Photo Credit: Kes
Rafeef Ziadah is a Palestinian poet, academic and activist based in London, UK. Her performance of poems like ‘We Teach Life, Sir’ and ‘Shades of Anger’ went viral within days of release. Her live readings offer a moving blend of poetry and music. Since releasing her first album, Rafeef has headlined performance venues across several countries with powerful readings on war, exile, gender and racism.
Her third album Three Generations is a selection of spoken word poems, with original music compositions by Phil Monsour. The sequence of linked poems is a deeply moving, powerful, personal remembrance of Palestine, Al-Nakba, exile, defiance, and survival. It is also a beautiful testament to the human spirit, to ‘love and joy against skies of steel’. Rafeef received the Ontario Arts Council Grant from the Word of Mouth programme to create her debut spoken-word album Hadeel. She regularly conducts spoken word workshops with the aim of empowering expression through writing and performance. She was chosen to represent Palestine at the South Bank Centre Poets Olympiad in 2012.
We are honoured and excited to have Rafeef as this year’s Poetry Contest judge. Fatima Elie had the chance to chat with Rafeef about the connection between academia and artistry, how being a Palestinian poet amidst the struggle for a free Palestine has meant responding to strife through poetry, and the importance of honesty and vulnerability for emerging writers.
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ROOM: Your poetry and activism are deeply intertwined. How do you balance the artistic and activist aspects of your work?
RAFEEF ZIADAH: Balancing the artistic and activist aspects of my work is not about dividing them, but rather recognizing how deeply they intertwine, each fueling the other. My poetry emerges from lived experiences that are often hidden, misrepresented, or silenced—echoes of exile, migration, and the enduring struggle for a free Palestine. Through poetry, I try to convey the emotional and human layers of these struggles in a way that transcends mere rhetoric. My activism, in turn, keeps my art rooted in the realities of a world that we are constantly striving to transform.
When I write, I hope I am not simply creating art for art’s sake—I am telling stories of survival, of pain, of longing and hope, stories that, again I hope, resonate far beyond the page. The activism informs my poetry, just as the poetry inspires and sustains my activism.
In the end, I reject the labels that attempt to box us in as “one thing” when our identities and experiences are so much more complex. I believe that art is a powerful tool for social change, a medium through which we can contribute to movements for justice, create spaces where people connect with the issues on a deeper, more personal level, and foster supportive communities that sustain us in our collective struggles.
ROOM: Not only are you an artist and an activist, you’re also a skilled academic and senior lecturer at King’s College in London, specializing in areas of gender, feminism, politics and public policy. Would you say your academic research impacts and influences your artistry? Do you think being an artist has made you a better academic, and vice versa?
RZ: At its core, academic research is about communication—challenging dominant narratives, and offering new ways of understanding the world. This is not so different from what I strive to do in my poetry.
Poetry teaches you to see the world differently, to notice the subtleties and the emotions beneath the surface. It encourages a kind of empathy and attentiveness that is invaluable in research. Poetry also demands honesty and clarity, which are essential in academic writing as well (or should be!).
Whether through a poem, a lecture, or a research paper, I am constantly exploring how we can better understand and challenge the structures of power that shape our lives.
ROOM: How has your experience as a Palestinian influenced your writing and the messages you aim to convey through your poetry?
RZ: This is a very difficult moment to answer this question, as we witness the ongoing genocide in Gaza. We are left wondering what words and poetry can do in the face of such brutality. The experience of being Palestinian is not just mine alone—it is a collective experience of displacement, resistance, and enduring struggle. It is an experience that shapes every word I write, every message I convey through my poetry.
As Palestinians, we carry the weight of our history, our stories, and our memories, even as we face attempts to erase our existence. My writing is deeply influenced by this collective narrative, by the need to document our pain, our strength, and our unyielding hope for liberation. Poetry becomes a means of survival, a way to ensure that our voices are not silenced, that our experiences are not forgotten.
