitarian norms. Implementing them would acknowledge that systems meant to be neutral can perpetuate harm when they fail to reckon with context. There is also a role for academic consortia and international bodies to create evacuation corridors specifically for students and scholars. Historically, ad hoc cohorts have been evacuated from conflict zones through coordinated efforts; the key lesson here is that such operations require early planning, political leverage, and the readiness to bypass standard peacetime requirements. The conversation urges a move from individual, donor-driven evacuations to institutionalized programs capable of responding at scale. ## Why London and the fun

The West's Response to Scholasticide: Gaza’ s Fight for a Future | Abdullah W. There are many layers to the West’s brutality in its 21st century colonial quest for total dominance. One of them is the eradication of an academic future for the populations it targets for destruction. Support Abdullah here: Abdullah’s Fundraising: https://chuffed.org/project/saving-abdullahs- goldsmith-dream Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/abdullhabuwarda Abdullah, a 21-year-old English literature student from Jabalia, describes continuing his education amid displacement, destruction, loss, hunger, and unstable infrastructure in Gaza. He discusses his unsuccessful attempt to reach a journalism program in London, the financial and visa barriers facing Palestinian students, why journalism matters to him, and the need for meaningful educational opportunities at a scale matching the crisis. Neutrality Studies substack: https://pascallottaz.substack.com Merch: https://neutralitystudies.com/shop Donation: https://neutralitystudies.com/donate Timestamps: 00: 00:00 Introducing Abdullah from Gaza 00:01:40 Abdullah’s life and education before the war 00:07: 22 Continuing education amid destruction 00:11:42 Displacement, loss, and daily survival 00:18:05 The barriers to studying in London 00:28:27 Education as hope amid systemic obstacles 00:35:05 Exchange programs and evacuation pathways 00:37:08 Why London and the fundraising struggle 00: 46:10 Why journalism matters to Abdullah 00:50:54 Daily life, Gaza’s institutions, and final message #Pascal Welcome back to Neutrality Studies, everybody. Today, with a special episode, an interview with a young student from Gaza. In my previous introduction, I forgot to mention that you can actually support him with the links that will be provided in the description box below. If you want to do that, please have a look and click on them. I think the talk will show how the situation in Palestine, the genocide, is anything but just an Israeli invention. It is a collective action by the collective West, which really excels at keeping people away from even just basic necessities like education. But for a first-hand account, please have a listen to what Abdullah has to say. Welcome back, everybody, to Neutrality Studies today with a special episode, because I've got a young student with me, and he's not from anywhere. He's from Gaza, and he's in Gaza right now. Joining me is Abdullah. Abdullah, welcome. #Abdullah W Thank you, Dr. Pascal, for having me and giving me this opportunity to be with you and tell my story and what is happening around me. I really appreciate it. Thank you. #Pascal -- 1 of 13 -- Well, I'm very glad you reached out, and I was surprised. I've had people from Gaza on my channel before. I've had a professor from Gaza University. I've had a young, recent university graduate, Mohammad Al-Turk, who spoke to me, and now you're the third person inside Gaza. I am happy to see that the internet connection is possible and that some very good spaces for recordings are still available. And you very kindly actually even walked very far to get to a studio where you could do a recording. Can you maybe first tell us who you are, what you're currently doing, and all of the things you had to get in place in order to be able today to speak with a decent internet connection to us all. #Abdullah W Thank you again, Dr. Pascal, for having me and giving me this chance to be with you. Sure. I am Abdullah. I am from Jabalia in the north of Gaza. I have lived in Gaza my whole life. I am right now a university student studying English literature with a minor in media. Of course, education has always been a very important part of my life. I was a very serious student at school, and I graduated from high school in 2022 with an average of 98.1%. And with this average, I was one of the top students in all my country. Then I started university. Before the war, my life was actually very normal for someone my age. I went to university, studied, spent time with my friends, worried about my exams, grades, like anyone in the world my age, and thought a lot about what I wanted to do after graduation: becoming a journalist, a translator, an adventure I have. #Pascal You are now what age? You are how old? #Abdullah W 21. 21 years old. I have also loved English from a young age, a very young age for me. Learning English wasn't only about passing exams or for school. I saw it as a way to communicate with people like you today from different countries, understanding other cultures, opening more doors for me. And unfortunately, it became interrupted after October 7. Every part of that normal life has dramatically changed. My education was interrupted. My family was displaced several times. And eventually, our home as well in northern Gaza was destroyed. And this is the painful part of my story. When you lose your memories, the place of your residence from your childhood. And I still continue with my university education throughout all of this stuff online from Gaza. And that's probably one of the strange things about life now here. As a university student, I still have assignments, exams, and plans for my future as well, but I am trying to do all of that in circumstances that are completely different from the life of a normal university student anywhere in the world. During this period, I also started writing more and speaking in public about my experiences. And as I mentioned to you, eventually I received an offer to study journalism at -- 2 of 13 -- Goldsmiths, University of London, which became a very important goal for me these previous months. So