Inside The Olive Tree: A Magazine Framing the Palestinian Experience
By Eva Quinn
The Olive Tree is more than a magazine; it is a platform for Palestinian voices, culture, and political expression. Through this blend of journalism, personal narratives, artwork and commentary, the publication presents a perspective on Palestine that is often underrepresented in the mainstream media. At a time when global attention remains fixed on the region. The Olive Tree seeks to inform readers while also encouraging solidarity and discussions around Palestinian identity, resistance and everyday life. This review examines how the magazine combines reporting and storytelling to communicate its pro-Palestine message, and whether it succeeds in creating a compelling and credible voice within contemporary independent media.
The editor’s note sets the scene: “on the outskirts of the ancient city of Bethlehem, in the village of al-Walaja, stands as one of the oldest olive trees in the world.” We are told that olive trees are rich in Palestinian history, something that many are unaware of, including me. I immediately felt that this magazine would not only share the story of Palestine but also embed its rich history and culture within it. To me, this is something I find is very rarely done when talking about political rhetoric. Of course, the political stance of Palestine and the Gaza Strip is important, but to me, we equally need to understand that not only is the occupation political, but it also holds a rich history behind it.
What first struck me was the opening story, “From the Holy Land.” Written by Palestinian Adina, “From the Holy Land” tells her life story, of who she is and what she does. The exposition tells us basic information that she “studied in one of the universities and finished my degree in teaching.” [1] However, she plunges the readers into the disasters she has witnessed due to the occupation. “I have witnessed many wars”, and she tells us that her “childhood was full of stressful things and many difficulties because of the occupation.” [1] What was particularly impactful for me was the naming of the article “From the Holy Land.” It reminds both readers and me that Palestine, before anything, is a place with culturally significant religious history. It serves as a reminder that while grotesque events occur in Palestine, we need to remember that the origins of both Christian and Islamic religions are formed in this country. Adina also recounts the violence she has witnessed. “This memory is very painful because I remember the children were critically injured and their mother was killed in front of their eyes.” [1] Her horrific personal experiences reinforce the reality for many people in Palestine. Often these events are televised, so it is difficult to remind ourselves that it is very much real, but her anecdotes fortify that these are real people with real lives.
Furthermore, another article that moved me was “Gaza’s Stolen Dead” by Salim Usman. The striking rhetorical question at the beginning immediately had me hooked. “When did burying one’s child become an act of political defiance?” Which made me wonder likewise, why did this all become so normalised? Why do we have to bury real children with real lives ahead of them to defy a genocide that civilians never asked for? The article follows the harsh reality of how Palestinian people are expected to deal with death. A line that stuck with me was “those returned bear marks of torture, and others are still held as negotiating tactics by a settler colony that does not seek to negotiate.” It paints an image of the hypocrisy of Israel that they expect pleas from the Gazan citizens, yet make no attempt to meet them halfway. I think the explanation of “necro politics” is perfect and so necessary to educate people on why Israel has taken what began as a conflict, but has progressed dramatically to a genocide. It is all to do with control and with power, which is why they refuse to negotiate. Usman very pragmatically puts it that Israel’s actions towards hostages and prisoners “is not defence or security.” The bluntness of the short sentence further has an impact in its concluding sentence, “without that refusal, there is no possibility of peace.” Usman does not try to overillustrate or paint a victim narrative; he bluntly puts what is happening in Gaza into perspective. This, to me, is what people need to hear people to see the harsh reality of what is currently happening in the Middle East.
The imagery of protests happening within Northern Ireland helps depict how close to home the events of Gaza hit to the Northern Irish people. It also, strangely, depicts how a genocide and astonishing world event can bring together a country that very famously has a deep-rooted, conflicting history. Across communities that have often been separated by political and cultural differences, demonstrations in support of Palestine have created moments of shared solidarity and collective grief. The photographs of crowds marching in Belfast and graffiti in Derry illustrate not only political support but also a sense of empathy shaped by historical memory, identity, and experiences of conflict and oppression.
The Olive Tree succeeds in presenting a powerful and emotionally engaging perspective on Palestine through its combination of journalism, photography and poetry. The magazine not only informs readers about the realities of Gaza and the wider Palestinian struggle but also highlights the importance of solidarity across borders. Its use of imagery, particularly of protests within Northern Ireland, demonstrates how international conflict can deeply resonate with communities shaped by their own histories of division and political unrest. By giving space to voices and experiences that are often overlooked in mainstream media. The Olive Tree establishes itself as more than just a publication; it becomes a platform for awareness, reflection, and political expression.
References
The Olive Tree, Liana MacIntyre and Salim Usman
