Gaza Cinema Academy: A new generation of Palestinian filmmakers

"We are here" is the message behind the Gaza Cinema Academy, launched internationally on 7 September 2026 at the 83rd Venice Film Festival. Its aim is to equip a new generation of Palestinian filmmakers with the tools to tell their own stories.

The academy was co-founded by Palestinian filmmakers Mai Masri and Ezzaldeen Shalh, with support from a group of Palestinian, Arab and international filmmakers and film-industry professionals including Tunisian director Kaouther Ben Hania, Palestinian director Annemarie Jacir, Palestinian actors Hiam Abbass and Saleh Bakri, Egyptian-American actor and filmmaker Ramy Youssef, Italian producer Graziella Bildesheim, and Egyptian film-industry professional Alaa Karkouti.

In Gaza, where electricity is scarce, equipment is difficult to access, and movement is severely restricted amid Israel's genocide and siege, the basic conditions for making films remain profoundly uncertain. At the same time, as Gaza is documented through an unprecedented volume of images, a more fundamental question has emerged: who gets to hold the camera, and who gets to tell the story?

It is from this tension that the Gaza Cinema Academy has emerged.

Internationally launched alongside an event at the Venice Film Festival celebrating the second edition of the Gaza International Festival for Women’s Cinema, the academy is an attempt to establish something more lasting than a series of workshops: a sustainable space for film education, production and exchange rooted in Gaza.

'A much greater need'

Its origins go back around two years, when filmmaker and educator Mai Masri and Ezzaldeen Shalh, who also runs the Gaza International Festival for Women’s Cinema, began discussing how to create a genuine pathway into filmmaking for young people in the besieged territory.

"We agreed that young people in Gaza needed more than occasional workshops; they needed a genuine training path that could provide them with knowledge, tools, and continuity," Mai tells The New Arab.

The first step was a Filmmaking Diploma, designed partly as a practical test of whether such an ambitious project could work under Gaza’s conditions. It quickly became clear to its organisers that the demand was considerably greater than a short course could accommodate.

"During the diploma, we saw the enormous passion among the trainees, both young men and women," Ezzaldeen recalls.

"We also realised that the need was much greater than a training course that would end after several months."

That experience eventually became the Gaza Cinema Academy.

For Ezzaldeen, establishing a film school during a devastating war is not a contradiction but the reason for doing it now.

"It may seem unusual to establish a film academy in Gaza at one of the harshest moments our people are experiencing, but for me, this is precisely what makes its existence necessary," he says.

"War does not only destroy buildings; it also threatens memory, images, and stories."

The academy’s central ambition, then, is not simply to teach technical skills. It is to shift young Palestinians from being subjects in images to becoming their authors.

"There is a generation living through an exceptional and extremely painful experience," Ezzaldeen continues, "and it is important that they possess the knowledge and tools that enable them to tell their own stories, rather than Gaza always remaining a story told by others."

Mai, whose long career in Palestinian cinema has centred on questions of memory, identity and human experience, sees the image in similarly expansive terms.

"I have come to believe that the image can be a means of preserving memory and resisting its erasure," she shares.

"Young people in Gaza are living through an extremely harsh experience today, but at the same time they have stories, perspectives, and creative energies that deserve to find their way into cinema and out into the world."

That distinction – between recording events and creating cinema – is important to both founders. The academy is not intended to produce an endless stream of images of destruction. It is meant to cultivate filmmakers capable of looking beyond the immediately spectacular to find stories in ordinary life, memory, relationships, and detail.

"We do not want cinema in Gaza to be limited to documenting tragedy, despite the importance of doing so," Ezzaldeen clarifies further.

"We want there to be a genuine cinematic life: education, production, films, festivals, and new generations capable of creating Palestinian cinema that carries their experience to the world."

Learning to look

For the trainees who came through the first diploma, the academy represents something more immediate: an opportunity to acquire a language they had often been approaching from the margins of journalism and media.

Raghda Al-Buhaisi arrived with a degree in Journalism and Media from the Islamic University of Gaza and years of experience in print journalism, radio, visual journalism and media coordination. Her turn towards filmmaking began with a photograph.

"I decided to join the diploma programme after creating a human-interest photo story – my first foray into the field of photography," she says.

"I wanted to learn more about the industry and hone my skills, particularly in film directing."

For Raghda, the attraction of cinema lies partly in its ability to communicate beyond the conventional structures of news.

"I realised this was the ideal way to convey our message as Palestinians – living under siege, genocide, and destruction to this very moment – through a seamless approach that reaches the minds and hearts of viewers worldwide, letting them know: ‘We are here.’"

The programme gave her a grounding in the mechanics of filmmaking – cinematography, shot selection, screenwriting, production, and directing – and made the transition from an idea to an actual film less abstract.

"I acquired numerous skills during my studies and through fieldwork – such as the art of cinematography, including angles, shot selection, and understanding what works best on camera," she explains.

