When Words are Imprisoned, Thoughts Silenced and Flags Shot Down, Resistance and Solidarity Flourish

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One summer day many years ago, I was playing with my siblings and cousins in my grandmother’s tiny garden. Sometimes, when we’re fed up with playing there, we would seek the storeroom nearby. This room, which was constructed a long time ago most probably as a future flat for one of my uncles, was in its structure very similar to the UNRWA rooms in which my grandparents, my aunt’s family, and many others in Dheisheh refugee camp lived. Originally, it consisted of two very wide rooms with a very low ceiling, and a couple of small windows barely letting in any light. The wall between the two rooms was demolished, turning the small “flat” into one large room. My grandparents had enlarged their original UNRWA rooms and used this one as a storeroom. It was full with all sorts of things, from boxes to wood to old chairs. When playing there, we would try and keep to the outer part of the room, the one closer to the door and the windows, and would avoid the inner part, where it was dark and stuffed with many things barely leaving place for one to move freely. I don’t think any one of us children dared looked closer there, because it was full with spider webs and lizards, and it was clear that the boxes there had not been moved in centuries, so you’d see small things crawling around. But sometimes curiosity would get the best of one, causing one to gather their courage and march through the spider webs and the lizards to explore whatever El-Dorado lies hidden. Often, there was nothing interesting to be found: a few old pots and pans, old rugs, nothing really interesting. But on that summer day, daring the spiders and the lizards paid off: In one corner at the very far end of the room there stood a huge iron oven. It was very rusty and that alone made it look extremely uninviting. A number of old boxes lay stacked nearby. My grandmother used to bake bread for us every second day, and for breakfast she would make Zaatar and olive oil bread. This together with hot tea, I believe, was and still is the best breakfast ever. For baking, my grandmother used an electric oven, and although she always spoke of how much she loves bread baked on wood, she didn’t use the one in the storeroom. Anyway, the oven door was blocked by the many boxes stacked in front of it. So, I waited till the others were busy playing outside and started removing the heavy boxes until I was able to open the oven door. Inside, to my surprise, were stacks over stacks of nothing other than books, magazines, and newspapers. I quickly went through them, and it didn’t take me long to realize that these were all stacked here for a reason: I realized I was holding “illegal material” as the Israeli occupation authority would define it. During that summer, I took every possible chance to slip into that storeroom and read this “illegal material”. And I loved it, I loved every single word I read, and if it weren’t for the fact that I feared being caught with it on the way, I would have packed the whole stuff and took it back home to Sawahreh.

This is nothing out of the ordinary in occupied Palestine. Almost every home had a hiding place for the various books, magazines and newspapers. We had one as well, and our hiding place was stacked with our favourite books which were forbidden by Israel. With every passing year, the stack would grow bigger and bigger, that we had to look for new hiding places. And when the Israeli army started raiding our house in search of wanted activists, we had to bury some book and to burn others. The “illegal material” had to disappear.

This “illegal material” is a threat to the existence of the Zionist entity. It is part of the ultimate Palestinian weapon, against which Israel with all its military might has no chance. This weapon is the Palestinian national identity. One of the myths on which the Zionist entity is built is that Palestine was a “land without a people for a people without a land” and that there was never a Palestinian people. When they want to act “humane”, Zionists are a bit “generous” and admit that “few Arabs” did live in Palestine, but only “few Arabs”. Thus, it is essential that the word Palestine and all its derivatives become illegal: There is no Palestine and there is no Palestinian people. And to delete the existence of a nation, they needed to delete what defines it and what makes it a nation. It makes it easy to lie and claim that those “few Arabs” who were living in Palestine came from neighbouring Arab countries and it is there that they should return. But when these “few Arabs” have a distinct identity and culture, it won’t be that easy to convince others of a lie. So, suppressing the Palestinian national feeling and the identity of Palestine was to become a priority, and in order to create a Zionist national identity and ensure its survival, the Palestinians had to be denied their national identity and any expression of it.

Immediately after the 1967 war, the Israeli occupation authority started pursuing policies to undermine the concept of a Palestinian people and a Palestinian identity. A very strict censorship was imposed on the life of every Palestinian and any form of expressing Palestinian culture was prohibited. Print material was censored and needed the approval of the Israeli army for publication and distribution. Homes and bookshops would be raided and entire libraries confiscated. The way the Israeli occupation reacted to books, one would think that these books included instructions on how to make a Molotov cocktail or how to build a nuclear reactor, when in fact most of them, like those in my grandparent’s storeroom, were of a literary nature; novels and poems. The “illegal material” was not solely Palestinian, but the greatest part was written by Palestinians. The ban didn’t stop with magazines, newspapers and literature; a number of history and geography books were also declared “illegal”. Through censorship, the Zionist entity’s aim was to control what a Palestinian is allowed to read and what not, starting from an early age to accompany a Palestinian all his/her life. Being in charge of education in the “Occupied Territories”, the Israeli military could censor school and university education. On the cover of our school textbooks was the heading: “the Civil Administration of Judea and Samaria” – there was nothing civil about it, but only the Israeli army would have the insolence to claim it is a “civil authority” and only an army-entity would have the insolence to claim it is peace-loving- and this “civil administration” aka Israeli army would decide which textbooks are a threat to the security of the Zionist entity and which are harmless (see for example Order concerning Use of Text Books (West Bank Region) (Amendment no’ 1) (No’ 183), 1967 or Order concerning Use of Text Books (Amendment no’ 2) (West Bank) (No’ 812), 1979). Many books were banned from use in all educational institutions including kindergarten and private educational centres. Anyone violating this ban would be imprisoned for 12 months or fined with 2500 Israeli Lira or both. Some of the banned textbooks included: Arabic Grammar (parts 2 and 4), Principles of Rhetoric, Elementary Literature (parts 1 and 2), Literary Texts, The Complete History of Literature (parts 2 and 3), Selected Texts, History of Arabs and Muslims, History of Old Civilizations, History of Europe in Middle and Modern Ages, Modern History of Europe, The Arab World, Modern Arab History, Modern Europe: Its cultural and political development, History of the Crusades, General History: the Civilizations of the Ancient and Middle Ages, Geography of the Arab World, Economic Geography, The Arab World in Africa, Guide to Drawing the Maps of the Arab World, General Geography, Geography of Arab Asia, Geography of Arab Africa, The Palestinian Cause, The Arab Society, The Jordanian Society, Principles of Islamic Religion (parts 3 and 4) and many others (see Order concerning Use of Text Books (West Bank Region) (no’ 107), 1967). Any university wishing to receive scientific or educational periodicals for its library had to apply for the approval of the military authority, which was in many cases refused.

