‘Land of The Walking Dead’

By Fawaz Turki

No doubt you’ve noticed. There are rational men and women engaged in the mainstream media of the Western world who still allow eroded figures of speech to inhabit their common parlance when they write about the deranged horrors in Gaza, as if what is happening there is a “war,” typically an open and often prolonged, garden variety military conflict between the armed forces of two nations or groups.

What we are in reality witnessing in that tormented, 142-square-mile strip of land — once described as an open-air prison camp but now as an open-air death camp — is clearly not a war but the most anguishing humanitarian catastrophe of the 21st century, one that challenges the shared sense of morality inherent in our global dialogue of cultures.

We need not describe these horrors inflicted on the 2.3 million souls who “live” – yes, this word needs to be enclosed in quotation marks – in Gaza, a people now hunted beyond all human endurance. 

We know these horrors already.  We’ve read about them. We’ve watched them on our screens. And they have shocked us to the core of our humanity. 

Two worlds


The enclave we call Gaza is today a wasteland whose destruction has been Carthaginian in scale, where starved Palestinians are neither dead nor alive. They and their skeletal children have been ghoulishly described as “walking corpses.” 

You see them at dangerous food distribution centres where trigger-happy Israeli soldiers gratuitously kill dozens of them daily, and where their humanity is so reduced to a fragment that they are willing to die for a bag of rice, a quart of milk, a jerrycan of water.

Yet, a few kilometres away, across the border, supermarkets are loaded with food and people go about their quotidian lives. Walking their streets. Drinking their coffee. Watching their films. Reading their Torahs. Visiting their dentists. Hugging their children. Listening to music. And making love.


Surely, these are two orders of reality whose spatial and temporal coexistence the mind baulks at reconciling and the imagination recoils at envisioning.

Questions crowd upon us.  

What justification do those who deny children access to food have for preventing them from meeting their basic needs? What propels the need in one people to calculatedly inflict such repeated, unspeakable savagery on another? 

And what drives the seemingly normal Israelis to give such a massive echo of approval to the racist bellowing of their political and military leaders, instead of turning away from it in nauseated disbelief, thus reducing whatever there is in them of the human and restoring what there is of the beast? (It is a sad fact that progressive Israelis have always failed to insinuate into, let alone impose on society, the humane rigour inherent in their beliefs.)

Writers, like other laymen, would do well to abstain from taking part in a debate such as this that the therapeutic community considers its own. But reasons there must be, albeit dark and disquieting ones.

Blinkered world


One thing is plain. Gaza is burning. Its analogue is hell. So, why has the global conscience not compelled the powers that be to intervene and put an end to the genocide in Gaza, an end to the immeasurable agonies of its people? And if not now, when?

Very simply this: The US, the self-styled “leader of the free world” and putative “maker and shaker” of international affairs, insists on maintaining its long-held, notoriously right-or-wrong support of Israel. 

So much so, it has repeatedly used its veto power to sabotage any efforts by other members of the UN Security Council to end the mayhem in the besieged enclave. 

And governments elsewhere in the Western world have opted to become mere onlookers of that mayhem, that is, where they are not closet backers of it.

Yet, that is not the end of that. That global conscience has already become something to reckon with, having progressively morphed into – to paraphrase Japanese Admiral Isoroku Yamamato’s famous observation about Japan’s assault on Pearl Harbour — a sleeping giant, now awakened and filled with potent resolve.


True, the silence with which the Western world has met the horrors in Gaza may have raised serious doubts about the gravitas attributed to the foundational values of Western liberalism, showing them as a sham. 

But the majority in that same world have now bravely taken a stand against their governments, seeing it not just as a moral imperative but also as a means to speak truth to power.

And by adopting that posture, they in effect tell themselves, each other and the world at large that human beings are complicit in that which leaves them indifferent, for by not speaking up, they are indirectly giving their approval to the prevailing order. 

Let no one be in doubt that these folks’ voices have been heard.

Their voices have resonated, loudly, clearly, and impactfully, even in the US, traditionally the heartland where support of Israel was once robotic. Indeed, signs of that shift are already evident in public surveys, including the most recent Pew poll. 

