On Palestine

Like most humans with a heart, my phone has been glued to my hand obsessively — it has filled me with heartbreak, grief, helplessness, and anger. Almost numb to everything else that is not Palestine.

I have been at a loss for words — I normally work through my feelings by writing. But for weeks, I have abstained as it is not my place to speak, it is not my voice that needs to be heard, so I share Palestinian voices. Of those brave and beautiful humans who were not given a choice in any of it. I am aware that my voice falls flat behind these voices.

But I’ve been thinking a lot about words, about how powerful they can be. About solidarity. About documenting this hurt so that it remains engrained in every fibre of my being for the rest of my life. In truth no-one really reads my medium so it feels like a safe space to catalogue these thoughts in a somewhat chaotic manner.

These people living unspeakable horrors day in and day out. I go to sleep thinking I have seen the worse humankind can do to one another and wake to find that Israel has found a new evil.

There is endless grief.

75 years of genocide — of loss, humiliation, of pain. It did not start on the 7th of October. I will not even try and defend my stance — anyone who has done any research. Who has read books, watched documentaries or even looked at maps before 1948 will know the undeniable truth of the land of Palestine and it’s stewards.

They will know that Zionism and Judaism are not the same thing and to imply so is highly offensive — you just have to listen to the thousands of Jews across the world who are screaming not in their name. To be against antisemitism to me is as natural as to be against islamophobia or any other discrimination. It’s not a religious war, it is not a war at all. It is an occupier mercilessly annihilating the occupied.

We as humans have a duty to oppose occupation in all its forms. We as South Asians who have known colonisation, who have known loss and pain — have a duty to ensure we do everything in our power to stand firm against it. It is not a choice upon us as humanity — as it is not a choice on the Palestinians to bear this suffering. It is a duty as fellow humans.

We will all be brought to account for our actions and inactions one day.

So, I bear witness.

I check accounts of people who have never heard of me every day, every hour. I pray for their wellbeing; I beg and cry and rage in my own space. I wish beyond anything that they didn’t have to endure this. That children didn’t know this terror. That mothers didn’t have to watch their loved ones die. That young journalists could just share beautiful stories and not document this horror. That the men of Palestine were given the dignity and honour they continue to show others during this horrific times.

I think a lot about my life, my career — how often I have wished I had become a doctor or an aid worker, that I could be there offering more than my hollow words here. I ponder on the value of my life and what more I could have done.

I have been navigating this world feeling sick to my stomach, nothing that mattered before will ever matter the same. I honestly feel disgusted that I had cared about such meaningless things before. There is so much helplessness seeping into me — the last time I remember feeling like this was while watching the livestreams of Grenfell.

Due to chronic migraines and other issues, I haven’t been able to go to the marches and how my heart longs to be in that space. I did recently have the chance to go to Joy Crookes fundraiser for Gaza and just to be in a space filled with people who hurt as much as I do. To feel solidarity, to sit in that pain together — it was something magical. The world we live in does not always reflect this — and I can’t help but feel so detached.

I bring up Palestine in all my conversations, I make sure everyone around me knows how much it has consumed me. I make people uncomfortable in their silence.

I will, until the day I die remain unwavering in my support for Palestine, no matter what it costs me — it will never be a drop in the ocean of what it costs them.

To stay silent, to ignore it, to switch off our phones — in my eyes is a crime.

We must now value the people in our lives on how they stand on Palestine. On how much they speak out and risk. It is so disappointing to see people around us not be consumed by this. I think (very selfishly) that if they can turn their backs on the Palestinians, then they can easily turn their backs on me. To see people who look like me, on the other side of the world suffering and receive silence from places that would make an impact, from people in my everyday life — that has broken something in me. In my belief in humanity. In my faith in the people around me.

Yet I feel self-centred even sharing these thoughts. It’s not about me. It never was.

I often think of the loss the world faces at losing so many bright, beautiful souls — each worthy of a full and loving life. I think of Dr. Refaat Alareer — of his wit — of his intelligence — of his kindness and the grief at his loss.

Of all the faces and names, we will never get to know. Of all the broken hearts of those left behind. The families who have been wiped off this earth. The children who will grow up not knowing their own names, not knowing the love of parents who prayed for their existence. The friendships that were meant to last until they were old and grey. Of the trauma that will live on in everyone who has witnessed this. Of everyone I cannot console but my soul yearns to shower in love and goodness.

They have built a home in my mind and soul and all I do is think of them.

So we will continue to shout and scream, to make people uncomfortable — to sign petitions, march, donate and boycott. We will continue to amplify Palestinian voices so that they cannot be silenced. We continue because we cannot give up. We can do that much.

I wish we could do more.

May we see a free Palestine in our lifetime and may we see justice prevail.