Voices of Change

Noor Tagouri on Resilience, Identity, and the Need for Hard Conversations

In an era where public narratives are constantly shifting and the act of storytelling holds immense power, Noor Tagouri has carved out a unique space. A journalist, activist, and passionate advocate for human rights, Noor’s work goes far beyond the headlines—she’s dedicated to redefining the way we engage with stories, identity, and the struggles of marginalized communities. Known for her boundary-pushing investigations and as a vocal advocate for Palestinian rights, Noor has become a critical voice in the ongoing conversations about freedom, justice, and resilience.

Her journey has been one of evolution, both personally and professionally. From being a young Muslim woman with a hijab breaking barriers in mainstream media to now leading transformative town hall discussions on some of today’s most pressing issues, Noor has always remained committed to the power of human connection. Through her work, she challenges us to rethink our labels, our biases, and our approach to uncomfortable truths. In this conversation, Noor reflects on the impact of these experiences, her evolving understanding of identity, and why it’s more essential than ever to engage in hard conversations, particularly in light of the current socio-political climate in the United States.

As the struggle for Palestinian rights intensifies—particularly in Gaza—Noor’s message of resilience, truth-telling, and solidarity is one that calls for urgency and introspection. In this time of political unrest and division, her words remind us that the fight for justice isn’t just about holding governments accountable, but about understanding our shared responsibility to one another, particularly in moments when the world seems to turn a blind eye.

Pili Alvarado: In the spirit of your own interviews—how’s your heart today?

Noor Tagouri: My heart feels really grounded and clear. I’ve been hearing this phrase in my head lately: Drop in from your mind to your heart. And I’ve been trying to live by that—letting my heart lead.

PA: Your journey has been about pushing boundaries and redefining narratives. When you think about resilience in your own life, what has shaped it the most? 

NT: My mom used to say a phrase to me growing up that translates to ultimate surrender. It’s about fully surrendering to the divine, to the path the universe is laying out for you, instead of resisting or trying to control everything.

That surrender has allowed me to trust that if something doesn’t work out, it just means I need to adjust, to take my next step, to move forward. I don’t waste time getting stuck in why didn’t this happen for me? or this is what I deserved. Instead, I trust that if something wasn’t meant for me, there’s something else ahead that is.

And that mindset—of ultimate surrender—has always led me to opportunities and growth I couldn’t have planned for myself, even if I tried.

PA: Was there a moment in your career where you felt like giving up, but something pulled you back in? What was that turning point?

NT: I’ve never really had a moment where I wanted to give up, because I don’t see what I do as just a career—it’s the way I choose to show up in the world. Telling stories isn’t just a job for me; it’s a way of life.

But what I have struggled with is overexposure. I started my journalism career when I was 15—the same time I started wearing the hijab. And there have been moments where my work feels deeply personal, and I’ve wanted to step back from being so public.

In the past couple of years, I’ve done that more intentionally than ever before. I’ve spent a lot of time doing the internal work, asking myself hard questions. But now, as I step back into more public storytelling with this town hall series—being on camera again, asking these big questions in front of an audience—I’ve had to confront a lot of fear.

The trauma of overexposure is something I still feel in my body. But I also know that storytelling and conversation are the work I’m meant to do.

At your service

PA: You’ve talked about the power of storytelling in reclaiming identity. How has your own understanding of identity evolved over the years?

NT: After doing The Rep investigation, I realized how limiting identity labels can be for someone like me.

Identity is always evolving. There’s a concept I’ve developed called revolutionary representation, which recognizes that people are constantly changing, engaging in their own inner revolutions. So, even this interview—it captures where I am right now, but what I think today might shift in a few weeks.

That understanding has made me hold identity more loosely. Sometimes, a label can be helpful because it gives me context for what I’m experiencing. Other times, it feels restrictive—especially when someone else defines that label differently than I do.

I care more about defining the experiences behind identities rather than just assigning labels.

