Many are third generation refugees, and, like their mothers and grandmothers, their identity as Palestinians is rooted in the primary experience of the injustice of 1948 and their loss of homes, land, and nation. The book gives an intimate picture of these women, and some Palestinian men, which speaks volumes on the entire Palestinian experience of these decades. Here are deeply researched scenes of erasure, displacement, resilience, and resistance among Palestinian refugee women and girls from Syria, living in Jordan, many of them illegally as Jordan stopped entry for Palestinians in 2013.
A triple discrimination
Layers of discrimination in Jordan are revealed under complex and deeply unjust border and entry measures and discriminatory family and nationality laws and practices, bringing heartless scenes, including deportations, family separations, fake IDs, and smuggling.
A Jordanian/Palestinian woman is in triple ways discriminated against, first as a Palestinian, second as a woman subject to patriarchal systems such as Guardianship, third as married to a foreigner. In everyday circumstances, such as medical care needs, for herself or for a child, pregnant mother Ro’a’s only resource was borrowing the card of an understanding also pregnant neighbour. “I needed either a Jordanian national number or a refugee certificate to access medical services from organisations that help refugees. I tried a medical clinic for one of the relief and humanitarian organisations but that didn’t work either.”
“The Nakba is their present”
The Palestinian camps in Jordan for these refugee women appear as temporary places that allow them to melt invisible into a Palestinian community where they share a collective sense of belonging to Palestine but differentiated by being Palestinian from Syria. Syria’s camps like Yarmouk were for these women a continuation of “an order of belonging that starts with Palestine, the camps in Syria, and then Syria; in their narratives the camps in Syria are represented as both a connecting space to Palestine and the context of their own stories.” Jabiri quotes a Mahmoud Darwish poem: “Identity is what we bequeath and not what we inherit. What we invent and not what we remember.” These Palestinian women from Syria, living their uniquely extreme version of exclusion, discrimination, displacement, war, and cruelty because of “being Palestinian,” bequeath coherence for their children from their narratives of the history in which “the Nakba is their present, not the past they inherited.”
A personal approach
Victoria Brittain. — Your book is an academic study of gender-based violence and is unique in its roots in your own lived experience. Tell us more.
Afaf Jabiri. — My family’s experience of displacement mirrors what we see now in Gaza, though the primary difference lies in the scale and speed of events. The village of Iraq Al-Manshiyyah, situated about 30 kilometers from Gaza, was the last village to be occupied and ethnically cleansed in April 1949, during the Nakba. The village endured three attempts by Zionist militias to displace its inhabitants, all of which initially failed. However, once the Jewish militant groups transitioned into the newly formed Israeli Army, the strategy escalated, and Iraq Al-Manshiyyah became the target of a brutal siege that lasted for 10 months. Throughout this time, the village was subjected to relentless bombardment, starvation tactics, and various atrocities, wearing down the residents’ ability to resist. Ultimately, the villagers were ordered to leave, supposedly for a temporary period until the situation would “settle.” They were never able to return.
My family was forced to relocate to an area near Hebron, which would later become Al-Aroub refugee camp. In the midst of this upheaval, my grandmother lost both her husband and her son. She was left to navigate life as a single mother, raising two daughters amidst the uncertainty of ethnic cleansing and displacement. She shouldered the dual burdens of being displaced and managing the responsibilities of both breadwinner and caregiver, and as a woman, she faced significant challenges.
This was my first exposure to the intersection of displacement and gender. My grandmother’s experience of loss, survival, and single motherhood—navigating the uncertainties and vulnerabilities associated with being a refugee—deeply influenced my worldview. Her struggles shaped my understanding of how women, in particular, bear the weight of such crises. Her story is not unique, but it serves as a personal entry point into my research, which explores how Palestinian girls and women experience and navigate the compounded effects of gender-based discrimination and violence in the context of displacement.
V. B.— How does your grandmother’s experience echo today?
A. J.— The saying, “You cannot cover the sun with a sieve,” perfectly captures the enduring and undeniable nature of the injustice faced by Palestinians, a reality that remains as stark today as it did during my grandmother’s generation. Her words always come to mind when I hear the phrase, “because they are Palestinian,” used to explain the hardships experienced by refugees in the UNRWA camps across Syria, Lebanon, and Jordan. This answer, given by frontline workers to so many questions about why Palestinians are subjected to such brutal conditions, echoes the same truth my grandmother expressed: our suffering is rooted in the historical injustice of the Nakba.
I vividly recall a moment in my childhood that showed the profound connection between the personal and the political. I was accompanying my grandmother to a health clinic in the Baqa’a camp in Jordan. It was winter, and the camp was a sea of mud. When her shoes got stuck in the mud, we had to turn back home. As we walked, she cursed the British under her breath. Puzzled, I asked her, “What do the British have to do with this?” She responded, “If it weren’t for the British giving our home away to the settler Jews, we wouldn’t be here. All this suffering is because of that.” That moment marked the first time I truly understood how deeply interconnected the Nakba is with the everyday hardships Palestinians face. It clarified how the original act of dispossession continues to reverberate through our lives, from the mud beneath our feet to the structural violence we endure in refugee camps and to the denial of our right of return.
Jordan’s discriminatory policy
V. B.— Can you talk about the 2013 Jordanian policy of no-entry for Palestinians ?
A. J.— The 2013 Jordanian policy of no-entry for Palestinians was a pivotal moment in Jordan’s treatment of Palestinian refugees, especially those fleeing Syria. The policy must be understood within the context of Jordan’s history of categorising Palestinian identity, reflecting deeper settler colonial techniques of exclusion and control.
