Less Than Perfect

{20} For Palestine, My People

"You know, when I was in school, people used to tell me that Palestinians followed a terrorist government, that Hamas made the Israeli government retaliate. They put all the blame on the oppressed that they turned a blind eye to the innocents that died for protecting their identity."

"I know what you mean," he said, closing his eyes as if the memory was too painful to bear. "They ignored the times the Israeli government broke the ceasefire, the blockades, the random shootings. Once people heard the term 'terrorism,' they spun a narrative about this being a religious war between Jews and Muslims."

"But it's not. Palestinians are Muslims, Jews, Christians, and they all get treated the same. Their mere existence is equivalent to dirt, and that's not fair." 

My husband opened his eyes, closely examining my features as if he were drinking in my expressions. A spark of determination entered his dark gaze, an idea brewing from the depths of his mind and approaching us at a wavelength. "Did you think about educating your followers?" he asked. 

My eyebrows furrowed. "Why?" 

"The Palestinians have no voice. They've been silenced for so long that even their screams fall on deaf ears," he explained as his visage darkened with his recounting of history. "But you're an influencer. If you become their voice, maybe there will be a change. Maybe Palestine will finally get the freedom it deserves. At the very least, you would bring awareness." 

"I tried that before and was criticized for siding with 'terrorists' or being anti-Semitic," I sighed, voice sounding as defeated as I felt. "The backlash almost destroyed my platform." 

This time, Tanwir was confused. "I fail to understand how criticizing the Israeli government makes you anti-Semitic. The Israeli government does not represent Jewish people. They don't speak on the behalf of Judaism. This issue isn't religious to begin with." 

"That's the narrative," I said, anger hidden in my speech, indignant flames consuming me slowly. "People clearly never paid attention in their history classes to understand what colonialism and oppression is. You'd think after what we, the Americans, did to the Native-Americans we would learn our lesson, but no. Instead, we have people defending oppressors and colonizers."

Tanwir readjusted his glasses, a light's glare covering his eyes. "Isn't that more of a reason to reach out to your followers?" he questioned, a knowing smile on his lips. "Will you also be silenced like they did to your people?" 

His words caught me off guard, shocked my core as I realized how similar my silence was to those who had no voice. Because of ridicule, I allowed them to sew my lips shut when it came to political issues, thinking that an influencer had no business messing in world affairs. I thought that my grievances were due to myself. 

I lacked sabr (patience). One setback, and I gave up. 

Palestinians never gave up. No matter the heartache, no matter the pain, no matter the horrors they endured. They never stopped fighting. We would never stop fighting. 

Because if we stopped, all the sacrifices would go to waste. Because if we stopped, no one would hear our story. We would be another ethnic group buried among history pages, where people would point and say, "How sad that no one ever helped." 

All across the world, injustice prevailed, and I spent my streams striving to help people escape those tragedies, for them to turn their backs on those who needed their voices to be heard. My duty as a Muslim and as a Palestinian was to stand against injustice. 

When one person in the Ummah (community) was in pain, we were all in pain. 

"Grab my camera. I'm gonna need some help."