I would briefly describe myself quite simply: a student from Gaza who is trying not to allow everything that has happened around me to decide what the rest of my life will look like. #Pascal And right now you're in an environment that allows you to communicate like this to the world. But I will later actually add, at this point, short snippets where you actually show what life looks like to you when you go outside into the city or walk around in Gaza. That will be shown here. #Abdullah W Unfortunately, my neighborhood here in Jabalia has become a demolition site. People here have recently slowly started coming back to their homes, even though the area is almost destroyed and the winter season is coming. This used to be our beautiful home, but now, as you can see, it is just stones and dust. It is not only about the fallen walls or roofs. It is about the moments, the memories, the simple things that made life feel normal. It is sad to say that now we are being forced to live in conditions that are almost unlivable. We are not here in Gaza just headlines or breaking news. We are people with futures, with ambitions, with dreams that are still meant to continue. #Pascal Now that we've seen that, I would like to ask you then how it is that you students in Gaza still continue this education, and how do your professors, how does the university still offer classes to you? What are the challenges that people in peacetime, in peace environments, do not have to deal with that you and Dalia have to somehow navigate? #Abdullah W Despite all the challenges around us, such as poor infrastructure, destroyed universities, electricity cuts, and unstable internet, my university kept trying to continue education in impossible circumstances through Moodle, through online, and that says a lot. When everything around you is collapsing and you are still holding on to education, because here in Gaza, families and people see education as their main weapon. We don't have military weapons, as you know, so our choice, our only choice and our first choice is education. Despite all of these challenges, we walk very distant distances and go far to produce some exams in circumstances that aren't allowing you to produce it. #Pascal And can you describe a bit, like, for instance, today, in order to come to a studio where you could do a recording, what did you have to do to get there? How far was it? -- 3 of 13 -- #Abdullah W As I mentioned to you before, I had to book this place one or two days before. And it costs about $17 per hour. #Abdullah W To book this place, you have to walk several kilometers on destroyed streets among buildings that are being destroyed. And these scenes, when you wake up to go to produce an exam or to appear in a podcast, when you walk in these streets, this sense makes us feel negatively. Imagine emotionally. #Abdullah W It affects us emotionally, you know. And you have to walk, you have to pay just to pursue your life and put things in order. And it's chasing your dream. #Pascal I mean, I can't imagine what that must be like. Also, I think it's very important. You don't know anything else but Gaza, right? You've never seen a place outside of Gaza, I suppose. #Abdullah W Yes, yes. Gaza is very different from any other country because I think one of the hardest things is the uncertainty. You wake up in the morning and you don't know what the day is going to bring to you. You don't know if you will still be in the same place by the end of the day. You don't know if something will happen to someone you know. You don't know what the next phone call or message might bring. And living with that uncertainty every single day, it changes the way you are thinking. As you know, for example, my family has been displaced several times. We moved from one place to another, trying to find somewhere safer. And eventually, our home was destroyed. And I think... the word displacement sounds very simple when you hear it in the news, breaking news, or when you read a newspaper article. But when you actually experience it, it affects almost every part of your life. At the beginning of this war, I didn't experience displacement when our house was stable. And I was reading, some families fled, some families were displaced from Jabalia, from Beit Hanon. But when I experienced it myself, the picture has completely changed. You lose every normal thing you have. Displacement means you lose your routine. You lose your privacy. You know, tents are completely crowded in small areas. You lose the feeling that there is one place you can always return to. And then there are the normal things, daily problems: finding water, finding electricity, finding internet, finding food. This displacement, what it actually looks like—things -- 4 of 13 -- that I never really thought about before became part of the planning of every day. You are planning how to get water. Every day, we are now renting on the sixth floor. You know, every day I have to bring heavy water gallons up to the sixth floor. Imagine. But probably the most difficult part has been the people, in addition to the people we have lost, right? Maybe, maybe I don't—I cannot ensure that a house can eventually be rebuilt, or I can leave to some country and rent another house, or, as we are doing right now, rent another apartment. By the way, we were living in a tent for a long while. And then, when the All Roots podcast launched a fundraising campaign for my education and to support my family, a lot of people, around 600 people, supported me, and we have almost reached $30,000. Now we can afford and pay our rent. We are now paying $600 a month in rent. So, as a consequence of a huge number of buildings being damaged, rent is extremely high, you know. So this apartment we are now living in, before the war, it cost $200. Now it's $600. Again, a house can eventually be rebuilt, or you can rent. #Abdullah W Okay, maybe you can forget the memories of your house, but when you lose a person, you cannot. I have lost relatives and friends and professors who taught me, and teachers who taught me in secondary school and in primary school. And I think those are the losses that stay with you the most for the rest of your life. #Pascal How do you personally deal with that when you hear that another person you knew has died or was kille