this photo of Gaza was taken by the late Majd Arandas (@majd.arandas), a Palestinian photographer based in Gaza who was killed today in an Israeli airstike. It is of the sky above Nuseirat Refugee Camp in the central Gaza strip.
I feel lately as if I have been living in a parallel universe. Likely some deep-seated hope for the gutting reality of the world to not be true. Because it feels impossible that so much barbarity can be held on the same Earth where most people are living their lives normally, not under attack, not fearing for their existence.
There’s this sense of strangeness — breaking down in the shower, feeling so restless and at the same time so deeply tired, seeing people post halloween parties and wanting to scream through your phone because it feels so ridiculous to be dressing up in costume and wandering around at night when we’re sitting in a country that is funding and protecting a violent ethnostate as it commits genocide.
And this is hardly the first case of this, I know. But we are learning, more and more. Learning about Sudan, learning about Congo. And I think before, the horrors were quietly done. So quiet that we didn’t even catch them happening. We only heard about them so many months, so many years later. But this is the first time in my adult life I am seeing such brazenness in mass media, seeing such willing acceptance of this “war”, seeing dystopian ads from the oppressor’s social media accounts, seeing white women victimize themselves as they sit in their mansions tweeting about how they fear for their life. They do not know what it means to fear for your life.
I had so many things to do this past week. But for good reason, it is impossible to work in the way I normally have. It is impossible to focus on a script because despite art’s wonderful impact in times like these, one’s own art, one’s own desire to tell stories, feels so very meaningless and hollow.
Motaz Azaiza tweets “if you saw the things my eyes see, you would lose your mind.”
On my walk, I see a dead bird and think of dead bodies. I get a needle in my arm at the doctor’s and think of how inconceivable it is that pains so much greater than this stupid poke are stomached without medicine right now in Gaza. I see an image of a skyline in some part of the world and feel my heart lurch because I remember that Gaza has gone dark and we do not know the bombardment they are facing. I think of how beautiful it was to be in Palestine when I visited in 2020. How it was a joy unlike most of us had experienced, yet also a heartbreak unlike one we had known. Witnessing apartheid with our own eyes. Understanding that it is worse than we thought it was.
Fascists don’t make good art. That’s a thought I’ve had recently. It makes me smile.
Muhammad Smiry tweets “From Gaza, I want to thank everyone protesting for us.”
For me, this is reason enough to continue the fight, even if only for those who are suffering to feel as if they are not screaming into an empty void, that we do hear them, that for many of us they are quite literally all we can think about. My dad told me he wanted to join the fight against Serbia when Bosnians were suffering through the Srebrenica genocide, and I couldn’t understand this impulse. But I feel something similar in me now. I want to fly to Palestine, even though I can’t. I want to hug so many of the children who are alone. I want to bear witness on the ground. I don’t want to feel this useless.
Hala Alyan asks, '“why must Palestinians audition for your empathy?”
I know I have friends who are scared of posting or discussing the topic because they don’t want to ruin their friendships or engage in arguments with people. Where is the courage, I think? To have the arguments? To do the work? And if they don’t listen, f*ck those friendships. Why don’t they ruin them? We should ruin our friendships sometimes. Why choose to keep people in your life who are standing on the wrong side of history?
When I wake up in the mornings, I immediately check to make sure that the journalists I follow in Gaza are still alive. Bisan, Plestia, Motaz. They document death, their own grief, their own deteriorating state. I smile when I see that Motaz is sitting with a friend warming some bread over a fire. I only want to see these people happy. I think he and other journalists deserve the Nobel Peace Prize for the work they’re doing. This is courage and bravery unlike anything I have seen.
One night, I choose to watch Judas and the Black Messiah instead of doom scrolling. I realize how Palestinian liberation is tied to Black liberation and every other liberation movement this world has known. It’s strangely comforting to know that hatred and othering runs in the veins of this country, that this is who America has always been. She has never pretended to be anything else, and we shouldn’t expect her to be. I think about why our reps in government don’t care about the deaths of nearly four thousand kids. 4000. There is no way to fathom this amount. And then I remember that our country doesn’t care about the deaths of its own children. School shooting after school shooting, yet nothing changes.
Rashid Khalidi says Palestine will not win because it fights off the enemy; it will win in the court of public opinion. Because if it weren’t for the mass protests in the U.S., this country would not have pulled out of Vietnam.
