We are rebelling a little
I remember the moment with vivid clarity. It was March, and I was standing in the heart of Yarmouk camp, on the outskirts of Damascus. All I could see was rubble—layer upon layer of destruction.
The sheer depth and endurance of Syria’s 14-year war was unlike anything I’d ever witnessed. And I’ve seen plenty.
Even now, I sometimes question whether my memories from that day are accurate. Did I really see a nursery riddled with that many bullet holes? Was the air truly that heavy with despair?
Produced by Qaanitah Hunter
Yarmouk was originally a place of refuge—set up for Palestinians who had fled the Nakba 76 years ago. They sought shelter in neighbouring Syria, which, for a time, was a safe haven. That sanctuary crumbled when the war began.
The Assad regime seemed to reserve a particular vengeance for Yarmouk. The devastation speaks for itself.
Most residents fled. But some, especially those with roots in Gaza and its surrounds, had nowhere else to go.
One of them was an elderly woman named Nawaal. She had survived the bombings, the siege, the starvation. I found her watering her plants and feeding stray cats amidst the ruins.
There was something quietly powerful about her routine. The joy she found in caring for animals—despite having no guarantee of her next meal—stirred something deep in me.
For much of my career, I’ve held a front-row seat to the theatre of death and destruction as a frontline journalist. But in that moment, watching Nawaal’s soft grin as the cats gathered, I felt something shift. It was a small act, but it held weight.
It was her daily ritual. A small defiance against chaos.
I had arrived in Yarmouk just a day after passing through a part of Damascus where the stench of death still lingered—what could only be described as a slaughterhouse in slow motion.
That smell haunted me. And so did the silence.
Produced by Qaanitah Hunter
Yet amidst the artefacts of trauma, Yarmouk offered something I didn’t expect: a reminder. That even in places torn apart by war, the human spirit endures. And more than that—it creates.
As someone trained in the old newsroom adage—if it bleeds, it leads—I’ve found myself lately scrolling to the ‘positive news’ sections of my favourite outlets. Perhaps it’s because I’ve spent so long exposing problems that I’ve become drawn to those working on solutions.
This week, I was reminded once again why that shift matters.
Take Mark Heywood, who’s built an app enabling citizens to take practical action on failing public services.
Produced by Hasina Gori
Or Door of Hope, a project addressing the heartbreaking issue of abandoned babies. They’ve created baby savers—safe, anonymous drop-off points that give infants a chance at life.
Produced by Zakiyya Hatia
Then there’s the story of a mother and daughter in Cape Town who, with no resources to speak of, began upcycling old clothes. What started as an effort to tackle unemployment has become a symbol of grassroots sustainability.
Produced by Zakiyya Hatia
These are just some of the stories we’ve featured this week on The Debrief Network.
Now, let me be clear: none of this is to deny the devastation that continues to unfold. The world’s most vulnerable are watching aid vanish. Authoritarianism is on the rise. Hunger is no longer an abstract metric—it’s a lived reality for millions.
We see it. We report on it.
But choosing to focus on the builders and those who refuse to give in to despair feels like resistance.
In a time when destruction is easy and cynicism is currency, spotlighting those quietly rebuilding feels like an act of rebellion.
So, point us to the change-makers. Tell us who’s out there fixing what’s broken, innovating in the margins, sowing seeds in scorched earth. They deserve to be seen.
 | A guest post by
|