I Am Changed by the Things I Have Seen in Palestine
The genocide in Gaza passed its two-month mark today (though it’s important to note that the occupation of Palestinian territory has been ongoing for over 75 years). Over these two months, the 25-mile stretch of land had been besieged by bombing, white phosphorus attacks, deprivation of food and water. I am forever changed by the things I have seen.
I have seen a beautiful land destroyed. Churches and mosques, some of the oldest in the world, decimated. Olive trees chopped down or torched.
I have seen the bodies of dead children held up by their parents for the cameras, unable to grieve privately because they need to prove to the world that yes, they are dying, their children are dying. I have seen them cradling burial shrouds, styling their hair so they look nice even in death. I have seen doctors perform painful surgeries on their own children without the use of anesthetics, only for them to die anyway. I have seen premature babies wither away slowly in their powerless incubators. 7,000 children gone before they even got a chance to live.
I have seen men dig through the rubble of their homes with their bare hands, calling out the names of their children. I have seen paramedics breaking down in tears as they comfort orphaned babies. I have seen journalists learn of the deaths of their whole families live on air, then immediately go back to reporting because the world needs to know, to see what is happening. I have seen women forced to talk about the intimate details of their menstruation because they don’t have pads or tampons, painkillers or heating pads. Small things that we take for granted in America. I have seen them all, bandaged and bleeding in ruined hospitals, eyes blank as people die and scream around them.
I have seen Motaz and Bisan and Plestia, young people like me with dreams, forced to put them on hold as they document the plight of their people, their country. I have watched them document the deaths of their own family members, the bombing of hospitals, the burning of their flesh as they come into contact with white phosphorus. I have watched the hope drain from them. I have read their goodbye letters.
I have also seen people sharing meals, za’atar and maqlubeh cooked over makeshift fires. I have seen children playing in the rain and kissing kittens they have rescued. I have seen men sitting in a circle together singing songs and laughing. I have seen families reunited with their imprisoned loved ones, holding each other so tight.
I have seen thousands across the globe come together in protest, waving the Palestinian flag high and demanding action. I have seen people go on hunger strikes, throw their car keys over bridges and refuse to move, flood Grand Central Station with sit-ins, march on Washington, glue themselves to the ground at the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, physically block giant cargo ships carrying weapons with kayaks.
I have seen politicians ignore our cries and refuse to call for a ceasefire. I have seen their crocodile tears for the suffering, then watched as they gave money and weapons to those causing the suffering. I have seen them accuse their critics of antisemitism, ignoring the fact that thousands of their critics are Jewish; I have watched them censure the only Palestinian member of the House of Representatives for the crime of begging for the freedom of her people. I have seen celebrities openly refer to Muslims and Arabs as rapists and terrorists, no longer attempting to hide their blatant racism and Islamophobia.
I don’t know how this will end. I don’t know if Gaza will even exist anymore when all is said and done, its people either massacred or forced to flee. What I do know is that I will never forget the things I have seen. I will never forget what has been done to these people and our complicity. And as long as I live, I will never let anyone else forget.
