Education is My Revolution: Yasmin Muhanna

When the war began, Yasmin Muhanna, a 26-year-old woman from Gaza, refused to wait for help. She and her sister took matters into their own hands, literally. Amid destruction, they cleaned a ruined space themselves and turned it into a small women’s clothing shop. It wasn’t just a source of livelihood, it became a lifeline for other women too. With much of Gaza cut off from the internet, the space quickly transformed into a hub where women could connect with the outside world and reclaim a small sense of normalcy.

Yasmin’s drive didn’t stop there. She volunteered tirelessly; distributing aid parcels, delivering water, and responding to the urgent needs of her community. Her determination eventually led her to a new role as a coordinator in an education recovery project. In the middle of war, she found herself helping hundreds of children return to learning.

“This work brought me back to life,” she says. “It gave my days meaning again.”

Education has always been Yasmin’s passion. Long before the war, she believed it was the key to liberation and social change. Today, she sees it as an act of resistance.

“Education is my revolution.”

Despite the risks, Yasmin spends her days on the ground supervising educational spaces, supporting teachers, and meeting with children who have been out of school for months. Every step she takes in the field feels like defiance in the face of devastation. Her courage isn’t shaped by grand speeches, but by simple, determined actions.

“I’m not on the frontlines with a weapon,” she says, “but I’m there - with my heart, my work, and my will.”

She remembers one child in particular, a girl around ten years old who approached her after class and said, “Thank you for giving me back my education.” Yasmin carries that moment with her like a badge of honour.

The war has shaped her in irreversible ways. Her responsibilities have grown. Her resilience has deepened. But above all, her belief in the importance of her work has solidified.

“If this project didn’t exist,” she says, “hundreds of children would still be out of school.”

While navigating her professional role, Yasmin also carries the weight of home. Her house was destroyed in the war, but she hasn’t let the loss break her. She draws strength from her mother, who not only supports her emotionally but carries the weight of the household in Yasmin’s absence. That silent partnership, rooted in love and sacrifice, sustains her.

She acknowledges the layered challenges women face both in the public sphere and behind closed doors. She has witnessed discrimination while distributing aid, and has often had to prove her worth simply because she is a woman. But rather than deterring her, these challenges sharpen her focus.

“Women here carry everything and still, they are underestimated,” she says. “But when a woman decides to rise, nothing can stop her not war, not fear, not loss.”

Yasmin didn’t create a manual of coping strategies to survive this war. She simply became stronger. She adapted. She pushed forward, even when everything around her collapsed. What kept her going, she says, were the children’s smiles and her mother’s prayers.

Her dream is simple but profound. She wants to rebuild her home, brick by brick. And beyond that, she dreams of a Gaza where dignity, safety, and peace are not fleeting luxuries but basic rights.

“If the world gave me one minute,” she says, “I’d ask them to see us with their hearts. Not with pity, not through headlines but as human beings who are doing their best to survive with dignity.”