Before 2013, while restrictions existed, Palestinians from Syria were assessed on a case-by-case basis, unlike Syrian refugees, most of whom were granted entry. The 2013 policy, however, ended this flexibility, barring all Palestinians, even in exceptional circumstances. Why did Jordan impose such strict barriers on Palestinians, even though 60% of its population is of Palestinian descent, while it welcomed over half a million Syrians ? The answer lies not in the number of refugees, but in their identity. Jordan’s historical involvement in concealing or manipulating Palestinian identity plays a central role here, as does its interest in preserving its national identity and security.
UNRWA staff, while able to assist Palestinian refugees, faced limitations when working with those living illegally in Jordan. Fear of being caught often prevented these refugees, particularly women, from registering with UNRWA, which meant they remained undocumented and lacked access to essential services. For other humanitarian organisations, the situation was even more restrictive. Since Palestinians were not deemed “eligible” for their support in the first place, many were left outside the reach of humanitarian aid altogether. This exclusion further exacerbated the precarious and vulnerable position of these refugees.
V. B.— There are a several exceptional Palestinian women refugees whose stories you detail from a deep intimate knowledge. Could you talk about one ?
A. J.— Aida is a 68-year-old Palestinian refugee who fled Syria with her husband after the outbreak of the Syrian conflict. Originally from Muzirib/Dera’a, Aida faced unimaginable loss, including the deaths of her two sons at the hands of the Syrian regime and the death of a daughter from grief after losing her own children. Aida has a daughter in Switzerland and several other children who have faced various challenges in their attempts to enter Jordan.
Despite holding Jordanian citizenship in the past, Aida and her husband discovered their nationality had been revoked after they attempted to renew their passports years later. They managed to enter Jordan using temporary Palestinian Jordanian travel documents, but their children faced significant barriers. While Aida and her husband, due to holding temporary Jordanian passports, were able to enter Jordan, their children were trapped by different categories. Aida’s sons, unable to enter Jordan, were detained or left in Syria; her daughters, married to Palestinian refugees from Syria, were similarly denied entry. Aida’s family is now scattered across different countries, highlighting the complex categorisation and marginalisation of Palestinian refugees in Jordan. As explored through Palestinian women’s narratives, this categorisation process is rooted in historical events before and after the 1948 Nakba and is a key component of Jordan’s political survival and search for legitimacy.
For the past 74 years, Jordan’s policies have created distinct sub-groups among Palestinian refugees: citizen-refugees from 1948, West Bank temporary citizens from 1967, Gaza refugees with temporary passports, and illegal, invisible refugees from Syria. These multiple layers of categorisation reveal how the state has managed Palestinian identity in ways that serve its national interests while aligning with broader settler-colonial techniques of exclusion.
In relation to the 2013 policy, Aida and her family represent the human cost of these categorisations. The stories of their suffering and loss—whether through death, detention, or forced separation — illustrate how the 2013 no-entry policy was not just about controlling borders but about preserving Jordan’s political identity by erasing Palestinian refugees, even those with deep-rooted connections to the country.
The role played by humanitarian organisations
V. B.— What do you feel about these UN and other humanitarian organisations who work in the situations you reveal ?
A. J.— The role played by humanitarian organisations in exceptionalising Palestinian refugees from Syria is unforgivable. By denying Palestinian refugees from Syria their right to humanitarian aid because they are categorised as ‘UNRWA’s refugees’ and hence subjecting them to unbearable living conditions, these organisations not only fail to uphold their stated principles but also contribute to a system that marginalises Palestinian identities.
This contradiction is particularly evident in how UN agencies and other humanitarian organisations operate. Their practices often undermine core principles of gender equality and the human rights-based framework. By enforcing resolutions and conventions that exclude Palestinian refugees from international protection, these organisations inadvertently normalise narratives of displacement that reinforce the very structures of oppression they claim to combat. In doing so, they actively participate in institutionalising and perpetuating the epistemic violence associated with settler colonialism against Palestinians.
Education as a tool of resistance
V. B.— Could you talk about your current response to the genocide in Gaza, focusing on education as a traditional core value in Palestinian society ?
A. J.— In response to the genocide in Gaza, a group of Palestinian academics, including me, met in London in November 2023 to address how we can collectively safeguard and rebuild the educational institutions that have been central to Palestinian society, resistance, and sumud. Education has long been a tool of resistance for Palestinians, and the deliberate targeting of academics and universities by Israeli forces is a clear attempt to erase Palestinian identity, culture, and history. This strategy is rooted in the settler-colonial logic of eliminating the “other” in all its forms, not only through physical violence, but by dismantling the intellectual and cultural frameworks that sustain Palestinian identity.
Our discussions centred on the need to establish a grassroots academic network that connects Palestinian academics in Palestine and the diaspora. By fostering collaboration, knowledge-sharing, and solidarity, we aim to preserve the educational achievements that have long empowered Palestinian society. This is particularly crucial given the devastation in Gaza, where the inability to access education leads to a profound sense of lost hope, as many women in my book emphasised.
We are committed to creating an academic community that will not only protect existing institutions but also develop new initiatives that aim to amplify Palestinian voices. Through this effort, we seek to ensure that future generations of Palestinians can continue to access education as a means of resistance and empowerment, even in the face of ongoing settler colonial violence and occupation.