Yes, more than 18,500 children have so far been killed by Israel in Gaza, a little strip of land now reduced to being a place where the dead reach out to drag the living into the abyss of their mass graves, as a final act of mercy in a place where living has lost all meaning. 

As for us Palestinians who, by a trick of fate, are “here,” fed beyond our need, safe in our beds and in our streets and protected against disorder in our daily lives, what is happening “there”, in that parcel of hell, remains indivisible to our identity and will remain tattooed, in indelible ink. It is etched in our collective memory and will remain with us for generations.

And our history books will tell that no child slaughtered in Gaza was ever forgotten, no brutality committed there was ever forgiven.

Fawaz Turki was born in Haifa in 1940. He fled with his family to Lebanon following the 1948 Nakba. He is a Palestinian-American journalist, lecturer and author based in Washington, DC. His publications include the autobiography The Disinherited: Journey of Palestinian Exile (1972), Soul in Exile (New York, 1988) and Exile’s Return: The Making of a Palestinian-American (New York, 1995). TRT World.

CrossFireArabia

CrossFireArabia

Dr. Marwan Asmar holds a PhD from Leeds University and is a freelance writer specializing on the Middle East. He has worked as a journalist since the early 1990s in Jordan and the Gulf countries, and been widely published, including at Albawaba, Gulf News, Al Ghad, World Press Review and others.

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Jabal Al-Weibdeh: An AI Art Story

EDITOR’S NOTE: This is the story of Jabal Al-Weibdeh generated by AI. Its detailed, historical, imaginative, exciting and well-read, done in no more than few minutes. Bang goes the days when writers and journalists would hark on pencil and paper and computer for hours and tomorrows while screaming and pulling off their hairs to make sure they got their thought in the right order. Here is a perfectly good story with references. Below is the original headline generated by AI.

Jabal Al-Weibdeh: Where Amman Remembers Itself

There are neighborhoods one visits for their monuments, and others one remembers for their atmosphere. Jabal Al-Weibdeh belongs firmly to the latter. Its story is not contained in a single building or museum. It is scattered among stone houses and garden walls, old staircases descending toward downtown, galleries hidden behind gates, balconies shaded by trees, and streets bearing the names of poets.

Perhaps the best way to understand Al-Weibdeh is simply to walk through it. And there is no better place to begin than at its eastern edge, at Darat al Funun – The Khalid Shoman Foundation.

Where Art Meets the Ancient City

Darat al Funun seems almost to grow out of the hillside. Below it lies the dense fabric of downtown Amman; above it, Al-Weibdeh begins its gradual climb.

The setting itself tells several chapters of Amman’s history at once. The art house occupies six historic buildings and warehouses, while archaeological remains in its gardens reach much further back into the city’s past. The main house was built around 1918, beside the remains of a sixth-century Byzantine church built over an earlier Roman site. (Darat al Funun⁠)

Today, contemporary Arab art inhabits these old rooms. Paintings hang where families once gathered; artists and researchers work in buildings that were originally homes. Architecture, archaeology and contemporary art coexist rather than compete.

That combination makes Darat al Funun an appropriate doorway into Al-Weibdeh, because the neighborhood itself works in much the same way. It does not erase one period to make room for another. It accumulates them.

From the terraces of the Darat, downtown appears almost within touching distance. This geographical relationship matters. Al-Weibdeh was part of the moment when Amman began climbing out of its central valley in the early 20th century. As the commercial town below expanded, residential neighborhoods spread onto the surrounding hills, including Jabal Amman and Jabal Al-Weibdeh. (Darat al Funun⁠)

Walking uphill from Darat al Funun is therefore, and in a sense, walking through the story of Amman’s expansion.

The Houses as Portraits

The architecture soon becomes part of the walk.

Look beyond the apartment buildings and shopfronts, Al-Weibdeh reveals an extraordinary collection of early Ammani houses: Pale limestone façades, arched openings, columned porches, high ceilings and gardens where jasmine, citrus and old trees soften the stone.

