In Gaza, where war silences voices and flattens neighbourhoods, photography becomes more than a profession, it turns into resistance. Stripped of movement, opportunity, and even safety, Palestinian photographers continue to document life and loss under siege. Their images speak what words often cannot: of stolen dreams, fractured families, and a people whose dignity refuses to die.

Among them is Suhail Nassar, a 29-year-old photographer who has never left the Gaza Strip. His photographs have travelled to more countries than he ever could, telling stories of shattered streets and enduring spirits. From the burning corridors of hospitals to fleeting smiles under crumbling ceilings, every frame holds more than grief, it holds defiance.

An exhibition born from this struggle, now shown across Europe and the Arab world, brings Gaza’s truth to global audiences. Curated by Palestinians, not institutions, it’s not about aesthetics, it’s about accountability. These aren’t war photos for headlines. They are testimonies. A child clinging to a teddy bear in a shelter. A goodbye kiss to a loved one wrapped in white. A bloodstained camera still recording after its owner was injured. Each image demands more than empathy, it demands memory.

For Nassar, photography under occupation is not a choice, it is duty. His lens captures what the world often chooses to ignore: a homeland enduring erasure, and a people who insist on being seen. In a place where funerals outnumber weddings, and exile begins at birth, the act of taking a photograph becomes an act of survival.

“We’re not just documenting pain,” he says. “We’re preserving truth. We’re resisting disappearance.” In Gaza, the camera is not just a witness. It is a weapon of memory.