Written by Samira Binhamad
It is disturbing. Reading and watching the news on what is going on in your own territories and being incapable of doing a singular thing about it. It is disturbing to watch mothers mourn upon their killed children while sitting down with privileges, the guilt is eating you from the inside and goosebumps are spreading upon your body. One could wonder, for how long are we going to endure the ugliness of such circumstances? Is it going to last forever? Are we, as Palestinians, going to live under the fear of instability and insecurity for long?
Bias and chaos are what we live under. You might think that leaving the territory that fills you up with such feelings is the ultimate solution, something that a naïve politician sitting on his chair would think of. Palestinians endure on and outside of their territories. They cannot even express the words of “my territory” freely. If I were to count the times for when I had to go through the debate of “Isn’t that Israel you’re talking about?” or the “you mean Pakistan?” with pity looks are countless.. I have reached a level of numbness, one that comes after various observations of awful scenarios. No one would ever be able to understand how difficult it is to be A Palestinian.
Guidelines of subjectivity and chaos will never impede writing about Palestine. One needs to go through the lens of Anti-Semitism when mentioning the norm of objectivity of this cause. Anti-Semitism is a powerful weapon indeed, one that is used by almost any author, citizen, Israeli, in standing up against Palestinians demanding freedom. It is hideous, having reached the 21st century and still having the need to interpret why and how Palestinians demand freedom. “It is a sensitive topic” hits us in the face and ignites a million flames. In order to avoid getting political, the only historic statement that I will be mentioning as a backup to why Anti-Semitism as a weapon are the following: the existent Jewish communities that oppose the establishment of Israel along with the existing Jewish community in Palestine before 1948 (formulated 5% of the Palestinian population). This will undoubtedly answer the question of Anti-Semitism if understood and digested completely.
My mother used to recite this story to every friend or relative of mine as a way to prove how
dramatic her daughter is. The story starts by describing how my mother opened the door for the 3
years old me and my brother to go play in the yard and ends up with the Israeli soldier commanding
my mother to take us inside. IDF soldiers spread in our neighborhood which was in Qalqilya, a
city in the Westbank. My beloved mother starts here sarcastically imitating how I ran into the living
room crying and yelling “they shot me here” followed up by a laugh, a ridiculous laugh if I may.
The only memories I’m perfectly capable of recalling from my childhood would be anything related
to this misery. After several years, I was trying to interpret my reaction at that time only to find out
that a neighbor aged 16 years old named Walaa had a panic attack in front of our door and started
hysterically shouting “take them inside”. Walaa had previously witnessed the murder of her brother
by the IDF troops and at that exact moment, she got some flashbacks. I highly believe that the
attitude of being “dramatic” as my mom says, is a completely normal act that has been driven by
severe events along with a scenario that has been created in my head. Not a single child on this
planet earth should go through this, all kids have the right to go and play in their yards without
fearing a military intervention.
Situations, when I felt as if my head was replaced with flames, are countless times. However, I recall
dealing with an employee in Malta quite recently where I was giving out some personal
information, and all that sparked that internal flame was hearing her saying “but that is Israel?” as a
question, along with and allow me to say this, a stupid facial expression that demonstrates nothing
but stupidity. Having to be put in situations where people mismatch your land with an ugly
occupation is painful. I do not have the absolute authority to put the blame on them. I do blame
those who are fully aware of the situation of unfairness and still make wrong assumptions. I do,
nevertheless, blame with full consciousness, the media. The media is a monster. The power that the
media holds is scary.
Although some would think of this issue as misery, I still find it as a beautiful misery, and
emphasises are to be placed on the word “beautiful”. Call it in what generation Z know as
“flexing”, but I do highly believe that being born a Palestinian is a gift. A gift for which you will pay
a lot of taxes for. One that you will find yourself, unconsciously, talking about to everywhen and
everywhere. Without any sense of exaggeration, observing how certain people’s eyes spark when
mentioning “I’m Palestinian” that is followed by questions after questions as if a kid met his role
model and is out of breath forms what I describe as an exhausting interval of passion.
I was on a video call with my mother about two days ago and she described a situation that left her
speechless and left me in tears of laughter. It was 4 pm, stomachs were filled and bills were ringing
as a call for “time to study”, my brother who is almost 11 years old sat down and initiated studying
geography by observing a map for Palestine. He started asking my mother “do we have this city
now?” and he kept getting “no” as an answer. The 11-year-old ended up closing the book gently,
looking at mom with a sarcastic look saying “bring me an appropriate map, and then we will talk
about it”. Although this has left me crying from laughter, it has sparked an overthinking session
about how sorrowful this is.
Coming from regions like Palestine would put you in situations such as “crying at the airport”. I’m
not sure if everyone is familiar with this but Palestine does not have an airport. In November of
2021, tears were shed at Malta international airport. It was an exhausting trip as I had to, as usual,
head to Jordan to travel to Malta. Crossing the borders is an ugly and humiliating process indeed, it
is not easy at all. I remember arriving at the Maltese airport while deprived of sleep for more than
24 hours. Everything was going just fine until I heard her saying “you have to quarantine, I can not
find Palestine on the list here” while holding the passport humiliatingly. Keep in mind that I was
stuck in Palestine for more than two months due to that list until it was announced that Palestine
has been moved to the “dark list”, which means that I can enter Malta without any challenges. I
have attempted to explain to the employee that Palestine has been moved to the “Red List” and the only response I got was her eyes rolling back. I have asked to go and make some phone calls only as an excuse to let these uncontrollable tears fall comfortably. I went back immediately attempting to inform her
about the update. However, an interruption to my words occurred with “I’m calling the
inspector”. It ended up with the inspector apologizing about the inconvenience after 1 hour of me
desperately just trying to talk.
One might think that this inconvenience is due to covid-restrictions. However, my observations at
that time do not say so. I’m someone who usually observes everything, including the very small
details. Such observations have their disadvantages and advantages. In this previously mentioned
inconvenience, I would say that my observations were of benefit. I have seen how the employee had
these fed-up facial expressions as soon as she saw the “Palestinian authority” passport. Expressions
that oppose the way she treated other nationalities. The other matter that we could discuss here is
that this “inconvenience” would not have occurred if the changes were made for countries like the
United States for example.
I take almost every chance to talk about Palestine. You could say it is my main personality trait, an
oath that I’m committed to. It is what my life revolves around. It is also the main producer of my
dopamine. It is a passion, one that comes from misery, a beautiful misery