Noura Erekat on Palestine, intersectionality, and finding justice through girlhood

A professor of Africana Studies at Rutgers University, Noura Erekat, speaks with remarkable clarity of thought. Her arguments are meticulously structured yet never mechanical; every point is delivered with a profound rhythm of passion. 

This is especially the case when it comes to Palestine. Her candour commands authority by dismantling the illusion of complexity. There is no secret code, no subtext to decipher, only a stark and urgent reality amid the ongoing violence of occupation and genocide. 

Palestine, she argues, is not an isolated issue, but a lens – a paradigm – through which the broader architecture of global injustice becomes visible. It exposes the structural entanglements and systemic failures that have sustained violence, dispossession, and impunity around the world, implicating us all. 

“Our basic rights, liberties, and freedoms are inextricably linked and ultimately meaningless unless they are equally upheld,” explains Erekat. Recognising this simple truth is both our individual and collective responsibility. As long as injustice in Palestine continues, “I promise no one is safe,” she says. 

Erekat’s dedication to Palestinian justice is not a recent development but the culmination of a lifelong commitment to activism and legal scholarship. When I asked about the origins of this work, she replied simply: “My worldview is, first and foremost, shaped by my experience as a girl in this world.”

Born and raised in the Bay Area, Erekat was the only girl among three brothers in a Palestinian-American family. “I was fortunate that my parents immigrated to Northern California because it is incredibly diverse…Living there, I believe, really shielded me from experiencing the brunt of white supremacy.” Instead, “what I struggled with most was being a girl,” she says. 

“Growing up, I bore all the responsibilities but none of the privileges granted to my brothers, and whenever I tried to question it, I was always shut down. I thought that was bullshit. This experience crystallised, very early on, what it meant for me to be a girl in this world.  Long before I even knew I was Muslim, Arab, or Palestinian, I knew I was a girl…I understood that before anything else. Eventually, this early feminist consciousness became the lens through which I came to understand both myself and all forms of injustice, including the ongoing injustice faced by Palestinians.” 

​​For Erekat, gender became an entry point—a critical framework for understanding broader systems of oppression. And in a world where slogans like “Progressive except for Palestine” continue to expose selective solidarity, this perspective remains crucial. By interrogating the gendered realities shaping our own lives, we can begin to identify and challenge other systems of oppression, including the continued struggle for Palestinian liberation. “In sharpening my own political consciousness,” Erekat says, “I quickly realised that most forms of domination are not isolated, but emerge from shared architectures of power and control…and this is a conviction that lies at the very heart of the wider Palestinian liberation movement.” 

Erekat recalls travelling to Palestine regularly as a child. “I particularly remember a trip in 1994,” she says. “I was around fourteen at the time. I had just begun to encounter ideas of Orientalism and feminism in the books I was reading, and suddenly, things just began to make sense. I noticed how underdeveloped my family’s village was compared to those occupied by Israel. It became clear to me that the disparities that Palestinians suffered were man-made, deliberately constructed and shaped, much like my own experiences with gender inequality in the United States [US]…Both forms of injustice, I realised, originate from the same deliberate systems of imperial power and domination.” 

Upon returning to the US, Erekat’s purpose became clear. “I remember thinking there are so many humanitarians out there, so many people who want to help everyone. However, very few understand Palestine, and even fewer are willing to stand up for the Palestinian people. So with the sense of justice that I forged in girlhood and a universal sense of empathy, I made the decision to dedicate my life’s work to Palestine.” 

For Erekat, this commitment has taken many forms. It has meant becoming an organiser, a lawyer, and a professor; building women’s collectives, leading Palestinian advocacy groups, supporting cultural and artistic initiatives, and co-founding the e-zine Jaadilaya. “I have pretty much done everything,” she says, “because that is what it is going to take, pushing and advocating across every stratum of society and hoping for a tremendous stroke of luck. We have to press on all fronts, all at once…I promise, there is no magic bullet. All we can do is become as skilled as possible, as organised as possible, and work together as effectively as possible, so that when the moment finally comes, when the iron is hot, we are ready.”