In addition to censoring textbooks, thousands of books were banned. Bookshops and kiosks needed the approval of the Israeli military before they were able to import any publications and sell them, and any publications that were not approved were considered “illegal material” for which the owner would be arrested, charged with dealing with or the possession of “illegal material” (see Order concerning The Bringing and Distribution of Newspapers (West Bank Region) (Amendment no’ 1) (No’ 110), 1967). The punishment for bringing and distribution of this “illegal material” was 5 years in prison or a heavy fine of 1500 Jordanian Dinar or both (see Order concerning The Bringing and Distribution of Newspapers (West Bank Region) (No’ 50), 1967 or Order Concerning Bringing and Distributing Printed Material (Amendment no’ 3) (Judea and Samaria) (No’ 862), 1980). The Israeli military commander had the right to order the distribution of certain publications, and disobeying the order would be imprisoned for 1 year or fined 1000 Israeli Liras or both see Order concerning Sale of Official Publications (West Bank Region) (No’ 133), 1967. It wasn’t only the publications imported from the outside world that was censored and needed the approval of the Israeli military, but also local publications. Several magazines and newspapers published in Jerusalem, Haifa or Nazareth were banned in the West Bank and Gaza. Some were banned permanently; others would be banned from distribution for short or long periods of time according to the “crime” committed by the newspaper or the magazine, such as publishing an article that was banned by the Israeli censorship. Palestinian newspapers and magazines published in Jerusalem faced a very strict censorship, where even ads needed the approval of the military before they could be published.

Because of this censorship and because one would get arrested for owning the “wrong” book, many were rare. People considered themselves lucky to be able to get one of these books and when they were safe at one’s home, they were staked either in the hiding place, or buried somewhere. When visiting my grandparents during the holidays, I remember how there were no books or newspapers to be seen anywhere. But, then all of a sudden I would see one of my uncles sitting with a book in his hands, or another with a newspaper. These would later disappear into nowhere as they appeared from nowhere. Also, unforgettable were the summer mornings when we would all be gathered for breakfast, then someone would knock on the door, one of my uncles would go to check and would come back with one of those “illegal” newspaper. I believe almost every family in the refugee camp got a copy of it as we did. We would all then gather around the grown-ups and wait for our turn to read the newspaper. But what most of us raced to see was the caricature of Naji Al-Ali. Then discussion will start before the newspaper disappeared to never be seen again.

But it wasn’t only books, magazines and newspapers that were illegal.

Being caught with a leaflet in your bag or pocket, which were also “illegal materials”, would get you a beating, a fine or imprisonment. Also posters needed the approval of the Israeli military and were considered illegal if they contained anything remotely representative of “Palestine”. You were allowed to hang a poster of the Swiss Alps in your sitting room, but not one of the Palestinian map or with the inscription: “Free Palestine”, or even of Palestinian martyrs. During one military raid on our home, the military commander ordered us to remove the poster of a Palestinian martyr that hung on our bedroom wall. It was just a poster of a young man, with no guns or slogans or whatever, but nevertheless we were ordered to remove it. Posters of martyrs on walls of houses or shops would be ripped off and shredded to pieces. Israeli soldiers would raid condolence tents and remove any Palestinian flags or posters found there. Graffiti was also “illegal”. The Israeli army would storm the house or the shop with the graffiti on its walls, often at midnight, and make the owners come out and paint the graffiti away. They would be shouted at, insulted and sometimes beaten. It was another way to intimidate people in the hope of making sure that the next time when someone tried to pain graffiti on their walls, the owners would prevent them, but it never worked. When massacres were committed by the IOF, whether in Gaza, Nablus or Hebron, Palestinians everywhere would hoist black flags on their houses as a sign of mourning and solidarity. Sometimes even these flags of mourning would be ripped off.

Publications were not the only threat to the existence of the Zionist nuclear power.

In 1967, the Israeli occupation authority outlawed any display of Palestinian national identity or symbols. Everything that had to do with Palestine or symbolized it was outlawed whether it was the Palestinian flag and its colours or whatever use of the word Palestine and in whatever context. The word “Palestine” itself, whether in Arabic, English or Hebrew, was considered illegal and writing “Palestine” was considered a criminal offence. School children would be shot at and arrested for carrying the Palestinian flag or even for singing about Palestine. Students were arrested and imprisoned for six months or more or heavily fined for wearing T-Shirts with the word “Palestine” or for writing “Palestine” on walls. The Israeli military Order concerning Prohibition of Incitement Activities and Hostile Propaganda (West Bank Region) (No’ 101), 1967) prohibits raising distribution Palestinian flags and the carrying, printing or distribution of political symbols, pamphlets, posters or booklets. Anyone violating this ban would be imprisoned to up to 10 years or fined with 2000 Israeli Liras or both.

This ban included the prohibition of any art work of “political significance” and any artwork comprised of the four Palestinian national colours. Palestinian artists were told by the Israeli occupation authority to paint devoid of any political meaning and were forbidden from using the four colours of the Palestinian flag too closely, i.e. a Palestinian artist was not allowed to paint a flower field using the colours red, green, white and black. Often, even when an artist would avoid the “direct and noticeable” use of these colours, he/she would nevertheless be “committing a felony”. In this way, many artists were arrested or placed under house arrest. The IOF would storm the only art gallery in the West Bank at the time and storm artists’ houses and confiscate paintings and make arrests. Any reproductions of “illegal” Palestinians painting were not allowed and often confiscated and destroyed. But this never stopped Palestinian artists, and they would continue to use these colours, even if in a faint, subdued form.

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A Palestinian flag means an identity, means a nation, means an existence that Israel was doing its best to erase. That is why Palestinian flags were illegalized, and that is why symbolism became important and grew stronger. What we were not allowed to say openly would be said indirectly using symbols mainly through arts, music and literature. We write, draw and sing of olive trees because they represent our steadfastness on our land. We write, draw and sing of orange trees because they represent Haifa, Yafa and the Palestine we all yearn for. We write, draw and sing of poppies because they represent our struggle and the sacred Palestinian blood sacrificed so Palestine can live. We write, draw and sing of keys handed down from generation to generation because they remind us of the homes and the lands waiting for us to return to. And we love red, black, white and green because they scream: We Are Palestine.

