Yesterday was my father's birthday. He's wasting away, more in mind than in body. Born in Jaffa shortly before the Nakba, raised in Egypt by a family of refugees, then a 40-year career in the UAE ended with expulsion.
Now, a refugee in Canada, biding his time, unable to speak when he's awake, but talking to me in his sleep every single night. Separated from each other for years by borders and travel documents, we're officially stateless. But very, very Palestinian.
Who else wants to educate me on what Zionism means in real life? Because this is what it means to us. Five generations of statelessness, alienation, dispossession, and separation. Five generations of unrelenting pain. Are we not human?
I haven't cried in a long time. I wish I could cry.
They will never see us as human beings. All they'll do is turtle further into their egos and deflect, attack, justify. Expecting them to acknowledge our humanity is like expecting blood from a stone. But our pain scares them, because under all of their lies, they know the truth.
ثم قست قلوبكم من بعد ذلك فهي كالحجارة أو أشد قسوة، وإن من الحجارة لما يتفجر منه الأنهار، وإن منها لما يشقق فيخرج منه الماء، وإن منها لما يهبط من خشية الله، وما الله بغافل عما تعملون.
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