Letters from Palestine Read Online Free PDF Page A

being able to turn off misery
thousands of miles away. But each time I stray, something pulls me
back in, and I feel a deep sense of shame of having turned my back
on Palestine. Because in the end, to me, ‘adeyat phalastin is the ultimate fight for humanity and justice.
    And being Palestinian reminds me every day
that justice and human rights can never be taken for granted.
Because, in theory, every person is entitled to equality and his or
her rights. In reality, they are a privilege a select few enjoy.
Being Palestinian, and active in the Palestinian struggle, has been
a blessing for me in that it has helped me see the connections
between other struggles for justice always first and foremost
through the lens of human rights. It has clarified my vision of the
world to be one of human rights and equality. It has helped me
resist racism. It makes me question myself over and over and over,
but in the end, my stances always remain firmly rooted where they
started: humanity, justice, and human rights.
    Being Palestinian is an honor, but with it
comes duty to give back to Palestine and speak out about it.
Because, as Dr. King said, “Our lives begin to end the day we
become silent about things that matter.” Working for Palestine
gives me meaning. It grounds me, and I cannot remain silent. I
cannot be at peace with myself knowing I was silent. I cannot
respect myself if I am silent. Those times I have been shocked into
silence by a racist comment still shame me, because I lost my
voice. Because for a moment, I let bigotry win over humanity. But I
remember those times when I did find my voice, and they drive me
forward.
    I will forever be exhausted by Palestine and
driven by Palestine. It drains my energy and emotions and
revitalizes me and gives me meaning. It has given me the ability to
always choose humanity over politics, no matter how uncomfortable
that choice might be, and the self-confidence to doubt myself and
question my beliefs—always driven by the desire to be human first,
everything else second. I write about and speak about Palestine
incessantly out of love and obligation, so everyone whose life I
have passed through—whether for a minute or the duration of our
lifetimes—will have thought about Palestine for at least a minute.
They will have heard about the building of illegal settlements; the
economic siege on Gaza; the illegal detentions, jailings, and
extrajudicial killings; the skyrocketing poverty in Gaza; that now
fifteen percent of Gazan children are intellectually impaired due
to malnutrition; that many Palestinian children wet their beds
through their early teens because of mental distress; that we have
a whole culture, poetry which lights up the imagination; that there
is an occupation of land; that there was and is a Palestine and
Palestinians exist. We exist. And we will not be silent.
    And now, I write this for you—to you—so you
can never say, “Oh, but I didn’t know . . .”
     
    Where are you from?
     
    I lean over the bar and follow the bartender
with my eyes, hoping to catch his attention. My hair is long,
chestnut, and curly—with that carefully tousled look that only
hours of deliberate styling can achieve. My lips glisten with
Chanel lip gloss and I am wearing my “Arms are for Hugging” T-shirt
that casually hangs off my left shoulder, exposing a pink bra
strap. T.I. and Rihanna blare overhead, “Ain’t got no time for no
haters, just live your life.” Finally the bartender comes over to
me.
    “Stella, please,” I half yell, half mouth to
him.
    “Two, please,” corrects the guy standing
next to me, holding up two fingers to the bartender as he turns
away to grab the beers. “Sorry, it’s just impossible to get their
attention. I have cash, don’t worry about it.”
    He smiles. I smile back and turn away for a
moment, then turn back to see if he’s still looking at me. He is. I
give him an inquisitive look, letting him know he better start the
conversation if he expects