The ban didn’t stop us from making Palestinian flags, carrying them in demos and marches or even filling our books and copybooks with the Palestinian flag, the map of Palestine and all sorts of Palestinian symbols. People who stood first line in a demo and were holding the flag or those who were tying a Palestinian flag to a mast or a tree or hoisting it on a wall or a high building were shot at by Israeli snipers aiming to kill. Nevertheless, Palestinian flags would be flying everywhere and the soldiers would be in frenzy, shooting at the flags in an effort to get them down as if the Palestinian flags were nuclear missiles aimed at the Zionist entity. There were times when they would force people, sometimes children, to climb trees or electricity masts and get the flags down. Alone in 1988, Ayman Farhoud (13 years old), Khalil Jamzawi (18 years old) and Nidal Abu Shomer (17 years old) were killed by an electric shock when the IOF forced them to climb electricity masts and remove Palestinian flags. Also, anyone caught with a flag or anyone found with flags stacked in their home would be beaten, arrested and imprisoned. The flags would be confiscated and shredded into pieces. But this never stopped us nor frightened us. We only searched for ways to make a Palestinian flag and to carry it close to our hearts. One time, I remember we needed a flag urgently for some last-minute activity we planned for Land Day, and since it was impossible like today to go to a shop and buy a flag and there was no way to get one in time by other means, we tried first making one out of coloured papers, but it was not as good as a real flag. So we went through our wardrobes and chose some clothes with the four colours, cut them and spent the night sewing. During the first Intifada, and despite the ban on the four colours of the Palestinian flag, Palestinian women started sewing clothes in the Palestinian national colours. Palestinian embroidery, being another symbol of Palestinian identity, was at the time not only a means of living for many families, but also a form of protesting the Israeli occupation. Palestinian women would knit blouses using the four national colours of Palestine, or would stitch Palestinian traditional dresses, shawls and cushions with the various symbols of Palestine, including the olive tree, the keys, and even the Palestinian flag and map. My mother made such blouses for my sister and me and each time we went to Dheisheh refugee camp, these blouses were the first things to be packed. We knew that the Israeli soldiers were too stupid to notice the symbolism in these blouses, so we would walk in the refugee camp and pass the Israeli troops wearing them. We felt proud and strong: you have your guns and we have our flag. It was a sort of protest, a sort of resistance: You won’t allow us to carry the Palestinian flag without shooting at us, we will carry it on our bodies every single day and you won’t be able to stop us. It is worth mentioning that it was during this first Intifada that Palestinians waving slices of watermelons (with their four colours) as a symbol for the Palestinian flag would be arrested by the IOF.

Not only did we challenge the IOF by wearing the symbols of the Palestinian identity on our blouses, we knit them on handmade bracelets. We would spend long hours making these bracelets, decorating them with the word “Palestine”, the Palestinian flag, the map of Palestine, Handala or even the abbreviation of the Palestinian liberation movements with which we were affiliated. These bracelets were very popular to wear and to give as presents for your friends and people you liked, and some would wear three or four. But, again, as with the books and the flags, these tiny bracelets were seen by the IOF as a threat to the fifth strongest army in the world. We used to hear stories about the Israeli army stopping cars and asking drivers and passengers to reveal their wrists in search of these bracelets, pupils would be stopped on the way to school and searched for such bracelets. And if you happen to be caught with one, the bracelets would be practically ripped off of your wrist, causing pain and bruises. The funny thing was that the more bracelets the Israeli soldiers destroyed, the more were produced. We wore the bracelets showing our political affiliation with pride, and we would take them off when the soldiers were nearby because political affiliation meant a long time in prison, up to 7 or 8 years, sometimes even longer. Being offered to join a liberation movement, even if one declined, meant being locked up inside Israeli jails for 2 to 3 years. It is well-known that torture is a standard procedure inside Israeli jails: Children and adults would be tortured and forced to confess to things they didn’t do or confess on others. Some would confess that someone is affiliated with this or that party or that someone was asked to join a certain liberation movement, and whether it was true or not or whether the person accepted or refused to join played no role, that person would be arrested and imprisoned.

For the suppression of Palestinian cultural identity, the Israeli army controlled cultural clubs, cinemas and cultural performances and events. The gathering of 10 people or more in a certain place for political reasons or what “could be interpreted” as political, joining a gathering or a meeting or a demonstration, encouraging one or calling for one was illegal and was punished with 10 years in jail or a fine of 2000 Israeli Lira or both (see see for example Order concerning Prohibition of Incitement Activities and Hostile Propaganda (West Bank Region) (No’ 101), 1967 and Order concerning Prohibition of Incitement Activities and Hostile Propaganda (Judea and Samaria) (No’ 1423), 1995). Public displays, theatrical plays or even a circus needed the permission of the Israeli military commander. Anyone producing, taking part in or even providing place for such gatherings and displays without prior consent of the IOF would be imprisoned for 3 months or fined with 500 Israeli Liras or both (see Order concerning Public Performances (Censorship) (West Bank) (No’ 49), 1974 or Order concerning Control Over Cinema Films Law (West Bank Region) (No’ 118), 1967). Weddings, literary and cultural events would be raided and often such events organized by universities would be banned. Palestinian weddings were another form of celebrating the Palestinian identity. Before the Intifada, Palestinian wedding would last three days and nights of pure Palestinian folklore and resistance songs and dances. In the afternoons, after everyone had come back home from work, all would gather at the bridegroom’s house which would be turned into an open-air stage. Dabkeh groups from everywhere would be showing their talents one after the other. Young men and women in beautiful Palestinian traditional clothes would be dancing, singing or playing musical instruments. Palestinian cultural and national resistance songs would be heard all night long and till the early hours of the morning. People from nearby and faraway towns, villages and refugee came would come to attend these weddings, for they were Palestinian cultural festivals at a time when expressing you identity was “illegal”. Sometimes, the Israeli soldiers would raid these weddings to disperse the gathering or in search of “wanted” Palestinians. These wedding were a chance for children and youth to know more about Palestinian folktales, dances and songs. It was during such national festivals that I was first introduced to the dances and songs of Jrash, my mother’s original village ethnically cleansed in 1948 by Zionist terror groups. In Sawahreh, similar weddings took place, the difference being that in Sawahreh the songs and the dances were mostly traditional Palestinian folklore. And when the bride or bridegroom happened to come from a faraway town or refugee camp, on the way we would sing Palestinian songs. One very dear memory was a wedding of a cousin of my mothers, whose wife came from a refugee camp near Ramallah. So we made the journey from Dheisheh near Bethlehem to Ramallah via Jerusalem (before Jerusalem became off-limits for Palestinians). As we passed through Jerusalem, we started singing louder and some even started crying. They might try as hard as they want, but they will never be able to uproot us from Palestine or uproot Palestine from our hearts and minds.