PA: The Town Hall Project is centered on deep human conversations. What's been the most surprising or transformative insight you've gained from those discussions?

NT: Oh, well, one of the most surprising things is how controversial this event series is. I'm realizing that in American culture right now, just the idea of gathering with people who don't think the same as you or who might have harmful views as you—just being in the same space as them—can create such tension and controversy. And it has really affirmed to me that this is exactly what we need right now because so much of the quote-unquote "change" or activism is happening on our phones.

There's obviously a lot that's happening on the ground as well. But for many people, it can feel easy to just post an infographic and call it a day. And I really believe that the work, the real hard work, happens in person, in gathering, in looking at each other again and remembering who we are as community members.

We called our last one "Common Ground," which was also a very controversial title for some people. But the thing that kept coming back to me is that common ground isn't something that we find. It's the reality that lies beneath our feet. Like, we share space, we share land, we share air, we share water, we share resources. And so, for me to pretend like you don't exist or that your rights are not going to be impacted by mine is just naive.

And it's not the reality. We have to have the hard conversations, especially now. Our last town hall was at SUNY New Paltz, where I teach, and it focused on the student encampments. They arrested 133 community members on campus last May. It was incredibly controversial. And the day we had the event, Trump tweeted that they were going to start deporting or expelling student protesters because, obviously, free speech doesn't count when you're talking about Palestine. Now, one of the main activists from Columbia University, Mahmoud Khalil, has literally been detained by ICE.

There’s just so much happening. Everybody should be alarmed that if this person's rights are being completely eradicated, that means our rights are also being called into question. It doesn't matter if you don’t agree with what he was saying or protesting. We have a responsibility to protect one another's freedoms and rights.

This town hall format, this gathering of people and community members, hasn’t really existed like this since the Oprah show or the Phil Donahue show. My partner, Adam, has been conceptualizing this in a way that fits our times today. And I'm like, oh wow, it's never been harder to have these conversations—but that means it's more important than ever.

PA: You’re creating space for tough, nuanced dialogue. What do you think we, as individuals, get wrong about listening to one another?

NT: I think there are two things. One, we’re not defining the language we use enough. When I say a specific term and you say a specific term, if we don’t define what it means to both of us, we’re having a conversation that isn’t on the same plane of reality. One of the guidelines of our town halls is that if you use a word that ends in "-ism" or "-ist," you have to define it. Because when you say it, the person sitting next to you might define it completely differently. That happened a lot with the word "Zionist" at our town hall. We had people define what they meant, and we realized that everyone was arguing over something they weren’t even defining the same way. So, to me, one of the things we get wrong is using supercharged language instead of just saying what we really mean.

The second thing is binary thinking and projecting. People tend to think there must be a good person and a bad person, a right and a wrong. If I believe I'm the good one, then the person next to me must be the bad one. But that’s not how the world works—there's no context in that. Missing context is a big issue. We project our reality onto others, filling in the characters in a way that feels right for us. But even the people causing harm or oppressing others are often victimizing themselves in their own narratives.

At our town halls, we ask people to speak directly from personal experience, not in theoreticals or projections. We want people to say, "I did this, and then this happened to me," or "I believe this because when I was little, my mom said this." Those very specific stories bring us to a human playing field, even if just for two hours. Then, you leave the room and can think however you want, but in that space, we ask people to show up with personal stories, an open mind and heart, and curiosity. And in those moments, you can feel the energy shift.

PA: Yeah. And actually listening to each other.

NT: Yeah. And creating a very specific container for that to happen.

PA: It sounds very powerful.

NT:It’s so powerful. It’s amazing.

PA: Has there been a conversation from Town Hall that shifted your own perspective in an unexpected way?

NT: Yes. At our most recent Town Hall, which focused on the student arrests, there was a lot of resistance.