"I also learned how to conceive, develop, and refine an idea, write a screenplay, and manage the production, execution, and directing processes."

Manar Abu Sha’ira, another trainee with a media degree and experience in television, radio and reporting, came to the programme with a related but distinct interest: visual storytelling as a way of getting closer to lives that might otherwise remain unseen.

"I am passionate about film, but for me, filmmaking is not only about art," she says. "I am also interested in documenting the reality around me and telling stories that might otherwise remain unseen."

Yet Manar is wary of reducing that reality to images of suffering.

"I want to learn how to tell these stories in a way that is honest and human, without simply showing suffering," she says.

"I want to show the people, their experiences, their resilience, and the small details of everyday life."

That emphasis on looking and listening before filming is fundamental to the academy’s approach.

"One of the most important things for me is that students first learn how to see and how to listen before they learn how to film," she says.

"Cinema is not simply technical knowledge of a camera or editing software; it is a relationship with people, place, memory, and detail."

Ezzaldeen makes a similar distinction. The academy, he says, will teach filmmaking "as an integrated process, not simply how to operate a camera."

Students will learn how to search for an idea, develop it into a treatment and screenplay, and move through all stages of filmmaking. But the deeper objective is to cultivate an individual point of view.

"Owning a camera does not necessarily make someone a filmmaker," he says. "What matters to us is that trainees learn how to observe, how to research, how to develop their own point of view, and how to use cinematic language to express it."

The insistence on practice is equally important. During the diploma, students were not confined to lectures but were expected to make films.

"We therefore want students to work on real films and projects, and to learn through experience, through their mistakes, and through collaborative work, rather than only through lectures," Mai explains.

For Manar, that practical component answers a personal difficulty familiar to many beginning filmmakers: knowing what one wants to say but not yet knowing how to make an audience see it.

"Sometimes I may have an idea in my head but find it difficult to translate it visually. I hope the academy will help me overcome this through practice and feedback," she says.

Women behind the camera

The academy’s early focus on young women and new voices is rooted partly in Mai and Ezzaldeen’s experience with the Gaza International Festival for Women’s Cinema, but also reflects a broader conviction that representation cannot stop with putting women on screen.

"For young women in Gaza, I believe there is an even greater need to open up opportunities for them, not only to appear in front of the camera, but to stand behind it, to write, direct, shoot, and make their own films," Mai affirms.

Ezzaldeen describes the same ambition in terms of who gets to shape the cinematic gaze.

Through their work with the women’s film festival, he explains, they became increasingly aware of "the importance of opening up more space for women, not only to be subjects in films, but to become the ones behind the camera, making decisions and shaping the vision, and to tell their experiences from their own perspectives."

The academy is nevertheless not exclusively a women’s institution. Its stated mission is to create opportunities for young women and men, with particular attention to people who have not previously had access to professional film education.

Mai describes this as part of a larger effort to allow new and diverse perspectives to emerge from Gaza.

"We want to give a new generation of young women and men access to cinematic knowledge and help new voices emerge that are capable of presenting Gaza and Palestine from diverse, personal, and human perspectives."

The trainees’ own cinematic preferences suggest the kind of filmmaking that may emerge from that approach.

Raghda is particularly drawn to documentary cinema because of its direct relationship with reality. “I feel it is perhaps the most capable medium for conveying a message,” she claims.

Her aesthetic instincts, however, are not purely journalistic, as she is attentive to colour, natural effects, close-ups and the expressive power of unforced human presence.

“A person appearing natural and unfeigned is more powerful than any special effect when it comes to conveying a message or idea,” she elaborates. “I am drawn to close-ups and love the details that conceal significant, moving elements.”

Manar, meanwhile, gravitates towards “realistic and human-centred cinema”, particularly films that appear simple but contain deeper meanings.

“I like documentaries and films that make me feel close to the characters and their real experiences,” she says. “In general, I am influenced by filmmakers who focus on honest storytelling, real emotions, and small details rather than relying only on dramatic scenes.”

There is a striking convergence here. The academy is being established amid an overwhelming historical reality, but the filmmakers being trained within it are interested not only in history at its most monumental, but rather in faces, details, ordinary experiences and the spaces between major events.

Making cinema when the basics are missing

Of course, the academy’s ambitions confront a brutal practical reality.

In most film schools, access to a functioning classroom, electricity, internet, editing computers and cameras would barely merit discussion. In Gaza, each can become a significant obstacle.

"Every detail that might be ordinary in any film school elsewhere in the world becomes a daily challenge here: the venue, electricity, internet access, transportation, equipment, and even the ability of students and trainers to reach the training location," Ezzaldeen says.

The problem is not simply that equipment is expensive, but also that getting it into Gaza can itself be extremely difficult. The academy needs cameras, lenses, sound technology, lighting, editing systems and storage devices, while existing resources have been depleted by destruction and displacement.