A Palestinian national identity would refute various Zionist myths, thus all forms of expressing this identity such as literature, arts and music become a threat. The Zionist entity didn’t want to see any celebration of the Palestinian identity, or any sign of support and solidarity amongst Palestinians and with the outside world. With the beginning of the charade called “peace process”, the Israeli laws of censorship were somewhat relaxed. Nevertheless, the Israeli efforts to eliminate the Palestinian identity and create a rein Jewish entity continue. The Zionist entity thought that with its theatrical move of “generously granting” (according to its Hasbara) the Palestinians a very limited authority in the ghettos of the West Bank and besieging the Gaza Strip, that the Palestinian Cause would become a closed chapter and that the Palestinian national aspirations would be satisfied by Israel’s version of a “Palestinian state”, this being nothing more than an improved version of the failed “Village Leagues” experiment. Today, Israeli attacks on the Palestinian identity and symbols still take place and Palestinian – and to some extent pro-Palestine foreign – activists, writers, journalists and artists are attacked, harassed and arrested in an effort to silence them. What the Zionist entity fears and sees as a growing threat to its existence is the continuation of the struggle and activism in occupied Palestine, the growing support for Palestine and the Palestinian Cause in the world and the strengthened unity and solidarity amongst Muslim, Christian and Jewish indigenous Palestinians in occupied Palestine and elsewhere. Despite decades of oppression and occupation, despite the on-going ethnic cleansing of Palestine, despite all the massacres, the land theft, the colonization, the imprisonments and the deportations, and despite all the war crimes committed by Israel against the Palestinians, the Zionist entity failed in its goal to eliminate the Palestinian national identity and the Palestinian aspirations and hunger for freedom and self-determination. Despite the bans and the threats, we read, wrote and sang of Palestine, we raised the Palestinian flag high and we celebrated being Palestinians in all of occupied Palestine, yesterday, today and will continue to celebrate Palestine every single day. And because the Zionist entity tried in vain to prevent us from writing, reading, singing, expressing and celebrating our national and cultural identity, it is essential that we boycott this entity in every form possible, particularly in this regard to boycott its academic and cultural institutions and its academic and cultural activities and festivals. It is our duty and our responsibility to culturally and academically boycott the Zionist entity until total Liberation.

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© http://avoicefrompalestine.wordpress.com

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The Extrajudicial Execution of Mahmoud Salah

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On 08.03.2002, 23 year old Mahmoud Salah from Nablus was killed in cold-blood by the Israeli border police. According to several witnesses, Mahmoud was arrested at the Beit Hanina checkpoint, searched and handcuffed. The Israeli police took off Mahmoud’s clothes and 30 minutes after his arrest, and while under the control of the Israeli border police, Mahmoud was executed. A bomb-detecting robot was brought to deceive the world and claim Mahmoud was a suicide bomber.

According to AFP, one witness, Yehiya al-Waari, 56, testified that Salah:

“was assassinated half an hour after his arrest, after police completely subdued him.”…”At around 4:15pm on Friday, a border guard police patrol came to the Third Project in Nuseibeh Housing Project in Occupied Jerusalem and summoned two youths who were in the street there, one of them was a member of the Nuseibeh Quarter and his name was Randy, and the other youth was saying that his name is Mahmoud from Nablus region”…..”when Mahmud arrived, he was immediately handcuffed, then (the policemen) raised his hands and threw him against my car. Minutes later, a police bomb disposal unit arrived on the scene.”… “A policeman had put his foot on (Salah’s) neck, another was holding his legs while and a third his hands. All the neighbours and myself saw from our windows and balconies how he was executed, more than half an hour after his arrest,” …”The members of the special units threw him to the ground and cut open and removed his clothes with a special blade, leaving him with only his boxer shorts on,”… “Members of the regular police were, from the start, clearly disagreeing with the members of the special units who executed Salah and were repeating in Hebrew: ‘Let’s kill him!”. Al-Waari adds that the Israeli border police executed Salah “from a distance 40 to 60 centimetres … and left him lying on the ground for 40 minutes until his death. They then brought robot to remove an explosive belt”.[1]

Zionist and Co media repeated the propaganda of the Israeli border police claiming that the Israeli police had shot dead a Palestinian who was on his way to carry out a suicide attack. In one statement after the other, the Israeli police tried to justify the murder. One Israeli police spokesman, Kobi Zarhad, claimed that Salah “was wearing a explosive belt on his stomach and detonator on his chest.” adding that “This person was killed because he could not be subdued. It is only after he was dead that we were able to remove the (explosive) belt”.[2]

In a press release, the Israeli police insolently claimed that Mahmoud:

“was held on the ground, face down, while a bomb disposal expert attempted to dismantle the explosive device. This lasted a number of minutes. During this time, the suicide bomber attempted several times to detonate the bomb by rubbing his chest against the ground in the hope of activating the detonation switch. In order to prevent the murder of the policemen and the bomb disposal officer, the suicide bomber was shot and killed by police. The bomb was dismantled with the aid of a bomb disposal robot.”[3]

The Palestinians who witnessed the execution refuted the story of the Israeli border police, and said that it was an execution, a murder in cold blood. Unknown to the Israeli police, the whole execution was being filmed from a nearby building. The footage shows clearly how Mahmoud Salah was forced on the ground, his clothes being taken off (no explosive belt to be seen) and then executed. A robot is brought to “dismantle” the nonexistent explosive belt. The pictures taken prove what the eye witnesses said and expose the Israeli lies.

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Pic1: Israeli police arrest Mahmoud and his friend.

Pic2: Mahmoud pushed to the ground by the police.

Pic3: Witnesses are sent away through gun shots in the air.

Pic4: Witnesses are sent away through gun shots in the air.

Pic5: Mahmoud is being held to the ground. This refutes the Israeli lie that Mahmoud was killed because he could not be subdued.

Pic6: While pointing their guns at the handcuffed Mahmoud, the Israeli policemen take off his clothes.

Pic7: Mahmoud, handcuffed and almost naked, is executed. It’s clear that there is NO belt, No large explosive device of any kind tied to his body.

Pic8: A robot is brought in to “examine the body”. Mahmoud is dead on the ground face down.

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The pictures show Mahmoud’s almost naked body. Nowhere is an explosive belt to be seen.

Notice in Pic8, Mahmoud is dead on the ground face down, so how did the robot dismantle the – obviously nonexistent – explosive device? whatever it is the robot is “examining”, it wasn’t there as Mahmoud was executed. If that thing is the “source of the explosives”, why was the almost-naked, hand-cuffed Mahmoud executed?

Mahmoud was arrested, handcuffed, under the control of the soldiers and completely subdued for a whole 30 minutes before he was executed, which also refutes the Israeli lie that it took a few minutes.

Pic6 shows some soldiers pinning Mahmoud to the ground just before executing him. If Mahmoud had an explosive device tied to his stomach, would the Israeli police hold him on the ground face down? Would they have held him and sat on him like that had they had 0.1% of a doubt that he had an explosive belt on him? No, they would never have dared do that. They were SURE there was no explosive belt!

According to the Jerusalem Post, the Israeli Police Inspector General Shlomo Aharonishky called two Israeli border policemen who executed Mahmoud to personally thank them.

