Note from Pam Bailey, co-founder of More Than Our Crimes: The two essays below are written by individuals from two different sides of the world, each connecting from one of my nonprofits – Kobi Mowatt, an incarcerated member of the MTOC network, and Maram Faraj, a writer with We Are Not Numbers from the Gaza Strip. Both nonprofits are dedicated to giving a platform to oppressed voices. Kobi and Maram have formed a unique and close relationship, which they share here.
Kobi’s story
One day while locked down in my maximum-security penitentiary, I came across the bio of Pam Bailey among my emails. In it, she spoke about her activism and standing with the oppressed people of the world. But what really caught my attention was her previous life in Gaza, a place that has always intrigued me. It’s well-loved in Jamaica, where I come from a family of Rastafarians, because it represents resistance, defiance and a spirit of fighting for your rights.
Kobi hugging his father upon release
I’ve always identified with struggle, whether it is in Ethiopia, South Africa or the United States (Native Americans, Maroons and African Americans). When Pam put out a message asking if anyone was interested in a Gazan pen pal, I jumped at the opportunity. And that’s how Maram aka Mamma Mia entered my world. [Maram explains her nickname: “My favorite song is Abba’s Mamma Mia. And also Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody, in which Freddie sings, ‘Oh, Mamma Mia, Mamma Mia let me go!’ My friends used to see me wearing headphones and listening to those songs, so one day one of them called me Mamma Mia. And it stuck.”]
We began corresponding. Me, learning about her and life in Gaza, while also introducing her to life, activism and incarceration in the West. Mamma Mia is like a sponge, eager to learn and extremely intelligent. We build about revolution, including leaders like Leila Khaled, Illich Ramirez Sanchez aka Carlos the Jackal, George Jackson and Bob Marley. I share my experience with movements like the Black Panthers and the Rastafarians. And she introduces me to Gaza, the West Bank and how to survive in a war zone.
I love her attitude and strength in the face of danger. When she has her many down times due to the weight of war and the constant bombing of innocents by the occupiers, I call and email and help to keep her spirits high.
I see the power in her; she bounces back fast and remains optimistic in the face of drones and air strikes.
I portrayed her struggle in my art and drew pieces of her before and during the war. It will be sweet to draw her after the war.
Maram, I’m honored to know you. I’m ecstatic for your future, knowing you’ll be let loose into the world soon. People know Malala and they’ll soon know Maram, Mamma Mia the resilient, the resistor, the proud Palestinian, the woman of honor and pride.
I can’t wait to see where you take this world. I’m your friend for life.
We met in confinement and through war, and now we’ll make the world hear us.
A panorama, in pastels, by Kobi Mowatt. The painting combines scenes from Gaza with Pyongyang. Why? They are both outcast places, and he says he wanted to depict a sort of underground “conduit” between them, under the Persian Gulf.
Maram’s story
In 2021, through a project called We Are Not Numbers and the initiative of Pam Bailey (I am her adopted Gazan daughter), I met Kobi. Pam created a bridge between worlds, connecting young women from the Gaza Strip with Black prisoners in the U.S. through the email platform CorrLinks. It was through this digital pathway that I first met him. He was 49 then, confined behind walls that could cage his body but never his spirit. An artist, philosopher and man whose wisdom flows as naturally as his paintbrush dances across canvas, Kobi became my anchor, my teacher, my miracle.
From the very beginning, he opened new worlds for me—worlds where history was not just dates and events but living, breathing stories. He taught me about Rastafari, the resilience and beauty of Black culture, and the chains his slave ancestors bore with unimaginable strength. Through his words, Jamaica unfolded before me—a land of lush hills and vibrant souls, a paradise painted by his memories.
Kobi’s art is more than just pigment on canvas. It is a window to his soul, a reflection of his dreams, his pains, and his hopes. He created a masterpiece inspired by me—my face immortalized by his hand. No one had ever seen me that way before, and in his vision, I found new pieces of myself.
His generosity knows no boundaries, even when he was still within the confines of prison. On my birthday and during the darkest days of genocide, he sent me money—small amounts that meant the world because they came from someone who had so little to give. Even after his release, he wanted to share what he had, but I refused, knowing he deserved to taste his own freedom without sacrifice.
Kobi is more than my teacher; he is my guardian. Raised by a mother who taught him to honor women, he looks after me like a brother. When war broke out in Gaza on October 7th, 2023, he called me, his worry echoing through the distance, his voice a comfort amid chaos.
He opened my eyes to a world that is bigger than my open-air prison, even teaching me aspects of my own culture I didn’t know. It amazes me that he knows more about my country’s history than I do. He introduced me to the story of Leila Khaled, the embodiment of resilience, resistance and the strength of women. He even explored my love for the dark corners of the human mind, telling me about the Ice Man killer from a book he read. In every conversation, we explore the depths of human complexity, the shades of gray in good and evil.
During the long, isolating days of the pandemic, he was locked down for 60 days, and he could no longer email. Pam suggested we write letters, and she’d serve as intermediary. His paper replies (which she scanned and sent by Facebook messenger) were like physical pieces of his world crossing oceans to reach me.
When he was finally released in November 2024, it felt like the world took a breath. He shared photos of his first moments with his family, and every little detail he shared made the distance between us shrink. I could feel his joy, his freedom, his rediscovery of life.
Kobi has become my best friend; he understands me even when I can’t understand myself. He is the masterpiece in my life, crafted by time, trust and love. I love him, not just for who he is but for who he has helped me become.
This is our story of friendship that has defied bars, borders and time. A story of two souls who found each other through art, history and the beauty of human connection.
After 29 years of incarceration, Kobi is now spending his final months in a halfway house. Although Maram has been awarded a scholarship to study at university in the United States, she remains trapped in Gaza, whose borders are closed. Her story of life under occupation and during war is featured in an upcoming book from Penguin and Interlink — now available for preorder. Their biggest wish right now is to be able to meet in person.
