Writers Against Occupation
In an effort to support our members enduring violence, loss and trauma, we present the words of three writers from Lebanon bravely putting pen to paper: Nayiri Baboudjian Bouchakjian, Leila Boukarim and Perla Kantarjian. We also offer Executive Director Hovsep Markarian’s poem, inspired and written while working with these writers.
Perla goes beyond the personal, translating war into poignant verse. Leila adapts a painful yet inspiring human story into children’s literature—alongside Sona Avedikian’s beautiful illustrations. Nayiri’s journal entry, depicting the painful silence of losing one’s home, transforms the intimate to the global. Hovsep’s contemplation of a snapshot begs the reader to see the devastation of war.
We urge you to raise your voice against violence, war, and genocide, and to donate what you can to any of the fundraisers below:
- Lebanese Red Cross
- Support REMAN and Migrant Workers in Lebanon
- Lebanon Urgent Relief Campaign by Tanseqeye Shaabeye
- Nation Station Food Bank & Soup Kitchen
Perla Kantarjian, Instagram Post, Beirut, April 5, 2026
We Are Alive at the Easter Table
I changed three times before leaving.
I didn’t know if it was okay to wear colour.
We kissed cheeks. How are you? we asked,
meaning nothing, meaning don’t answer.
Was that a sonic boom or a bomb?
We asked it the way you ask more hummus?
or can you hear the planes? casually, passing the plate
before the answer. Mid feast, the phones on the table all lit up:
massacre in Jnah. A building filled with families.
No warning. Someone said it’s only ten minutes from here.
Someone else said try the kibbeh, meaning try forgetting.
No one said where do you see yourself in five years
or have you thought about September.
We are a table of people trying to eat with shaking hands.
How’s everything? means are you still
in the same building as your body.
Leila Boukarim, excerpt from the children’s book Mariam’s Dream, illustrated by Sona Avedikian, Berlin, 2025
In the heart of Beirut, the capital city
of Lebanon, a refugee camp stirs,
bursting at the seams.
Mariam was born here, but she will never be Lebanese.
She is Palestinian but may never go to Palestine.
Mariam is the daughter of refugees—
people who live between worlds.
Her whole life, Mariam has been surrounded by walls.
Walls that keep her from working,
from growing, from dreaming—from being.
And Mariam has always wanted more.
The streets of Mariam’s camp brims with despair.
Men without work. Children without schools.
Women without a say.
It’s a familiar sight, the only one
Mariam has ever known.
But something deep inside her stirs.
Something tells her it doesn’t have to be this way.
She wants to do something, and she knows
she can’t do it alone.
She doesn’t have to do it alone.
Mariam reaches out to the women of her camp.
She wants to hear about their struggles,
their ideas, their dreams.
“What can we do?” she asks them.
“We want to cook,” they tell her.
“We are good at it.”…
…In the heart of Beirut, the capital city
of Lebanon, a refugee camp stirs,
bursting at the seams.
It is home to Mariam Al-Shaar,
her table full of food,
and refugees who dare to
dream of a better tomorrow.
Nayiri Baboudjian Bouchakjian, LinkedIn Post, Beirut, May 1, 2026
Happy Labour’s Day to all!
All—except those who work in murdering others and silencing their voices.
Aunti Sonia, our 87 year old Armenian family friend, told me that she has vowed to make pakhlava with multiple layers once these murderers have been “taken care of”. “I will go down on the streets and distribute the pakhlava myself—with my special Zalghouta.” She confesses that she has not made one since her daughter got married years ago, but with each layer, she will celebrate their death. Aunti Sonia knows what it’s like to lose a home, to lose a loved one, and a homeland. She has new neighbors—a family who moved to the fifth floor of their building with their 7 year old son, Badr.
He knocks on her door every day and asks if he can play with her cat. She always invites him in and showers him with cake and goodies. He usually tells her that they just had dinner and politely turns down her invitations. He sits quietly and pets her one-eyed cat, Pedro. “She must have lived through war also”, Badr observes. He does not say much, but when he does, it’s about his room, his books and toys, his small bicycle. His Father apologizes for the inconvenience the boy may cause—Aunti Sonia loves having him over, she reassures the Father. Every day, when he goes back home, she bites her lips, and curses in different languages. She knows her new friend will never see his home again.