Sources:

www.ccmep.org/hotnews/images031202.html

www.bintjbeil.com/A/news/2002/0311_salah.html

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[1] http://www.ccmep.org/hotnews/images031202.html

[2] Ibid

[3] Ibid

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© http://avoicefrompalestine.wordpress.com/

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This is Zionism (1)

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© http://avoicefrompalestine.wordpress.com/

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Jeanne d’Arc and the Struggle for a Free Palestine

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(by Palestinian artist Mohammad Alrouqi)

A couple of days ago, I watched a documentary about Jeanne d’Arc, the French peasant girl who became a national heroine. “Jeanne d’Arc” was one of the very first books I read as a child, the first grown-up book. I don’t remember who the author was, but most probably some European and we had the Arabic translation of the book. The book-cover showed a painting of a girl in medieval military costume and holding some sort of spear. It was actually the cover that first drew my attention to the book, and made me anxious to know what it was all about. The story was extremely long, maybe over 300 pages, but I found it so fascinating that every day I would come back home from school, do my home works quickly so as to dedicate myself to “Jeanne d’Arc”. Usually, when reading a book, I would read in between studying, watching my favourite children shows on TV, and playing with my siblings. But when I really liked a book, I would dedicate myself completely to it, and would ignore everything else, except my homework which could not be ignored. I would spend every free minute devouring the book. I would try to read as many pages as possible before it was time for bed. Some nights, when I’d reached a part that was just too exciting to be left for the next day, I would wait till my parents had gone to sleep and would sneak to the room where our library stood, get the book, sneak back to the bedroom and sit under the small lamp and read.

My parents had encouraged my siblings and I to read since a very early age, so we grew up with books being our constant companion. At the time, being only a child, I truly believed that “Jeanne d’Arc” was written originally in Arabic. Somehow, maybe from TV, I had already figured out that the French would speak French and would know no Arabic because Arab countries were so far away from France, so they most probably had never seen the book or heard of Jeanne. Yes, of course the people who lived in Jeanne’s time knew about her, but they were all dead and I feared she was forgotten. I felt bad about it especially that the girl had sacrificed her life for France, and we knew about her but the French didn’t. So, I decided to introduce Jeanne d’Arc to the French; I would translate the book. The first problem I encountered in my endeavour was the fact that I didn’t speak French. I took French classes later, but at the time I knew no French at all. I spend sleepless nights thinking how to solve this problem. Remember, I was a child at the time, and truly believed the French had most probably forgotten Jeanne. In the end, I figured out since we Palestinians took English at school, and since England was not far away from France, it follows that the French would also take English classes at school. And so it was: I started translating the book into the little English I knew at the time, and when necessary, which was often, I used my father’s huge red Arabic/English dictionary that was full with beautiful paintings. At that very time, I remember going with my family to visit some neighbours of ours, and as one elderly woman hugged and kissed me, she asked me what I wanted to be when I grow up. I didn’t think at all, but immediately replied: I want to write a book. I was thinking of Jeanne d’Arc.

When I first read “Jeanne d’Arc” at that very early age, I was confronted with facts that reminded me much of our own situation as Palestinians, facts that made me think about our own struggle. Jeanne d’Arc fascinated me for many reasons, but mainly because she fought for the liberation of her country from the occupiers. I was a child, and Jeanne was no more than a child herself, a child who was fighting one of the strongest armies at the time; the English army. This, otherwise just another book, opened my eyes to a few facts. Growing up in occupied Palestine, seeing how the Israeli soldiers were treating us, seeing their brutality especially in Dheisheh refugee camp, hearing and reading about their crimes against the Palestinian people, it was clear that our struggle, our fight for independence, liberation and for legitimate rights is never easy and one should have a long breath. But no matter how long, how hard, how full of pain and suffering this path is, one must walk it, for one’s sake and for the sake of others. Justice will prevail, no matter how long it takes, as long as we keep struggling for justice.

Jeanne, who also knew the occupation, was accused of being a witch, was banned by the church and was burned on the stake. Despite so many enemies, and so many people who thought her cause was lost, even among her very own people, Jeanne believed in what she did. It was only years later after her death that she got a just trial and was announced a martyr. It was years after her death that her kinsmen decided they can only be liberated when they are free from their occupiers and it was years after her death that French people finally liberated France and drew out the occupiers. We Palestinians often stood alone in our fight for freedom. We were betrayed, ridiculed, and abandoned by brothers and friends and still are. To me; this only strengthens our will and our belief in our just cause, because never was a just cause easily supported. History tells us that the fight for freedom is not easy, and that no matter how bad things get, we should never give up or stop believing in our just cause, even when everyone else is against us. There were days when the situation did get really bad, so bad that we would think justice is so farfetched, avoiding us, and that everyone, including justice itself, have abandoned us. But this pessimism would not last long. I often heard my grandfather and my father say that no matter how long it will take, Palestine will be free one day. They would say: we know it won’t be in our time, we wish it would, but there is no doubt that one day it will be. My grandfather, who lived in his original village Jrash, fought the Zionist terror groups who attacked Jrash. Even when their ammunition was over, My grandfather and the other men refused to surrender and sat in vain waiting for help from the Arab armies. In the end, they were forced to surrender to protect the lives of the women and children, and were forced out of their homes by the Zionist terrorists. My grandfather was forced to live in a refugee camp and went through the same Zionist terror and Arab betrayal in 1967, but he never gave up, never lost hope and is sure that Palestine will be free one day. He knows most probably he won’t live to see it, but he has no doubts whatsoever that his children or his grandchildren or their children will live in a free Palestine. That is why he keeps the key to their home in Jrash, like my grandmother did until her death. This is one thing that keeps us fighting for freedom despite all the suffering, that gives us the energy and the will to continue the struggle for our rights and for our lands: it is the believe that we are fighting a just cause, and when you fight for a just cause you are destined to win, no matter how long it takes, no matter how much suffering it costs. We are destined to win.

Another fact I realized early on is the use of false information and propaganda by the occupying power to discredit freedom fighters. The English accused Jeanne of being a witch, at a time when witch hunts were a popular instrument to get rid of one’s enemies and opponents. At that young age, it was clear to me that the Israelis were spreading lies about us. Growing up, we didn’t have any satellite dishes in Palestine as we do today, and so the only media outlets we had were the Jordanian TV (which most of the time ignored what was going on in occupied Palestine), the Israeli TV and when the weather was fine we could receive the transmission of the Syrian TV. Because we didn’t have any internet, and most towns and villages had no telephone lines, we were somewhat forced to listen to the Arabic service of the Israeli TV and the Israeli radio to remain updated on what was going on in occupied Palestine. This occupier service would report on any demonstrations, clashes and other events taking place all over occupied Palestine, but of course from the viewpoint of the occupier: Facts were distorted and Zionist propaganda propagated. For example, they always used the term “Judea and Samaria” (for West Bank) and Urshalim (for Jerusalem), thinking thus that the young generations of Palestinians would get used to these term and start using them as well, which I found really stupid, as if we would ever forget that this is Palestine. The term “terrorist” was used to describe Palestinians. In Arabic, it was translated into “mukharrib”, because “irhabi” (terrorist) was not that trendy at the time as it is now. So, every Palestinian who resisted the occupation, from a sit-in to trying to prevent an Israeli soldier from arresting someone or demolishing a home, was a “mukharrib”. We all hated these reports, and would all be swearing while listening to them, but had no choice. I also hated those Palestinian journalists from Yaffa or Haifa or Nazareth who worked for the Israeli TV and would appear on the screen every evening and tell us that we, the Palestinians of “Judea and Samaria and Gaza”, were “mukharribin”. I could not comprehend how one would in all insolence indirectly say that the child that was shot dead some hours earlier deserved it because he dared throw a stone at the fully-armed Israeli soldiers. They knew that Palestine, all of Palestine, is occupied by Israel, and that we are struggling for our and their freedom, for they were Palestinians as well, even if they carried Israeli ID’s. And this led me to think: if this is what Israel is telling us, the Palestinians, what would it be telling the world?

