#osirg

Hola amigos (it seems like Spanish has become our default language)!

​A few nights ago, I was rambling away to D about my latest outrage on the human rights situation in Palestine. When I finally paused for breath, she​ quietly said “why aren’t you saying any of this in our group whatsapp chat? I am Palestinian so I know this, but they don't”. The thing is, I don’t know how to explain a situation that is so removed from the life most of us know (or at least the life I knew). 

Instead, I post my highlight reels of mosaic ruins, shisha bars, and the Mediterranean coastline on Instagram because how can I describe to you the frustration of getting off a bus to stand in line at yet another “security checkpoint” only to re-board the same bus hours later? Would you understand if I told you about the uneasiness that accompanies every passing of checkpoint gates which resemble a cross between a prison and a slaughterhouse… and the shame of feeling relieved to have reached the other side? Or what it’s like to be treated like a criminal simply for travelling home from work and never knowing when you will be pulled out of line to be questioned by soldiers with fingers pressed tightly over the triggers of their guns? For that matter, what right do I have as a non-Palestinian to voice my resentments? When my friends back home ask me what Palestine is like, the best I can come up with is “indescribable” but of course it’s not indescribable. Dana has helped me see that I have a responsibility to put into words what I’ve learned here.

I won’t go into the politics, laws, or historical debate behind the Palestinian-Israeli conflict, but I can share a little of the “facts on the ground” as I’ve seen them. I think that these examples of injustice, mistreatment, and violence also underlie each of your work, if in a different context. 

The prevailing narrative in the West is that Israel is a vulnerable state and has been forced to impose severe security measures because it is surrounded by hostile Arab states. We hear about Hamas launching rocket attacks into Israel and read news stories of Palestinians stabbing Israeli soldiers. In time, even if we don’t agree with Israel’s policies, we unconsciously begin to sympathize with the Israeli government’s motivations. The moment you step into Palestine though, you realize that the power dynamics are in fact very much reversed. Like the annexation wall, Israel’s military control of Palestine and its oppression of the Palestinian people are inescapable at every turn. A population under occupation cannot live in dignity because it is always subject to discrimination and an undercurrent of fear. Generations of Palestinians have been dispossessed of their homes, denied opportunities to study, work, move, or practice their religion freely, killed extra-judicially and callously, and intentionally deprived of basic necessities such as access to medical care, electricity and water. The Palestinian government itself is also riddled with corruption and responsible for serious human rights perversions. ​For Palestinians, human rights exist like clouds in the sky - you can see them but you can never seem to reach them.

In the short time I’ve been here, I’ve learned to tell the difference between the sound of gunfire and fireworks. I’ve read judgments in which the Israeli courts perform the most fantastic legal acrobatics to justify forcibly removing Palestinians from their lands. I’ve breathed in the toxic fumes and witnessed the seepage from an Israeli chemical plant which has devastated a Palestinian town and made its people sick. I’ve come to understand the magnetism of religious martyrdom, as both a means to escape an intolerable reality and demand for a justice sought but never known. I’ve heard my colleagues explain again and again to villagers who have experienced settler violence that the only thing we can do ​is get their​ stories out to the international community, because in a country under occupation, there is no realistic avenue of legal recourse. I’ve seen that six-year-olds can be torn from their parents and detained without charges, children can die from falling off tractors because neighboring settlement hospitals won’t open their doors to Palestinians, and a half million-dollar humanitarian aid project can be demolished in just one day on the pretext that it was erected without a building permit. I’ve long since ​stopped asking “but why?” because occupation, colonization, and apartheid don't give reasons. 

Out of everything I’ve come across however, the most striking is the resilience and generosity of the people who have been the most harmed in this conflict. Their spirit and gratitude for what remains is a powerful statement that however desperate a situation seems, as long as there is hope, tomorrow can be better.

​​I participated in OSIRG because I was curious about the world. I wanted to understand whether there was a collective psychology to humankind that might explain the wars, exploitation, and human rights abuse that have always been a part of our history. I see now that the question is more complex and maybe the answer doesn’t lie in the human condition. In fact, it is dangerous to categorize any person or situation from such a definitive standpoint lest we forget that those on the other side are also human beings, and in so doing, lose our own humanity and ​compassion. While solutions must end with accountability, they begin with understanding… so I try to remember A’s infamous line: maybe “conservatives just need a hug” sometimes. 

We are all in different places and championing different causes. Some of us are working on issues close to our hearts and others are working in new fields. Yet, in spite of the diversity of our experiences, I feel more connected to you now than ever before. I share deeply your indignation towards inequality and unfairness and your determination to break these shackles of abuse. At the end of the day, I don’t imagine that 20 years of cruelty and ridicule faced by a transgender woman is any more or less traumatic than a little boy who is slowly starving because his government is pursuing a war in the name of religious rhetoric or a young father who has been mistakenly shot because of institutionalized racial profiling.

Like Marko said “Although we were all strangers in that rooftop terrace more than a month ago, today, we are together. I hope that we keep this bond strong.”