It was midnight when I stood at the door to my room debating whether I should go outside to the garden to get my book. Two hours earlier I was reading a book on the swing and forgot it there. Now, I was considering whether it was worth it to go outside to get it.
My sister passed me and gave me that look, wondering what I was doing standing awkwardly in the doorway at this hour. I told her I need to get my book. She didn’t initially understand what I meant, but then a few seconds later as she listened to the weird night calmness that followed the drones, she laughed.
“Are you afraid of the drones?” She asked.
“Yes,” I said simply.
Then I continued, “A friend of mine who read my articles about the nightmares and the drones told me she would be honest with me and that I should not write anything about such topics again.”
A week ago, I was working on a translation project related to Naji al-Ali’s assassination. The article mentioned that the main reason he was killed was that his drawings were a real threat to Israel. Will my simple narratives be the reason for my death? The sudden anxious thought of being assassinated just because of only two articles stuck in my head. Assassinated. The word itself is funny and scary at the same time. I am just sharing a few of the situations that happened to me and my family in Gaza’s blockade and war. The word is funny because it doesn’t apply to me. Naji al-Ali and Ghassan Kanafani were assassinated because of their huge influence on the Palestinian cause, so what did I do to conjure up such a strong and bitter word? I thought of my family, my little brothers, and sisters. Am I putting their lives at risk? I was planning to interview a lot of people about the difficult events they can’t forget from during the war. Now, things have changed.
If we stop sharing our stories, who will?
This morning, I was on the bus reading a book called “Legs Garden.” The book describes the life of the people who lost their legs during the Great March of Return, and what all they sacrificed just trying to live a dignified life. As I was immersed in the words, the bus driver turned the radio on to the story of the pregnant Palestinian woman Anhar al-Deek. The announcer was describing her harsh situation in an Israeli jail. I became lost in my thoughts for a minute when I realized — if we stop sharing our stories, who will? If it wasn’t for the book in my hand, I wouldn’t have known the story of Hassan who protested at the fence and lost his leg, or the story of Othman who lost his life while he was trying to reach his occupied land. If it wasn’t for the radio, I wouldn’t have known the suffering of Anhar.
Days ago, a Palestinian man shot an Israeli soldier and the first thing that crossed my mind when I heard the news and watched the video was his family. What if they targeted his family and bombed his house? But after the chilling warning my friend shared with me, I was afraid to write anything related to Gaza. I decided to not document any events, not to use my laptop, or even hold my pen! For three days, this idea comforted me. But later, as the situation in Gaza got even worse, as the hours of electricity were shortened and as the Rafah crossing borders were closed, my pen couldn’t stand still and it decided to write against my will.
“Don’t interfere in politics. You could write literary stories like you used to, but don’t publish stories about Gaza in your name. What if you caused harm to your family?!” If we stopped writing stories about Palestine because they put us in danger, then no one would write anything. I don’t consider myself a great writer. All I am doing is documenting. Muna al-Kurd was able to let the whole world know about her illegal house eviction through a tweet. Few words could change a whole point of view. If every single person underestimated their words, the world wouldn’t have known about us. And of course, this fear of not writing is what Israel wants, but they will never have it.
Thousands of stories are out there are waiting to be told and published. Thousands of agonies are screaming to be heard. If everyone decided to think only of themself and their life, we would not have heard anything about the crimes that Israel is doing to us. Every simple act is a resistance. Even one article that is written to expose them and to deliver our voices to the world is an act of resistance. Yes, I am a beginner but I don’t think that I will retreat. Whenever I hear a story that is worth being told, I will follow it. Every Palestinian story is worth being told.