Some of the houses constructed here in the 1920s drew on architectural traditions then fashionable in eastern Mediterranean cities such as Beirut, Haifa and Jaffa. The early houses associated with Darat al Funun, for example, show Venetian influences and typically use a central-hall plan with rooms arranged symmetrically on either side. Darat al Funun’s architectural history notes that at least 30 houses of this period and style were built in Al-Weibdeh alone. (Darat al Funun⁠)

This helps explain why walking through the hill sometimes feels less like moving through a planned district than through an architectural album.

Each house has a personality.

One of the neighborhood’s remarkable surviving residences is the Abdel Badi’ Yash House, remembered particularly for its richly worked stone and architectural detailing. Another is associated with former prime minister Suleiman Al-Nabulsi. Historical accounts of the neighborhood also identify houses connected with poet and statesman Fouad Al-Khatib, while one of the historic buildings incorporated into Darat al Funun became known as the Blue House. (Thaqafat⁠)

These names matter, but not simply because prominent people lived here. They point toward something larger: Al-Weibdeh was once a residential meeting ground for political figures, writers and artists. This helps explain why walking through Al-Weibdeh sometimes feels less like moving through a planned district than through an architectural album.

The cultural identity that the neighborhood possesses today did not suddenly arrive when galleries opened. In many ways, the galleries inherited a landscape that was already cultural.

An Open-Air Gallery

Continue upward and art begins to appear almost casually. A gallery may occupy an old villa. A studio sits behind an ordinary door. A framed artwork appears in a window. The distinction between residential and cultural space becomes pleasantly uncertain.

Among the important institutions associated with the neighborhood is Dar Al-Anda Art Gallery, itself housed in a heritage building dating to the 1930s and overlooking old Amman. (Dar Al-Anda Art Gallery⁠)

There is also Wadi Finan Art Gallery, alongside smaller contemporary spaces and studios such as the Overlooking Al Weibdeh Gallery. The neighborhood has long hosted artists’ studios, cultural associations and institutions connected with writers, visual artists and performers. (Hagzi⁠)

This concentration has gradually turned Al-Weibdeh into something larger than a district containing galleries.

The neighborhood itself has become a gallery.

Its architecture supplies the walls; its gardens provide the installations; its staircases create unexpected perspectives; and the city below becomes the backdrop.

Paris Square: The Neighborhood’s Living Room

Eventually the streets lead toward Paris Square, still remembered by many older Ammanis by its earlier name, Hawooz Circle after the water reservoir once associated with the site. (Alghad⁠).

If Darat al Funun represents Al-Weibdeh’s contemplative side, Paris Square represents its social one.

Here the neighborhood opens up.

People sit outside cafés. Residents cross paths with students, artists, expatriates and visitors. Small shops survive alongside newer restaurants and creative businesses. Conversations spill from tables onto pavements.

Paris Square does not overwhelm which is it precise attraction.

Unlike the monumental squares of grand capitals, it operates at the scale of a neighborhood. It feels closer to a living room than a civic plaza.

And around it remains the stone houses that prevent the area from becoming simply another fashionable café district. They remind the visitor that the life visible today is taking place inside a much older urban framework.

That tension is central to contemporary Al-Weibdeh.

It is fashionable, but old.

Cosmopolitan, yet unmistakably Ammani.

Residential, yet cultural.

Quiet in one alley and intensely social around the next corner.

Streets Named for Poets

Even the street signs participate in Al-Weibdeh’s cultural character.

Throughout the neighborhood appear the names of poets, writers and thinkers: Ahmad Shawqi, Hafez Ibrahim, Ibrahim Touqan, Al-Akhtal and others. Accounts of Al-Weibdeh have remarked on this unusual concentration of literary names. (Al Arabi⁠)

There is something wonderfully appropriate about it. In a neighborhood populated by galleries, writers, painters and old houses, one navigates geographically through literature.

A poet becomes an address.

A writer becomes a corner.

Culture becomes part of the map.

Toward the National Gallery

From Paris Square, continue westward through the quieter streets toward Muntazah Park and the final cultural landmark of the walk: the Jordan National Gallery of Fine Arts.