So, one other fact is the importance of our voice. We Palestinians, as an oppressed people, should inform peoples around the world of our suffering under the brutal military Zionist occupation, and of our struggle for freedom. Those sleepless nights of a child thinking about how to inform the French about Jeanne so they never forget her sacrifice or the horrors of occupation, made me determined that we Palestinians need to write and spread the word. Our struggle must never ever be forgotten. My first try at informing the outside world about our cause started a couple of years later. Earlier efforts to “produce” a newspaper on my own failed miserably; after handwriting the first edition of a magazine, I discovered it was an impossible mission without a printer or at least a photocopier which I obviously didn’t have. Some years later, I discovered a much easier way to inform people, one that didn’t need printers. What to today’s young people facebook and twitter is, was to us the pen pals. At school, most of us had pen pals; correspondence friends from all over the world. There was some Finnish company that connected children with each other: we would fill a form about ourselves and our hobbies, and after some time we would either get the addresses of our to-be-pen pals from the company and start writing letters or we would receive letters directly from different pen pals. I myself had some 50 pen pals from so many countries and used to write letters of 10+ pages and sometimes up to 25 pages per letter. It was my simple way of telling these people who lived so far away what was going on in Palestine. I would write about the occupation, our daily life, our daily suffering and our daily struggle for freedom. I also wrote about my dreams, my hopes and my fears: in summary it was a chronicle about the life of a child trying to grow up under a brutal occupation. It was important for me to write because it was also a way for me to handle everything I personally went through, saw, heard or read about. Whether the letter was read or not, I don’t know, but to me it was important to write it because it meant someone out there will read this letter one day and will know about the occupation: the injustice will be exposed.

My pen pals were mostly my age, some were a couple of years older, but most had no or very little idea about Palestine. They came from different countries all over the world: for example there was one pupil from Northern Ireland who told me about life there. Another was from Chile and wrote me long letters about the Pinochet reign of terror. A third was a German from a traditional farmer family who somehow had heard about Palestine and wanted to know more, and at the same time another pen pal from Germany who was a Turkish pupil and told me about her life as a Turkish in the German speaking area. And so I had my own international family: People from all over the world with whom I would share my thoughts and tell them about my life as a Palestinian and they would tell me about their struggles and their hopes and fears, and most importantly through their written words they were extending their hands beyond space and borders to hold mine, would whisper encouraging word to me and would give me their full support. None of them stopped the correspondence because I am a “Palestinian terrorist” as their media would describe us, none of them stopped the friendship because they didn’t want any contact with someone who “attacked Israel”, none of them wrote in defence of Israel or used Zionist propaganda to justify Israel’s crimes. They didn’t believe this propaganda, they believed the words of a girl their age who was writing to them about her life under occupation: they were understanding and supportive. And when they did tell me about Israel, it was to inform me that their media ignores our suffering, and that our voice was not heard there.

Thinking about it now, at least I know I was able to inform these 50 friends and they must have informed their friends and so on. Today, all of us grown up, and although I lost contact with most of them, I am sure that they wouldn’t take what their Zionist media tells them about us for granted, and I am sure they tell their children to do the same. This was confirmed when I got in contact with one of my former pen pals many years after we had lost contact. Despite living in the states and being by Zionist propaganda the whole time, this particular friend never forgot what I wrote about the occupation and the brutality of the Zionist entity. I got another confirmation of how effective these pen pal friendships were during one political seminar I attended in Germany a couple of years ago. The participants were from several countries. One evening, after the daily discussion sessions were over, we went on a walk during which some of the participants asked me about Palestine. We talked and discussed the situation there. One German participant said that she was always supportive of Palestine. She had known about Palestine and the Palestinians from a Palestinian pen pal she had when she was still a pupil. That pen pal opened her eyes to the truth and what was going on in what they, as Germans, knew to be Israeli territory. This is no isolated case in Germany. I myself met many who informed me that they didn’t know what Palestine is or Palestinians are. So strong is the Zionist influence there, it is no surprise to meet a university student who doesn’t know that there exists an occupied Palestine.

Many of us saw this as a chance to inform the world. We didn’t have internet, so writing was one way to inform the world of our suffering in occupied Palestine. Writing letter was our facebook, twitter, blog, etc. I should maybe mention that it was me who broke the connections. These friends continued sending letters long after I stopped replying. The only excuse I have is that I had just started my third year at the university and had so much studying to do, and with every letter I wrote less and less, until I stopped writing completely for lack of time. Later I felt bad about it, and regretted it much, but what is done is done.

Another way to inform the world, the more effective way I believe, is activism on the street. Demonstrations, sit-ins, marches, cultural activities and much more were our way of telling the outside world: we are Palestinians, this is Palestine and we are here to stay. Every form of resistance, even by wearing a Kuffeyeh or a necklace with the map of Palestine, was telling the occupation: we don’t fear you, and your weapons won’t stop us. We would write stories and poems and draw paintings depicting our lives under the occupation and our struggle for freedom. We would learn dabkeh and stitch Palestinian embroidery. We would join marches and sit-ins. This was our message to the Zionist entity and to the outside world: we will never give up the fight for our freedom and our legitimate rights. We knew the Zionist soldiers would not hesitate in shooting at Palestinians armed only with stones, or often armed only with their belief in their cause and their love for Palestine. But it didn’t matter for we had a goal: freedom. And there were days when after being so close to death, we would lie in bed at night and think: it was worth it, the world will hear our voice, receive our message. We will not suffer in silence, nor give anyone the chance to justify their indifference by claiming: we didn’t know.

Some years ago, during one huge demonstration in Germany in support of Palestine and Palestinian rights and in protest of Israeli war crimes, we marched in thousands carrying Palestinian flags and chanting for Palestine. I think maybe that was one of the largest demos the city I live in had ever witnessed. As we marched, people would come to us and ask us about Palestine, about our reasons for the march and we would explain it to them. As usual, a few Zionists and Neo-Nazis (contrary to what many believe, these two often join efforts when it comes to actions against Palestine or Arabs/Muslims in general ) didn’t like what we were doing and would insult us, call us names and “demand” that we leave their country. At first I was angry, but then I realized that they were actually angry, outraged, mad that we were marching in such numbers, that they realize they can’t stop us, that unlike the Zionist-run media, they can’t silence our voices. We were marching and chanting for Palestine, and the only thing these Nazis and Zionists could do is shout, but our voices were louder. While their message was that of hate and racism, ours was that of freedom and a just peace.