The university’s administration pushed back against us hosting the event, even though I produced it with my students for my Revolutionary Representation class. But there was also resistance from student activists—some called for a boycott, some refused to engage in conversations, and many didn’t want to be in the same room as people who held opposing views.

That experience really showed me just how difficult it is to create a space where people feel safe enough to have these hard conversations. And it reinforced for me that this is exactly the kind of dialogue we need in our society right now.

We have to be able to see each other as human again—because if we don’t, we lose the capacity to protect each other’s rights.

I also realized that there’s no such thing as a truly safe space. The only place you can feel safe is in your own body. And when I asked my students, “Raise your hand if you feel safe in your body,” not a single person did.

That was a huge moment for me. I think we conflate safety and discomfort a lot. People say, “I don’t feel safe here,” but sometimes what they really mean is, “I feel uncomfortable.” And discomfort is where growth happens.

Especially for younger generations who grew up entirely online—face-to-face conversations can feel uncomfortable. But they are necessary.

So part of this work is recalibrating that. Understanding that it’s okay to be uncomfortable. It’s okay to hear things that challenge you. And ultimately, knowing that the truest form of safety comes from within.

PA: You talk a lot about speaking your truth. What has that meant for you at different points in your life, and has it ever felt risky to do so?

NT: Oh yeah, 100 percent. I was publicly known as a Muslim hijab-wearing journalist for most of my life. But after I produced my "Rep" investigation, I realized how politicized my identity had been for so long. I needed to step back from identity labels and how I publicly identified. That was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

I had always had to make public statements when I did something unexpected. But when I decided to stop covering my hair, I didn't make a single statement. That was the first time I kept something just for me. People hated that, and people respected it. It was incredibly challenging.

Now, two years later, I still process that experience. It feels like a long time, but it also feels like just yesterday.

PA: With everything happening right now—politically and socially—instead of asking how you feel about it, because I know you talk about it a lot, what’s the question you wish people were asking right now? Either to themselves or more broadly?

NT: I think the question we should all be asking is: What role am I playing in this problem?

It’s so easy to point fingers and assign blame. And yes, of course, there are people who play much bigger roles in these issues. But every single one of us contributes in some way to the systems we exist in. If we take responsibility and hold ourselves accountable, we can actually create change—because the only thing we truly have the power to change is ourselves.

So, what is the role I’m playing in this?

Once you ask those difficult questions out loud, you become freer. And for me, being free is more important than anything.

PA: With everything going on, how do you personally navigate staying informed and engaged while still protecting your peace? 

NT: That’s a great question. I actually don’t consume as much information as I used to. Even as a journalist, I’ve recalibrated my approach—I focus on long-form storytelling now, and my projects take much longer to develop.

Because of that, I don’t engage with daily news cycles unless I truly need to dig into something. And what I’ve found is that I still learn about important events through the people around me. Friends will send me articles or say, “Did you hear about this?” And I get to engage with the information more thoughtfully.

I also prefer to consume news once it has been processed and contextualized—through podcasts, in-depth interviews, or analysis that helps make sense of what’s happening rather than just reacting to it. That way, I’m not constantly caught in the cycle of breaking news and crisis after crisis.

Of course, this is something I’m still working on. But over the last few years, I’ve learned to create a kind of bubble when I’m deep into a story. It allows me to step back, zoom out, and really consider my role in everything.

Noor Tagouri’s journey reminds us that resilience is more than enduring hardship—it’s about embracing uncomfortable truths and using our voices to foster change. In a time when the world watches as Palestine faces unimaginable suffering, Noor’s call to action is clear: we must confront the hard conversations, question our roles in systemic injustice, and stay grounded in solidarity. Her work challenges us to think critically, act thoughtfully, and never shy away from the uncomfortable spaces where growth happens.

If Noor’s journey and insights resonate with you, we encourage you to explore her Town Hall Project and listen to the powerful dialogues she’s creating. It’s a space where we can all learn, grow, and ultimately find our way forward together.