The transition is subtle. The tightly woven residential streets begin opening toward green space until art reappears, this time not inside a converted private home but as a national institution.

The Gallery’s buildings house its permanent collection as well as visiting and local exhibitions, with a specialized library devoted to art, design and architecture. (nationalgallery.org⁠)

There is something fitting about ending here.

The journey began with contemporary Arab art inhabiting historic houses overlooking downtown and ends with a national collection surrounded by the everyday life of Al-Weibdeh.

Between the two lies the neighborhood itself. And perhaps that is Al-Weibdeh’s greatest artwork.

A Balcony Over Downtown

To understand the importance of Jabal Al-Weibdeh, however, one must finally look beyond Al-Weibdeh.

Look downhill. Downtown Amman is never far away.

Staircases and steep streets physically connect the neighborhood with the old commercial center below. Historically, this proximity was fundamental: Al-Weibdeh emerged as Amman expanded beyond the valley and climbed onto its surrounding hills. (Darat al Funun⁠)

So Al-Weibdeh occupies a fascinating position in the geography of the capital.

Below it lies the older commercial Amman of markets, mosques, churches, cinemas, cafés and crowded streets. Beyond it lies the Amman that continued expanding westward—larger roads, newer neighborhoods, towers and commercial developments.

Al-Weibdeh sits between these worlds.

It is close enough to downtown to remain part of old Amman’s memory, yet elevated enough to have developed a quieter residential identity of its own.

That makes preserving it important for reasons that go beyond nostalgia.

Cities need places where their different historical periods remain visible at the same time. Without them, urban history becomes something encountered only inside museums.

In Al-Weibdeh, history remains inhabited.

People still drink coffee beneath balconies built generations ago. Children pass houses that belonged to politicians and poets. Contemporary artists exhibit inside old villas. Galleries preserve buildings by giving them new lives. Elderly residents remember the Hawooz Circle while younger generations meet their friends at Paris Square.

And at the edges of the neighborhood, the stairways still descend toward downtown.

Perhaps this is why Al-Weibdeh occupies such a particular place in Amman’s imagination.

It is neither a frozen heritage quarter nor simply a fashionable arts district. It is one of the places where Amman can still see the different versions of itself existing together.

Start at Darat al Funun, climb slowly toward Paris Square, wander among the galleries and old houses, and finish beside the National Gallery.

Then turn around.

Look back toward the limestone city spreading across the hills.

The walk has not merely taken you through Al-Weibdeh. It has taken you through the story of Amman itself.

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Abdul Salam Haniyeh: ‘My Father Was an Educator, Leader, a Friend’

Abdul Salam Haniyeh, the son of slain Hamas Political Bureau chief Ismail Haniyeh, said more than 75 members of his immediate family and 250 members of the wider Al-Hajj clan have been killed during Israel’s war on the Gaza Strip.

In an interview with Anadolu marking the second year of his father’s assassination, Abdul Salam described Türkiye as “a political supporter of the Palestinian people,” praised President Recep Tayyip Erdogan’s backing of the Palestinian cause and expressed hope that mediation efforts by Egypt, Qatar and Türkiye would succeed in securing implementation of the Gaza ceasefire agreement.

Family portrait bears scars of war

Standing before a large family portrait hanging on the wall, Abdul Salam pointed to the faces of relatives killed during the war.

He identified Ismail Haniyeh’s three sons — Mohammed, Hazem and Amir — along with several grandchildren who were killed in an Israeli strike April 10, 2024, the first day of Eid al-Fitr, the Muslim holiday at the end of the holy month of Ramadan.

“More than 75 members of the Haniyeh family have been martyred during the war,” he said, adding that 250 members of the broader Al-Hajj clan had also been killed.

‘Teacher, mentor and caring father’

Abdul Salam described his father as a man who combined the roles of father, educator, leader and friend.

“At home, my father was a teacher, mentor, leader, caring father and friend,” he said.

He said Ismail Haniyeh treated his children as friends, regularly sought their opinions and remained closely connected to his extended family.