Today, our pen pals are our acquaintances on facebook and twitter. Almost every one of us has a facebook account, a twitter account, and many even a blog or a website. We use these sites to inform as many people as possible about Palestine, to tell them the truth, what the main stream media will not tell them. It can’t be denied that the internet has helped a lot in spreading awareness about Palestine and the struggle for liberation. Often I hear from people, especially Europeans, how some 20 or 30 years ago they rarely knew about Palestine or heard their main news outlets mention Palestinians other than terrorists threatening Israel. They tell me how their idea about Palestine was formed by the pro-Zionist media, and many admit that the internet helped them see the truth. Nevertheless, I believe this is in no way an alternative to the struggle and activism on the ground. Arranging an event on facebook to commemorate Jenin massacre or the Gaza genocide or any other event in support of Palestine and Palestinian rights, then inviting thousands to “attend” this event is not the same as organizing an event in Ramallah, in Bethlehem, in Nazareth or any other place in the world. The struggle to liberate Palestine is real because Palestine is real.

An event on facebook or on twitter would attract the attention of many people, but as I was told during a discussion on activism, it is easy to turn off the TV, the radio or the PC when one isn’t interested. And this is true for facebook and twitter, anyone not interested in a certain topic would easily block those actively working for this topic. If I don’t like a certain topic, I don’t have to visit websites and blogs related to this topic, and if I get a message about such sites I delete them without reading them. But hundreds, thousands demonstrating at the same time in almost all Palestinian towns and villages (as was the case during the first Intifada) would get much attention these days. It could never be ignored. Hundreds or thousands marching in a city and chanting could never be ignored. Bystanders can look away, they can shut their ears, but we would be there and they would know we are there, and more people would see the marchers, maybe join them or ask about the reason behind them and thus get informed. The media might ignore it, collaborating authorities might chose not to see it, even repress it, but they will know that we, the Palestinian people, have a voice, no one was ever able to silence us and nor will anyone ever be able to do that. That we, the Palestinian people, will never allow anyone to take us for granted, will never accept “concentration camps” as a substitute for a state, will never accept anything but total liberation.

We face them, unarmed except with a few stones and our belief in the justice of our cause. We face fully-armed soldiers and fear them not. They fear us. If you come close enough, you would be able to see the fear in their eyes: they know they are fighting a lost war, a lost cause. They are afraid of the small children going to school, they are afraid of young men and women standing opposite fully-armed killing machines at checkpoints and not afraid to look them in the eye, they are afraid of the elderly planting olive, apple and orange trees for their grandchildren and their children. They fear us because they know we are here to stay, and that none of the Nazi methods of the terrorist Zionist entity will be able to force us to leave. They fear us because they know without their weapons they don’t stand a chance against us. They know that our stones are more effective than their F-16, Apaches and Markavas. They fear us because they know that we don’t fear them. We stand opposite them, proud and strong with the belief in our just cause. They stand opposite us armed only with a history full of ethnic cleansing, land theft and massacring innocent peoples. They fear us for we carry the love of the land in our hearts and are willing to sacrifice ourselves for this land, while they know that the only thing that makes them face us “in the name of their fake entity” is the shield of weapons they hide behind. They know we are winning. They know that they are defeated; they know this every day. They know they are defeated when we continue to go to our fields and work them despite their terror and despite the terror of Zionist settlers. They know they are defeated when we go to our school and universities, and sit in bombarded classes, with F16 flying over our schools and continue to learn about Palestine, draw it and sing about it. They know they are defeated when we refuse to give up the Right to Return and when young Palestinians insist they come from Jrash, Zakariya and Deraban. They know they are defeated when we refuse to accept a disfigured “state” on less than 20% of Palestine. They know they are defeated when we stand as one, speak as one and refuse to be instrumented by those fighting over a fake “authority”.

They know they are defeated. With every breath we take, they know they are defeated.

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© http://avoicefrompalestine.wordpress.com/

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Palestine, Forgive Us

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Another year is closing and we have not yet liberated you from your usurper. Another year is closing and we have not alleviated your pain and suffering. Another year is closing and your blood, the blood of your children, is still being shed…. your tears, the tears of your children still run… your soul, the souls of your children still scream out for justice. Another year is closing and our land is still desecrated, our people still oppressed, our flag still trampled upon and our unit still broken.

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Palestine, forgive us;

for forgetting that you are our mother and we your children. Forgive us for forgetting that our unity is what kept us strong, and that we abandoned you the day we chose your killer over our brothers and sisters for the sake of a throne, a red carpet and a fake “Authority”. Forgive us for forgetting that we are one and we remain one only through you, that your love was the bond that kept us together. Forgive us for forgetting that there was a time when we stood as one, and had one name: Palestinians. We didn’t call ourselves Muslim nor Christian nor Jew nor Atheist: we were Palestinians. We didn’t call ourselves Fathawi nor Jabhawi nor Hamsawi: we were Palestinians. We didn’t call ourselves local or returnee: we were Palestinians. We didn’t call ourselves moderate or leftist or extremist: we were Palestinians. Forgive us for we stripped ourselves off of the names you gave us, and exchanged “freedom fighter” for “peace activist” and “Palestine” for “Palestinian Territory” and “submission” for “negotiation” and “oppression” for “peace”. And for the sake of a throne and a Mercedes we allowed your killers to classify us: “peace activist”, “terrorist“, “moderate”, “extremist”. Forgive us Palestine, for their opinion was more important and yours didn’t matter anymore, for it is them who pay and you are the goods to be delivered.

Palestine, forgive us;

for forgetting that you are the first and you are the last, that you are the beginning and you the end, that from you we emerged and that to your bosom we return. You gave us a name, and we used your name to promote ourselves and to build firms and businesses. You gave us a home, and we desecrated it by shaking hands with your usurpers and allowing them into your heart in the name of “peace” and “being moderate”. You loved us freely, and we asked for a price for that love so “we can continue our struggle for you”. You forgave our falls and our mistakes, but we continue to use your suffering so we can increase our bank accounts, drive a Mercedes and live in a villa.

Palestine, forgive us;

for we exchanged a homeland for a throne. We exchanged your green valleys for the red carpet. We exchanged your flag wrapped around the sacred bodies of your martyred children for an imitation hoisted half mast opposite the gun of an Israeli sniper. We exchanged the fight for freedom for a fight for more “ministers”, more “initiatives” and more “road maps”, and swore to negotiate, negotiate and negotiate till the last breath of your children, till the last rain drop falls on your fields, till the last poppy blossoms on your hilltops.