But this moment also reminds us of the immense responsibility we carry. Remarkable poets have been killed in Gaza, their voices extinguished by the violence Palestinians face daily. We must ensure that their words live on, that their messages continue to resonate, and that their contributions to our struggle are never forgotten. My poetry is a very small part of this larger tapestry, a way to honor those who have come before us and to continue the fight for our people’s freedom.
ROOM: What is your poetry writing process like? Do you have any rituals or habits that feel like they help the flow of your creative energy?
RZ: I don’t have set rituals when it comes to writing poetry. Often, my strongest poems are written on the spot, as an immediate reaction to an incident or something I’ve witnessed. My poems often evolve during or after performances because spoken word is about communication with the audience. The feedback, the energy in the room, can transform a poem in ways I never anticipated when I first wrote it down.
It took me a long time to feel comfortable writing in English. Arabic is my first language, and shifting to English was a challenge. But in the end, I decided to embrace my ‘English’ language mistakes and incorporate them into the poetry itself. Those imperfections became part of the rhythm and voice of my work. I would say don’t let language barriers hold you back. Learn the language, but also feel free to break it, reshape it, and make it your own as you go. Poetry is about expression, not perfection.
So, my process is fluid, responsive, and always in dialogue with the world around me. Whether it’s on stage or on the page, my poetry is a living thing, shaped by the moment and the people who share it with me.
ROOM: In a previous interview (UOC), you said, “There’s a stereotype of the angry Arab woman, and at one point I just said that it’s very legitimate that we’re angry, and I decided to explain it, to own this anger, and to express it, as I did in the poem ‘Shades of Anger’.” Can you elaborate on how you navigate and channel this stereotype into your poetry, and what impact you hope it has on your audience?
RZ: The stereotype of the “angry Arab woman” is something I’ve encountered repeatedly, and it’s a label that’s often used to dismiss or oversimplify our voices. At one point, I decided that if people were going to insist on seeing me through this lens, then I would own that anger unapologetically. It’s a legitimate response to the injustices we face, to genocide, colonialism, military occupation, poverty, racism. In my poem Shades of Anger, I wanted to take that stereotype and turn it on its head—use it as a tool to express the depth of our pain, but also our resistance, and our refusal to be silenced.
Navigating this stereotype is about reclaiming the narrative. Anger, for me, is not just a destructive force; it can also be a source of energy and clarity. It’s a way to cut through the noise and speak directly to the heart of the issues we’re confronting.
The impact I hope to have on my audience is twofold. First, I want to challenge them to rethink their perceptions and confront their own biases, sexism and racism. Anger, especially from women, is often seen as something to be feared or dismissed. But in my poetry, I want to show that it can also be a form of strength, a catalyst for change. Second, I hope to create a space where others feel they can express their own anger and frustration – ultimately our anger is legitimate, a very normal reaction to what we are facing and it has a place in our stories.
Owning this stereotype and channelling it into my poetry is about reclaiming our right to feel and express the full range of our emotions. It’s about saying, “Yes, I am angry—and here’s why.”
ROOM: What would you tell emerging writers and poets who are considering entering this contest, and are maybe feeling unsure of themselves or their work?
RZ: I would say this: your voice matters, and your stories deserve to be heard. Every poet begins somewhere, and doubt is simply part of the creative journey. But don’t let that uncertainty hold you back. I remember the first time I performed a poem on stage—I was so terrified that I read the entire piece with my eyes shut, only opening them after I nearly tripped walking off the stage. We all start somewhere, and it’s those moments of vulnerability that shape us into stronger, more confident writers.
Writing is an act of courage, especially when you’re drawing from your own experiences, your own truths. It can feel vulnerable, even intimidating, to put your work out there. But that’s exactly why it’s so important. Your words can have the power to inspire change, to challenge injustice, and to connect with others on a deeply human level.
Don’t worry about perfection—focus on honesty. The most powerful poetry often comes from a place of raw, unfiltered truth.
Submit to our 2024 Poetry Contest by Sept 15.