Raghda describes the situation from the trainee’s perspective: "We lack the logistics and tools needed to carry out our work as filmmakers; our computers are worn out, and we have no cameras – most of our equipment was lost under the rubble, broken, or left behind during displacement."

There is another obstacle that cannot be solved by acquiring technology: "People here are unwilling to talk or engage; they have lost their zest for life," Raghda says.

"They are preoccupied with securing basic necessities and have no desire to speak. They feel the world has let them down."

For a filmmaker attempting to document human experience, this creates ethical and emotional difficulties. The camera may be ready, but the person in front of it may not be.

"This is a major challenge," she says, "dealing with someone who has lost everything, while the world offers no sympathy."

Manar points to the more general constraints: "There are limitations in movement, electricity, equipment, and sometimes even finding suitable places or people to film."

The academy’s response is necessarily pragmatic. It has learned not to wait for normality. "Our experience over the past period has taught us not to wait for ideal conditions," Ezzaldeen says, "because if we wait for them in Gaza, we may never begin."

Instead, the organisers are trying to build the academy incrementally, using whatever resources are available while developing connections with filmmakers and institutions outside Gaza.

Mai stresses that the international network is not meant to substitute for the academy’s presence in Gaza.

"It is very important to me that the Academy remains rooted in Gaza and that the young people there remain at the heart of the project," she says.

"At the same time, we need to open windows to the world for them through trainers, filmmakers, institutions, and festivals that can collaborate with us."

That model is likely to be central to the academy’s survival. It is neither fully local nor an external programme delivered into Gaza. Instead, the organisers envision a structure in which training and resources can flow in both directions.

"Sustainability will not be achieved through financial support alone, although that is essential," Mai says.

"It also requires building a long-term network of relationships, cooperation, and exchange, so that filmmakers in Gaza feel that they are part of a wider cinematic community and that distance and blockade do not have to mean cultural isolation."

From Gaza to Venice – and back again

The decision to unveil the academy internationally at the Venice Film Festival was therefore deliberate. For Ezzaldeen, the symbolism matters.

"We chose Venice for the international announcement of the Gaza Cinema Academy because we wanted this initiative to move from Gaza into an international cinematic space," he says, "and to say that Gaza, despite everything happening there, is still capable of producing cultural and cinematic initiatives and of thinking about the future."

The launch was paired with an event dedicated to the second edition of the Gaza International Festival for Women’s Cinema. The two initiatives share an ecosystem but remain distinct: one focuses on education, training and production; the other on creating a platform for films and filmmakers.

Their connection, however, is straightforward. A film school can teach people to make films, while a festival can provide a platform for those films to be seen.

"For me, this is the deeper connection between the Academy and the festival: to help films be made, and then to help those films find their way to audiences and to the world," Mai says.

The festival’s second edition is being developed as a broader continuation of its inaugural experience, with fiction, documentaries and screenplays, alongside a stronger presence for women filmmakers and participants from different parts of the world.

For Ezzaldeen, bringing both initiatives into the international cinematic sphere is ultimately an argument against seeing Gaza only through the vocabulary of destruction.

"We do not want cinema in Gaza to be limited to documenting tragedy," he repeats. "We want there to be a genuine cinematic life."

That aspiration may sound modest in another context. In Gaza, it is anything but.

For Raghda, the desire to make films is inseparable from the need to insist on Palestinian presence. Her first photographic experience led her towards filmmaking precisely because she saw in it a way of reaching people beyond the immediate geography of Gaza.

Her ambition is now to continue developing the skills she acquired and eventually "establish a name for myself in this industry at both local and international levels."

Manar's ambitions are quieter but equally rooted in the future. She is looking to gain greater confidence, practical experience, and the chance to learn from other filmmakers and her colleagues. Her cinematic interest lies in the intimate rather than the spectacular: "simple stories" with "deeper meanings," honest emotions and small details.

The academy’s founders are betting that these individual perspectives are precisely what Palestinian cinema needs.

"Gaza has artists, filmmakers, and young people with dreams, imagination, and a desire to make films," Mai says.

"It is important that they themselves are able to hold the camera and tell their lives through their own eyes."

For Ezzaldeen, that is ultimately why the academy has to exist now, rather than waiting for a less impossible moment.

"Continuing to teach cinema inside Gaza is not a cultural luxury," he confirms. "It is part of protecting memory and giving a new generation the ability to express itself."

The Gaza Cinema Academy therefore begins not from a position of stability but from uncertainty. Its classrooms, equipment and future remain subject to circumstances far beyond the control of its organisers.

Yet its underlying proposition is remarkably concrete: that even amid devastation, cinematic education can create something that destruction cannot easily erase – the ability to look, to listen, to imagine, and eventually to say, in one’s own images, we are here.

Mariana Hristova is a freelance film critic, cultural journalist, and programmer. She contributes to national and international outlets and has curated programs for Filmoteca de Catalunya, Arxiu Xènctric, and goEast Wiesbaden, among others. Her professional interests include cinema from the European peripheries and archival and amateur films