Palestine, forgive us;

for we believed in figures and symbols more than we believed in you. We made them our “Gods” and allowed them to guide us from one “process” to another, from one “initiative” to another, from one concession to another and from one catastrophe to another. We made them more important than you. We allowed them to set the criteria for what is to be “Palestine” and what is not to be “Palestine”, what is acceptable as form of “resistance” and what is not acceptable as form of “resistance”, who is to be our “enemy” and who is to be our “friend”, and that for the sake of a president and a cabinet who can’t move an inch without a permit from the Zionist occupation.

Palestine, forgive us;

for we forgot who we are, and what we are. We forgot who you are and what you are. We allow others to speak in our name, be our voice and we forget that you gave birth to Ibrahim Touqan, to Ghassan Kanafani, to Naji Al-Ali, to Mahmoud Darwish and so many others. We allow bias Zionist-run media to talk for us, to talk of us and to use us the way it chooses in return for the fame and publicity that is promised us. We allow them to paint our past, present and future as if we had no saying in it, as if we had no identity. We talk, write and sing of Mohammad Jamjoum, Fu’ad Hijazi and Ata Al-Zeer, of Lina Nabulsi and Dala Al Mughrabi and the thousands of your children whose body is mingled with your sacred earth, but we forget that they remained loyal to you till the last breath, that they chose death over betraying you.

Palestine, forgive us;

for we the children of Canaan allow the Zionists to erase our identity, our history, our roots in the land of Canaan. We allow them to turn your paradise into a desert, we allow them to uproot your ancient olive trees, we allow them to kill your poppies. We stand still while you are being disfigured by distorted structures that are alien to you, while your forests are being destroyed, while your natural wealth is being stolen, while your fields are being razed. The beauty of you that was the scene of our childhood fades away and your body is infected with colonial cancer, and we stand still as it eats your body and console ourselves with the few tiny bits here and there where we are still allowed to touch you.

Palestine, forgive us;

for forgetting your pain and thinking only about our pain, for justifying our acceptance of your desecration and for using your children as excuse for accepting any “peace” that is forced upon us. Forgive us for not wishing to know, for not wishing to acknowledge, that any peace other than a just peace won’t bring a decent life to our children. Forgive us for hiding behind our children, and claiming we want a future for them. Forgive us for choosing to ignore the fact that as long as there is an occupation, our children, your children, will have no peace and no future. Forgive us for accepting concessions with the excuse:” this is the best offer we will ever get”, as if we were discussing a watermelon or a used car we are about to buy. Forgive us for forgetting that the land is OURS and that no fake history, no flown-in immigrants and no Apache, Merkava or Demona should make us ever forget that! Forgive us, for we demanded explanations from your children who were forced out of their homes under Zionist gun threat as you were raped in 1948 and blamed them for our current state, and today we are participating in this rape in the name of negotiations, a statehood and a president.

Palestine, forgive us;

for we forget what you are, where you begin and where you end. We draw you complete as you should be; from the river to the sea, but we define your borders according to the will of your usurper. We define Palestine as East Jerusalem, Ramallah, Gaza, Nilin and Bilin, and choose to forget your Jerusalem, Haifa, Yaffa and Acca and every single millimetre of your precious soil. We replace Palestine with Palestinian Territory, Jerusalem with Abu Dees and the Aqsa with the Muqata’a. Palestine, forgive us, for we are negotiating with your murderers and we are selling your body to the highest bidder.

Palestine, forgive us;

for we prefer to immigrate to Canada, to the US and to Europe, and leave you alone with your murderers. We prefer to enjoy the blue sky and the sun, while your skies are clouded with tear gas and bombs. We prefer to enjoy the stars at night, while your nights are lit up with phosphorous bombs. We prefer to enjoy the parks and the gardens and forget your hills and valleys usurped by American and European colonists. We choose to leave you and escape your pain and suffering, while so many of your children stay steadfast despite Zionist terror. We forget that many of your sons and daughters never saw you and cry blood for the wish of seeing you, and we, who have been blessed with Jerusalem, Hebron, Haifa and Gaza want to give them up and immigrate.

Palestine, forgive us;

for we place individual interests above our national interests. We fight each other instead of fighting our enemy. We have made brothers of your enemies, of our enemies, and we have made enemies of your children, of our brothers. We threaten your children with a bloody revenge after a squall, but shake the blood-soaked hands of the killers of your children. We swear that none of your children other than us would ever have a saying over 20% of your sacred soil, but agree to let your usurpers rape 80% of your body. We declare proudly that we never raised even a stone against your usurper and announce a century of resistance to be “terrorism” and “futile”.

Palestine, forgive us;

for we stand by and watch as your children are murdered on the way to school, on the way home, on the way to the olive fields, as your children are thrown out of their homes, as your children are locked up in torture cells, as your children starve to death, as your children are burned by white phosphorous. Our towns, homes, shops are full with Zionist products, while your children search for food in garbage dump. We, your children, who helped build neighbouring countries with our brains, our blood and our sweat, have become a people dependant on donor conferences. We have been reduced to Beggars! We congratulate ourselves for baking the largest Knakeh, for sewing the longest dress, but watch as Zionist colonist burn down our homes and our fields, while they kick us out of our homes. We watch as IOF soldiers humiliate us at every checkpoint, kidnap our brothers and sisters every single day, every single night. We watch as our brothers and sisters still live in tents, don’t have fresh water to drink, sit in the darkness at night.

Palestine, forgive us;

for we are partners in the crime, through our silence, our acceptance and the concessions of those who claim to represent us. Your soil is angry, your sky is mourning, your children are crying, shedding blood, for through our current silence, our current subsidence, we betrayed their souls and left the path they have paved for us with their lives.

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But Palestine, you know us, for you are our mother. You know that we are steadfast and will remain steadfast to the last breath and to the last drop of blood. You know us, and you know that the road is full of obstacles, it might take us some time, we might be slow, every step might cause you and us so much suffering, so much loss, but it is our destined road and are taking it. We are taking every step, no matter how painful, no matter how many of us fall, because every step brings us closer to you, every step liberates your fields and hills, every step heals your wounds. Palestine, our memory is still intact, our hearts still throbbing with your love, we are still alive. You know, Palestine, we rose up one time after the other, we never gave up no matter. We will rise up again, and again and again till the world realizes that without our freedom, your freedom, there is no freedom.

So, rest assured, Palestine, your loyal children, our grandparents and parents planted your love in our hearts, their blood, your blood, runs in our veins and as they gave you their word never to forget and never to give up, we give you our word: we walk on the footsteps of your loyal sons and daughters, we will carry their massage and their memory in our hearts, we will continue their struggle, will continue to resist, will remain steadfast until total liberation.

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© http://avoicefrompalestine.wordpress.com/

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