As we enter the eleventh month of the ongoing genocide against Palestine, we continue to honour and stand alongside the Palestinian people, who resist the ongoing colonization of their lands, apartheid, and genocide perpetuated by “Israel”.
We continue to witness and resist the imperial machinery of violence. Let these testimonies, poems, and essays guide us to act.
“Bombed hospitals, buried children: we have become numb to Gaza’s destruction,” by Hala Alyan, via The Guardian
Back in May, when the image of a decapitated child in Rafah started circulating, my friend texted: This is the image. This is the one. Now the world’s going to roar. For many of us, this has been the reality of the last months: waiting for the image that will shake complacency and complicity; waiting for the image so staggering it’ll be non-negotiable. An amputated toddler. A blown-apart body. A girl hanging from the side of a building. We are still waiting.
“Nightmare at Sde Teiman: the untold story of Ibrahim Salem,” by Ibrahim Salem in interview with Yousef Aljamal, via Mondoweiss
Everyone has their own story. My photo that went viral, in which I was tortured by being forced to stand for six hours with my hands on the top of my head just because I protested a jailer who forced an elderly Palestinian to pee in his pants. The scene captured in the photo was nothing compared to the other punishments we experienced. The outrage over it—of course, people should be outraged–but there are more severe things that happened. For example, the insults we endured, they stripped us of our dignity! Sitting on our knees for 20 hours— isn’t that a greater punishment? The electric shocks we endured, the cold that nearly incapacitated us.
“How Is Your Devastation Today?” by Fady Joudah, via Mizna
Did a particular morning birdsong visit it?
Did innocent grumbling
about a meaningless desire
that has become the meaning of all desire
from one of your kids distract you from it?
Is your espresso machine working fine?
Did a photo or video
of a father sculpting
the rigor mortis of his murdered twins
and their mother sink you?
“(out of borders)” by Hani Albayarie, via Adi Magazine
The semi-sleeping, semi-dead says: You are my last door, and you are the
key.
This sea does not rest, and does not sleep.
The traveler sings and doesn’t do anything good to sing.
The sea was the traveler’s last door, the sea was his fear.
“‘I Couldn’t Ask if She Was Still Alive’: A Girl, Her Mother, and a Bloody Night In Gaza,” by Lujayn, via The Nation
I dozed off, only to wake up to the sound of bullets flying in the street, bombs, and shrapnel hitting the walls and windows. My mother shielded me with her exhausted body, smiled at me, and said, “We’re OK, don’t be afraid.”
This went on for several minutes. We couldn’t move. I felt cold despite the summer heat—until I felt something warm on my hand. I couldn’t see what it was in the darkness. Then I realized it was blood. A piece of shrapnel had pierced my mother’s shoulder—which she was using to shield my head—and it had made no sound.
“Crying Postponed,” testimonies relayed to Haydar al-Ghazali, translated by Francesco Anselmet, via Institute of Palestine Studies
I don’t know how a person is turned into pieces. I don’t know how our bodies betray themselves and fly in the air. It is difficult when one finds a hand asking for its owner.
If this war ever ends, how will a child return to the same school where his mother died or where his brother died? Will he run in the schoolyard, or will his foot stumble over the memory, and fall?
“Ekphrasis On ‘The New York Times’ Headline ‘Understanding the Middle East Through the Animal Kingdom’,” by Emily Khilfeh, via Poets.org
I’ll not praise
the desert, her vat of stars, the stars like an earring
pinned to a grandfather’s coat, again, no coat,
no fabrics called raw silk or gauze, no glaze
of the sun on the sea like honey on phyllo dough,
see how simile orders all things, takes logic
& reduces to an arc of thought, see flood
& floodgate & fear, no praise for the hand
that harms me & if I be an insect so be it
& let me sting, I’ll praise only the true thing
for what it is, no metaphor
“Sing the child insurgent,” by Rasha Abdulhadi, via Beestung Mag
the young make the best revolutionaries, minds clear
as sapphire, hearts scythed, with diamond-dusted blades
they reap their elders’ retreats.
round faces whose gaze empties everything of intent,
leaving it naked as it is.
Transcribed testimony of Bushra Khalidi, in conversation with her brother-in-law and her husband, via Protean Magazine’s Letters from Gaza, part 7
The scene around us was horrific: disintegrated bodies, body parts, an overwhelming smell. We saw children’s clothing among the dismembered remains. The stench from the wadi (valley) was suffocating, and we endured it for two hours of walking.
“What it’s like living in a tent in Gaza,” by Reem A. Hamadaqa, via Mondoweiss
As my eyes roam across the wide sky before me, the scene is dominated by the unorganized tents I see wherever I look. I also see palm trees, fighter jets, drones, kites too, but there are no tall houses anymore. All the high-rises in Gaza City, as far as the eye can see, have been leveled. My home is among them.
Genocide has a sound. It is the buzzing of drones and the sound that a building makes when it is turned into rubble. Amid the destruction wrought by bulldozers and tanks, each of us has been forced to start our own multi-chapter journey of displacement.
“I Did Not Survive the War,” by Ramzi Salem, via Arab Lit Quarterly
Now, eight years later,
I did not survive the war.
War is born with us,
with our names and titles,
with the first cry,
with the first frown,
with the first suckle,
and with the stamp of our birth certificate.
“From the River to the Sea,” by Samer Abu Hawwash, translated by Huda Fakhreddine, via Literary Hub
every drop of rain, every drip of sweat, every lisp, every stutter, every yamma, mother, every yaba, father, every shadow, every light, every little hand that drew in a little notebook a tree or house or heart or a family of a father, a mother, siblings, and pets, every longing, every possibility, every letter between two lovers that arrived or didn’t arrive
Take action:
- E-sims for Gaza, an initiative to ensure Palestinians can remain in contact with loved ones and the outside world as electricity is cut off.
- Operation Olive Branch, a spreadsheet (and soon-to-be website) about calls for mutual aid, actions to take for Palestine, solidarity projects, resources, and more.
- Resources from the Toronto Palestine Film Festival, including petitions and campaigns, where to donate, and how to support the Boycott, Divest, and Sanction (BDS) movement.
For further reading, we recommend:
- Palestine Square via the Institute for Palestine Studies, which publishes news, analysis, narrative, perspectives, and arts and culture pieces on Palestinian affairs.
- Protean Magazine’s “Letters from Gaza” in partnership with the Institute for Palestine Studies.
- Hammer and Hope’s Palestine Resource Guide for a selection of readings and films on Palestine.
- Dispatches from We Are Not Numbers (WANN), a youth-led Palestinian nonprofit project in the Gaza Strip that tells the stories behind the numbers of Palestinians in the news
- We Had Dreams, a platform that uplifts the hopes, dreams, and fears of Palestinians in Gaza, available in multiple languages
- Passages Through Genocide, a compilation of collected, translated, and published texts from Palestinian writers confronting the genocide in Gaza
- Verso Books’ From the River to the Sea: Essays for a Free Palestine and other resources
Let us be steadfast as we call for an end to the occupation and learn about actions to take in solidarity with Palestine.
Header image: “We dream of a free Palestine,” by Young Feminist Solidarity with Palestine, via Artists Against Apartheid
