Like You And Me

You sit and you read the lies and your blood boils.

They use their children as human shields.

They’re dead because they want to.

We’re the most advanced and moral army in the world.

There are casualties, nothing we can do about it, such is war.

We’re the victims here, we’re being threatened, we have a right to defend ourselves.

The dehumanization of Palestinians knows no boundaries in the twisted sinister minds of the Israeli propaganda machine. Carefully, with their bloodied brushes, they paint a picture of beings obsessed with death, undeserving of rights, and compassion, and humanity. Palestinians become mere threatening faceless shadows, insects that need to die, unworthy of life, because Israeli lives are so much more important.

They’re there, therefore they need to die. The logic of every good genocidal maniac.
Because make no mistake about it. This is what Israel is: a machine obsessed with ethnic cleansing, with the destruction, the humiliation of The Other. Shifting reality on its head is part of that machine: the oppressor magically becomes the oppressed. This is not an Israeli offensive, no no no, it is an operation to right the wrong that Palestinians and Arabs exist. Nevermind the constant violation of every international law rule in the book, nevermind the never ending settlers’ violence, nevermind the racist, Apartheid-like laws, never mind the daily xenophobia, never mind the lies, never mind the arbitrary arrests, never mind the torture, never mind the ticking time bomb terrorist theory, never mind the arbitrarily detained, nevermind the occupation, the wall, the checkpoints. Nevermind all of that, Israel is still the victim. Its very existence is threatened by a fifteen year old yielding a rock, probably because his house has been demolished.

You watch videos of journalists breaking down, overwhelmed by the atrocities they’re covering, and you cry with them. You protest and you share links and you tweet and you advocate and you speak out and you try to help in any way you can and yet nothing seems to make a difference, your blood still boils with the injustice of it all, nothing you do seems to fill the emptiness, the hollow feeling each death seems to leave in you. Nothing you do seems to have any sort of impact on governments, on institutions, on people, on no one.

You see picture after picture of desperate people, people like you and me, who love life, who want to live the life they’ve been given, people like you and me, i repeat, people like you and me. Not being undeserving of rights, not insects that could not care less what happens to their children, not otherworldly freaks that need to be eradicated. The people of Gaza are people like you and me. People like you and me whose children’s laughter is the sweetest music to their ears, people like you and me who fell in love with their babies the moment they clapped their eyes on them. People like you and me who want to dance, and laugh, and love and bicker with their siblings, and support football teams, and argue over politics.

And you carry on with your life, you ruffle your daughter’s curly hair, and your heart breaks into a million pieces for all the mothers who closed their daughters eyes forever, for all the people whose grief you can’t even fathom, for people like you and me trying to live on a small strip of land we call Gaza. Since when the very basic right of living has become a privilege?


Lying awake.

Rooted to the spot by the helplessness I feel. What to do? Where to run, to do something? Try to act, send something, share something, DO. SOMETHING.
But All I can do is stay rooted to my spot, watching children die, their eyes not even able to be closed by their loved ones, their bloodied little bodies, made of life, made for life, rigid with the definite stillness of death.
And something screams inside of me, the banshees of injustice, the demons of cruelty, and I want to rip out my eyes, and I want to punch and kick and scream and fight, and scream, and scream, and scream.
But yet I do nothing. Riveted to my spot, I go along with my daily life, my stomach churning with the bile of anger, my ears tired from hearing all the lies, they want to die, they say. It’s their fault, these Arabs, these savages, they teach death. It’s a self genocide, really.
But a woman once said: we teach life, sir. And they do. They teach life, and hope and the will to resist, they teach truth when you speak deceit, they teach pride, a pride you can never hope to understand.
Palestinians teach life amidst unspeakable calls for their death. Calls to kill Palestinian mothers. Calls to kill them all and replace them with Jews. Calls to kill, maim, eradicate, annihilate them, so the ‘most moral army in the world’ can clean our their dwellings, their history, their very existence.
Let’s get something straight: this is called ethnic cleansing. It is a crime against humanity. It is being perpetrated by a Zionist entity whose only religion is racism, whose only morals are oppression, and whose only project is the domination over others.
But this entity is not the only one to blame: it is the spoilt child of the powerful of this world, of the cowards of this world, who would rather look the other way when children are being brought to hospitals in pieces. After all elections ballots, arms trade, economic ties, political gains are much more important than the lives of Palestinian children.
I might not be able to prevent bombs from falling, but I can try and speak the truth. Me, and you and the hundreds of thousands of people around the world can do one thing: protest relentlessly, pounding the streets of our cities with what we know to be the truth. Resistance to death, to lies, to oppression is our only weapon.