Pakhlava takes time.
Paper thin layers, one over the other. Butter, walnuts, sugar, cinnamon, and cloves. Nafas transfers into the dough. Mood becomes taste. Aunti Sonia swears she will nurture her pakhlava and make it a weapon against all those murderers.
Badr will knock again tomorrow.
He will ask about Pedro.
He will not ask about his home.
Tonight, though, Aunti Sonia begins with her first layer.
Hovsep Markarian, Buenos Aires, April 22, 2026
This picture is a poem,
I caption an Instagram story of my brothers, nine and eight, seated at a table by the window—sandwiched by Happy Meals and two peers.
René, wearing a full Lakers uniform, puffs out his cheeks, his torso tilted to face an iPhone camera.
Ralph, both palms cupping his face, stares somberly beyond the lens.
The window reflects a hair salon—Roger Bou Khaill—sitting at the foot of a multi-storied residential building. Several cars are parked left and right. To those familiar with the area, the hill on the left signals Mount Lebanon.
The image is as unique as it’s generic. Displayed on another device, it is a captcha. But instead of asking the user to identify the cars, it asks: if a missile were to hit this neighborhood, would you be able to mark yourself safe, or would they round up 2,454[1] to mark you dead? If you should be so lucky to join the one-in-five displaced, would you consider seeking refuge at a McDonald’s up north?
[1]: Since April 22, 1,866 more people have been killed, pushing the total death toll to 4,320. An additional 4,545 have been injured, bringing the total number of injured to 12,203. Over 1.2 million people have been displaced, 600,000 of whom remain completely unable to return to their homes.
Perla Kantarjian is a Lebanese-Armenian writer with recent work in Electric Literature, Wasafiri, The Rumpus, and Black Warrior Review. Longlisted for the National Writing Competition and shortlisted for the Bridport Prize, Kantarjian is Pushcart Prize nominated and has garnered recognition from the Southbank Centre, The Poetry Society, Palette Poetry, and more. She has an MA in Creative Writing from the University of East Anglia where she was selected as Sonny Mehta Scholar. Her debut poetry collection, You Must Become Field, is forthcoming from Bad Betty Press in 2026. Connect with Perla on Instagram @perlakantarjian and learn more at perlakantarjian.com
Leila Boukarim has published a number of children’s books in Singapore, Canada, and the US. Her titles cover topics ranging rom the Armenian Genocide and the plight of generational Palestinian refugees in Lebanon to the third culture kid experience, making friends by building them, and creepy swans at the park. She has worked with editors at Macmillan, Simon and Schuster, Chronicle Books, Andrews McMeel, and more. When she’s not writing, Leila works with other authors, mostly new voices, as a freelance editor. Connect with Leila on Instagram @leilaboukarim and learn more at leilaboukarim.com
Nayiri Baboudjian Bouchakjian is a writer and educator based in Beirut, where she teaches English Language and Literature at the Lebanese American University (LAU). A Pushcart Prize nominee, her work has appeared in Cornerstone, Hyebred Magazine, The Journal of Radical Wonder, Rusted Radishes, Pangyrus and Life Writing. Nayiri is currently working on her memoir, which intertwines her family’s stories with her own experiences growing up in land(s) shaped by multiple traumas, navigating the role of caregiver while exploring issues related to body image and mental health. Connect with Nayiri on Instagram @nayiri.b
Born in Aleppo, Hovsep Markarian is a storyteller and nonprofit executive with over a decade of experience leading mission-driven organizations. His work has been published by Azad Archives, EVN Report, and Zanazan. He earned his MA in Cultural Studies from SOAS, University of London, focusing his research on diaspora and migration. He serves as the Executive Director of the International Armenian Literary Alliance and is currently based in Buenos Aires. Connect with Hovsep on Instagram @osebmarkarian