“We miss his beautiful voice, his warm presence, our meetings with him and our Quran recitation sessions at home,” he said.

Quoting Arabic poetry, he added, “In the darkest night, the full moon is most missed.”

‘Remain among the people’

One of his father’s most important pieces of advice was never to become detached from ordinary people or from Gaza City’s Beach refugee camp, where the family was raised, according to Abdul Salam.

“He always advised us to remain among the people, for the people, and close to our family, neighbors and mosque, because the people are one’s greatest asset in this life,” he said.

He said his father urged his children to stay humble, preserve family ties, serve their community, maintain their prayers and Quran recitation, and support people in times of grief and joy.

“He always reminded us that he could leave this world at any moment and that we should uphold these values after his death,” he added.

‘Still present in our people’s lives’

Abdul Salam said his father continues to occupy a prominent place in Palestinian public life two years after his assassination.

“He remains present in every aspect of our people’s lives,” he said, citing continued public, political and media commemoration of his legacy.

He argued that remembering Palestinian leaders who were killed reinforces the message that the Palestinian struggle will continue.

Ismail Haniyeh was assassinated July 31, 2024, at his residence in Tehran after attending the inauguration ceremony of Iranian President Masoud Pezeshkian. Israeli Defense Minister Israel Katz acknowledged Israel’s responsibility for the assassination in December 2024.

‘Türkiye is a political supporter’

Abdul Salam said Türkiye hosts thousands of Palestinians and has consistently provided political and humanitarian support.

He praised Erdogan’s stance on Gaza and his support for the Palestinian cause.

“Türkiye stands with the Palestinian people under President Erdogan and is making every effort to end the occupation of Palestinian land, in accordance with international law and UN resolutions, and to establish a Palestinian state,” he said. “There is a feeling that we have political support from Türkiye under President Erdogan.”

He highlighted Türkiye’s diplomatic efforts at the UN Security Council, the UN General Assembly and in contacts with the US administration.

Public solidarity should influence leaders

Abdul Salam welcomed growing international public support for the Palestinian cause, including recognition of the State of Palestine by several European countries.

But he argued that popular solidarity must translate into political action.

“The message of the people must reach the tables of international political leaders so that the conflict ends, the occupation ends and the Palestinian state is established,” he said.

He urged European countries and the broader international community to work toward ending the war, ending the Israeli occupation of Gaza and the occupied West Bank, and stopping settler attacks.

He said more than 1.8 million Palestinians are living in tents while Israel controls more than 70% of the Gaza Strip and much of the enclave’s infrastructure has been destroyed.

Hope for Egypt-Qatar-Türkiye mediation

Abdul Salam expressed hope that mediation efforts by Egypt, Qatar and Türkiye would lead to implementation of the ceasefire agreement.

“We are in the midst of mediation by Egypt, Qatar and Türkiye, and we hope there will soon be implementation of the agreement and that Israel will abide by it,” he said.

He praised the role played by the three countries and said he hoped the agreement would restore hope, reconstruction and normal life to Gaza and lead to a full Israeli withdrawal.

His remarks come as Egypt, Qatar and Türkiye continue efforts to implement the second phase of the Gaza ceasefire roadmap after consultations with Hamas and other Palestinian factions.

The Board of Peace and US President Donald Trump announced an agreement Friday on implementing the next phase of the ceasefire, with the board saying Hamas had approved a detailed roadmap.

‘Gaza’s children deserve to live’

Abdul Salam addressed the people of Gaza. “We are from you, and you are from us,” he said.

He said Gaza’s children are appealing to the world to stop the violence after more than 30,000 children have been killed during the war.

“The children of Gaza and Palestine deserve to live like children everywhere else, to build their future, receive an education, and live with hope and stability,” he said.

Despite the ceasefire that took effect Oct. 10, 2025, Palestinian authorities said Israel has continued to violate the agreement, with Gaza’s Health Ministry reporting 1,222 people have since been killed and 4,053 injured.

The ministry said the overall death toll since October 2023 has reached 73,349, with 174,162 injured. Anadolu

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