I stalk Zionists on Twitter so I have somewhere to put my rage. I go through their likes to find out what lies they are feeding each other. My rage grows. We don’t believe thousands of kids have been killed. And if they have, it is the fault of Hamas. Israel tried for peace, but Palestinians rejected it. We are not safe unless Hamas is eradicated. We don’t care about a ceasefire, good luck getting one. Israel is not an apartheid state.
This is something that Muslims have grown up hearing about. The plight of the Palestinians against their colonial, violent oppressor. There are many things I’ve had to unlearn from childhood, but this is not one of them. This is something I am endlessly grateful to have grown up with. I wonder when others heard about this for the first time. In 7th grade, I argued with my teacher who insisted that Israel had a right to defend itself. I don’t remember what I said, only that I was so nervous to speak, and after, I watched her nod as she considered my point. The classroom was silent.
During prayer on Friday night at NYU, we all stand as the Imam reads a dua for Palestine. It is in Arabic so I cannot understand, save for a few words here and there. But myself and every individual around me, regardless of what language they speak, immediately begins to weep. Many of us came here on this night so that we could weep with those who feel this pain as greatly as we do. It does not feel good for the soul to have to press it down, to talk about other things. We cry and we cry and we cry. The Imam asks us to share any prayers that we might have in our hearts. Everyone is silent at first, but then, slowly, people begin to speak. One after another, in rhythm, as if predetermined.
Oh Allah, please ease their hearts.
Oh Allah, ease the pain of the parents who have lost children, of the children who have lost parents.
Oh Allah, let the world come together to stop Israel’s atrocities.
Oh Allah, let us be brave enough to do the things we need to do.
Oh Allah, let the martyrs enter Jannah and be at peace.
Oh Allah, let us see a Free Palestine in our lifetime.
To take action and call for a ceasefire, click here. To join a protest, click here. To join the National March for Palestine on Saturday, click here.
References (collected by my dad and I):
Journalists in Gaza:
Follow them on Instagram. They are documenting everything on the ground—every horror they see, every atrocity committed. They are true soldiers.
@motazazaiza
@byplestia
@hindkhoudary
@wizard_bisan1
Books (Non-Fiction):
Please try and purchase from your local bookstore (online or in-store), rent from your library, or purchase through the Bookshop or Thriftbooks links I’ve included. Amazon does not need your money, indie booksellers do.
Palestine: Peace Not Apartheid by Jimmy Carter
Except for Palestine: The Limits of Progressive Politics by Marc Lamont Hill
Freedom Is a Constant Struggle: Ferguson, Palestine, and the Foundations of a Movement by Angela Davis
The Israel Lobby and U.S. Foreign Policy by John J. Mearsheimer and Stephen M. Walt
They Dare to Speak Out : People and Institutions Confront Israel's Lobby by Paul Findley
Hundred Years' War on Palestine by Rashid Khalidi
Forcing God's Hand: Why Millions Pray for a Quick Rapture and Destruction of Planet Earth by Grace Halsell
The Question of Palestine by Edward Said
I Saw Ramallah by Mourid Barghouti
And check out Haymarket Books for their Palestine collection.
Books (Fiction):
Mornings in Jenin by Susan Abulhawa
The Blue Between Sky and Water by Susan Abulhawa
Salt Houses by Hala Alyan
Minor Detail by Adania Shibli
The Parisian by Isabella Hammad
Videos/Movies:
Born in Gaza (official trailer, it is available on Netflix)
With God on Our Side (2010) | Full Movie | Evan Albertyn | Gary Burge | Ron Dart (on Christian Zionism, beautifully done)
Israel's long war on Gaza w/Norman Finkelstein | The Chris Hedges Report (two stalwarts who are experts on the subject)
Israel Palestine Double Standard Called Out On BBC Question Time (yet to see these kinds of debates in American media)
Hundreds Killed in Gaza Hospital Blast (the title does not do justice to this video, it’s a must watch)
Magazines (please subscribe and support):
The Intercept
The Nation
Mondoweiss
Newsletters (please subscribe and support):
The Chris Hedges Report
Michael Moore
The Beinart Notebook
Ahmad Ibsais
Thank you for sharing this reflection. "Fascists don’t make good art."
Also, I realize that this is many months old now. I shared in that pain and also felt that everything I did was meaningless at the time. I hope you've come around to realizing we need your stories now more than ever.
You made me cry betoo. What a beautiful way to express your grief and the situation of Palestinians!
A proud dad