At a time when many within the pro-Palestine movement have grown disillusioned with the law, frustrated by its failures and complicities, Erekat remains intentionally engaged. True to her intersectional worldview, she resists binaries and reminds us that we do not need to choose between absolutes, nor confine ourselves to traditional frameworks in order to pursue liberation. She views the law as one tool among many in a diverse and evolving arsenal of resistance – a relative means, certainly not an end.

“When I first started law school, I was incredibly naive,” she says. “I believed the law could overcome even the most entrenched power structures, but that illusion shattered quickly. I found myself surrounded by people who pursued wealth with far more urgency than justice. I had expected do-gooders, people like me, ready to fight the good fight. Instead, I felt completely out of place.” 

She pauses. “I didn’t grow up around money. My dad owned a deli. My mom raised four kids while putting herself through school to become an accountant. So being thrown into this elite world where no one seemed to even care about justice or human rights was devastating…But I eventually managed to forge my own path.” 

After graduation, Erekat began her career by supporting legal efforts to hold Israeli officials accountable for war crimes in US courts. “The goal was to sue two criminals,” she says, “one who had destroyed 5,000 homes in Rafah and another who had bombed a UNIFIL compound in southern Lebanon.” Both cases were eventually dismissed on the basis of ‘non-justiciability’, meaning the courts considered them beyond the scope of their jurisdiction. 

While examining these dismissals, Erekat began to notice a troubling pattern. “I discovered that the standards used to throw out our cases were not being applied consistently in others…That’s how I was able to demonstrate a clear bias against Arab and Palestinian plaintiffs in US federal courts.” Confronting these contradictions marked a turning point in her career. “I realised that legal victories in cases involving Palestinians were rarely achievable and not because of weak legal arguments but because of deeply entrenched political barriers.” 

As she explains in her book, Justice for Some, the law has an indeterminate quality. “It really means nothing until it is litigated, interpreted by a judicial panel, and then applied by those in power…It is important to remember that no legal decision is ever made in a vacuum. It always reflects the prevailing balance of power.” 

She continues, “I say this in the book, but do not mistake the law for a compass. Use it when it serves justice, but fight against it when it becomes a barrier – never have fidelity to it. What we are witnessing right now is exactly that, both dynamics are playing out at once.”

For one, the global movement for Palestine has achieved remarkable success. “It has genuinely moved the needle,” Ereket explains. “Precedent-setting legal cases have emerged, which is no small achievement, but at the same time, the way international law functions – or fails to – poses serious challenges. There is no real executive authority to enforce the law, and because these emerging laws pose a threat to the US and its allies, we are now watching them actively work to dismantle international institutions altogether.”

This is precisely what Erekat aims to challenge through her continued engagement with the law. “The fact that these norms and institutions are being systematically dismantled should alarm everyone,” she says. “Yes, Palestinians are suffering first and foremost, but we will not be the only ones. If we lose the international norms that affirm dignity, equality, human rights, and the responsibility of states to protect their citizens, we lose the very foundation of the post–World War II order – the 1945 principles designed to prevent exactly the same kind of impunity and genocide we are witnessing today. And yet, that entire framework is unravelling, all in the name of the US and Israel…If we don’t do something about this, then we will all be annihilated, and it will set the stage for injustice everywhere, not just Palestine.” 

As Erekat repeatedly insists, we must mobilise on every front. “The Sumud Flotilla is a powerful example,” she says. “It exposes the incompetence and impotence of the international community, which should have taken similar action long ago.” The recent People’s Conference for Palestine in Detroit, she adds, is another major demonstration of political organising. Influencers posting on social media, journalists on the ground, academics producing knowledge, cultural workers and artists creating films and telling stories, all of these efforts matter. They are all part of a larger movement shaping public consciousness. 

