TEHRAN-For more than 700 days, a small strip of land has endured some of the most savage assaults in human history—attacks not waged against warriors, but against women and children who, even if left untouched by bombs, would slowly be claimed by the dagger of hunger, sacrificed to the true masters of a regime that proclaims itself “chosen by God.”

“Gaza”—a name that today resonates more than ever in the ears of humanity. For two years, the Zionist regime has continued to thirst for the blood of women, children, and civilians, saturating every canvas that seeks to depict Gaza’s reality with its favorite color: red.

In a world of darkness, where the principles of human rights seem obsolete and the United Nations offers little more than regret and concern, diverse groups of people have stepped forward to broadcast the truth of Gaza’s slaughterhouse and to break the Zionist media siege: from journalists reporting under fire, to painters thousands of miles away who turn their canvases into mirrors reflecting the genocide.

Kevin Copeland, an Irish political illustrator, is among those artists who, throughout the genocide in Gaza, have brought forth unique frames of the Palestinian people’s suffering onto their canvases—works bound together by two elements: pain and perseverance. 

One of his paintings, titled “What Links Ireland and Gaza?” which placed side by side the bitter experiences of colonialism for both Palestinians and the Irish, captured the attention of audiences worldwide.

The Tehran Times conducted an exclusive interview with Copeland, which is presented below:

In what ways can painting, as an artistic form, act as a channel for expressing the pain of oppressed Palestinians and for conveying their stories of suffering to the world?

To me, art has the ability to strip a subject back to its bare bones. It removes the noise of politics and media spin and brings the focus onto the raw pain of what’s going on in Palestine — the destruction of homes, the grief of families, the mass suffering of Gazans. A painting is a way of telling a story that speaks directly to our shared humanity. It doesn’t need translation; it doesn’t rely on statistics; it simply holds up a mirror that forces us to see and feel.

What I try to do is create work that makes the viewer pause, even for a moment, and brings their own empathy into the picture. When someone looks at a child’s eyes filled with tears, or at a symbol of loss and resilience, it becomes harder to turn away. Art cannot solve a conflict, but it can keep the stories of the oppressed alive and remind the world that behind every headline are human beings whose pain deserves to be witnessed.

One of your paintings, named “What Links Ireland and Gaza,” has garnered significant attention. What do you believe is the reason for this?

I live in a town called Derry in the north of Ireland, a place whose history is marked by occupation and conflict. Growing up here, you couldn’t escape the sight of soldiers on the streets, the constant pressure on communities, and the weight of injustice carried by ordinary people. That experience shaped how I see the world and gave me a natural empathy for others living under similar conditions.

When I created “What Links Ireland and Gaza,” it came directly from that connection. People here do not need an explanation to understand the parallels — they feel them instinctively. I think that is why the painting resonated so strongly: it gave a visual language to a bond that already exists between Ireland and Palestine, born of shared experiences of loss, resilience, and the struggle for dignity.

What led you to focus on political themes in your art instead of social issues, nature, or other subjects?

I started out painting and drawing nature, and I still love that type of art, but I have always felt drawn toward creating work with more substance. Growing up in Derry, politics was not something distant — it was part of everyday life. So, when I began drawing seriously, it felt natural to use it as a way of exploring conflict, injustice, and the human cost of both.

Artists like Banksy have had a big influence on me. The way he uses sharp contrasts and strong symbolism to tell a story is something I really admire. His work does not just sit quietly; it sparks debate and challenges people. That approach pushed me to find my own way of using art as a voice — to create work that carries weight, provokes thought, and gives space to stories that might otherwise be silenced.

Have any reactions to your Palestine-related artworks inspired you to continue your artistic journey?

Yes, absolutely. I have received so many warm messages from the people of Gaza, thanking me for shining a light on their struggle. If I am honest, it has left me feeling a bit uncomfortable at times — because, like most people, I want to do more than just draw a few pictures. Sometimes it feels like we are helpless. But I have also come to believe that if we all stand together, even small acts can add up to something bigger.

For me, art is my way of showing solidarity. I cannot change what is happening on the ground, but I can shine a light on people’s stories using my knowledge of design and communication. If one of my drawings helps even one person’s voice to be heard, then I’ll be happy. And that’s what keeps me going.

I once spoke with Irish documentarian, Garry Keane. He told me about the “Anti-colonial Irish DNA”, and it was truly fascinating. What are your thoughts on it?

Yeah, there is no doubt about our anti-colonial DNA. Growing up in Ireland, you are surrounded by history — stories of occupation, loss, and resilience are never far away. It has shaped how we see the world. We have developed an instinct to recognize injustice and to feel solidarity with people living under it elsewhere.

Our own experience was not just about conflict in the streets — it was also about our language being silenced, our GAA games (Irish sports) being shut down, and our culture being eroded. That leaves scars that are passed on from generation to generation.

For me, that does not mean Ireland is stuck in the past, but it does mean we carry a natural empathy. Our history has given us a real understanding of what it feels like to have your culture, land, and rights taken away, and I think that’s why so many Irish people feel such a strong connection to Palestine. It is not something distant to us — it is something we understand in our bones.

Photo: This combination photo features the painting “What Links Ireland and Gaza?” (L) and the image of its creator, Irish political illustrator Kevin Copeland. 

AH/SAB