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Today, as Gaza continues to be stuck in a bloody limbo, we are turning our website over to Gaza and its people in an initiative we are calling “A Day for Gaza.” There will be no pieces published on our website today that do not come directly from Gaza.

The Trump administration recently revealed its plans for a “New Gaza,” a metropolitan fantasy that would erase the Strip as we know it entirely.

Gaza’s photographers have been forced to capture violence no human should ever witness. What does it mean to repeatedly record a blinded boy or a father mourning his children?

What can be learned by walking through just one block in Gaza? Ali Skaik did just that, to learn how people are continuing to live and what they still carry from the horrors of this genocide.

When Ola Al Asi decided to continue her reporting in the north of Gaza through a declared a military zone, she did so knowing “that the world would betray us”—that people would leave Gaza behind.

Gaza is now buried beneath 68 million tons of rubble. How does one, in the face of such destruction, refuse to be defined solely by loss? Deema Hattab presents a catalogue of Gaza’s cultural artifacts and landmarks.

Asmaa Dwaima’s sister was her closest friend. When she was killed in 2025, a line was drawn in her life. Writing in the wake of that loss, Dwaima recalls their relationship, the love they shared, and the hope that they will someday be reunited.

Writing soon after the ceasefire was declared, Engy Abdelal shares one of her diary entries: “An attempt to tell the world that I have a future just as you may understand that I have had a past.”

Gaza’s academics dreamed of educating the Strip’s future generations. As Ismail Nofal reports, they now live amidst garbage. Their life of lecture halls and seminars now a distant memory.

Since the ceasefire was called, more than 420 Palestinians have been killed by Israeli gunfire. @mohamhawish.bsky.social dissects the language that has surrounded this period of reconstruction.