“This is long-term, generational work,” Erekat emphasises, and it is already transforming the cultural landscape. In the US, 60% of young people aged 18 to 24 now identify as pro-Palestine. “That’s unprecedented,” she says. “It signals the future…None of this is accidental. It is the outcome of sustained, collective struggle, one that continues despite doxxing, propaganda, and punishment…And that’s remarkable. It’s incredibly powerful. I don’t think any child growing up today will be surrounded by peers who don’t know where Palestine is, or what it stands for.”

There is no denying that a cultural reckoning has taken place. However, political transformation remains elusive. “It still lags behind,” says Erekat. While public opinion has shifted, the political establishment, the fundamental structures of power and oppression, remain largely unmoved. And that, she argues, will require far more effort. 

“It’s tough, because we want a solution,” she says, “but there isn’t just one. The systems all around us are collapsing. We are standing on the precipice of profound change, and with that comes the enormous responsibility of building something new. If our current system enabled the annihilation of the Palestinian people, then it is irreparably broken, and it must be replaced. Right now, we are not just witnessing the end; we are approaching a beginning. And everyone must be ready to take part in that work.”

For real change to occur, we must first deal with some of our most fundamental issues, explains Erekat. We must reckon with racism. We must engage with intersectionality and confront the power-political structures that dictate whose lives are deemed grievable. Over the years, Palestinians have borne the brunt of political dehumanisation. “We have been characterised as monsters,” she says, “rather than as people engaged in a rightful liberation struggle.” And that narrative must quickly come to an end.

“If you think about it, Palestinians only receive attention when something negative is said about them,” reflects Erekat. “We are never acknowledged for our achievements, our contributions, our resilience, or our humanity. We are not acknowledged as victims, much less as survivors. And that is the very essence of racism, to be visible only when you are being punished or disciplined.”

Erekat warns against repeating the same historical failures that followed World War II. “Europe never truly dealt with its antisemitism,” she says, “and now absolves itself by defending Israel at all costs.” But absolution is not justice; it neither erases prejudice nor heals historical wounds. Instead, it reproduces injustice in new forms, extending pain and atrocity into the lives of millions of others. This is the cycle, played out again and again: injustice passed down from one people to another and from one generation to the next. 

“Until we collectively recognise how the colonial apparatus devastates us all, then we cannot begin to dismantle it,” says Erekat. At the core of this reckoning lies the feminist vision that she first encountered as a young girl. From the beginning, her commitment to Palestine was not rooted solely in identity, but in a broader, universal empathy – an understanding that her experiences as a Palestinian, a woman, and a Muslim were deeply interconnected. This is why she frequently points to the significance of Black-Palestinian solidarity. “These two struggles have always illuminated each other,” she says. “The Black freedom struggle brings clarity to the fight against racism and injustice, while the Palestinian struggle reveals the colonial systems that underpin both. There is a shared resistance, a unity in intifada.” 

As Erekat has explained, Palestine represents something greater than all of us. It is the final breath of imperialism, the last thread sustaining colonial domination. But we hold the power to cut that thread. “That is why it is so important to keep telling stories,” she says. “To keep writing. To keep holding events. To keep posting. Because the moment we stop, the oppressors will step in to distort it all – to sanitise it, to minimise it, to erase it. They will urge the world to forget, and we cannot let that happen.” 

This genocide must be remembered for what it truly is, insists Erekat. “We cannot allow Western powers to rewrite it in any other way.” 

There is no mistaking her clarity. As I reflect on Erekat’s words, I have come to understand her candour as not just a trait but a form of power. It is a kind of clarity that refuses compromise, a bluntness that cuts through the noise. She does not speak to comfort but to confront, to awaken all those she encounters. In an age of hedged statements and softened truths, her fearless honesty stands out as both necessary and rare. Even as the idealism of youth gives way to a more tempered vision, her hope remains undiminished. If anything, her clarity of purpose has only become more resolute, forged in the crucible of a continued struggle against imperial power. 

Therefore, as I conclude this piece, I am certain that Erekat has helped forge a movement that will not allow the Palestinian history to ever be erased. I can see it in her determination. I can hear it in the sharp edge of her voice. And I can feel it in her resolve. Palestine will be free, and she will live to see it – of that, I am certain.