Incoherence or paradigm
I am thinking of the color of the flag I want to hold, as I announce my complete surrender to reality. Going through the airport as Palestinian remains like a real suspicious item that makes you at some point seriously suspect your own species.
This apparent fact of life of being an anomaly detected didn’t suppress my thoughts of surrender.
In a particular city, I don’t remember, you stand in front of an old fountain and turn your head and throw a cent and make a wish. The cent would be thrown anyway, but the trick is in having the percent falling not just in the fountain but inside a particular place in that basin to have your wish come true. I remember trying to throw as many cents that actually failed to even touch the fountain, and as usual, I found the excuses, on top of which I am left handed, and of course Palestinian!!!
I want to throw this cent of thought, that I know wouldn’t make it any close to any fountain. But yet, I have to make this confession of a realization.
I lived my entire life dreaming of a day I will feel free. Free of occupation. After all, I was conceived when the Arab nation was mourning the loss\ death of Jamal Abdul Nasser, the last Arab nationalist. This should have affected who I am. But at the end, I was pushing out to come to this earth in Jericho, where the myth takes us to the fall of the walls of the city in front of the first Israelites. And my destiny in being Jerusalemite. A spell, a curse, or an enigma of a city as Jerusalem holds within its every stone.
After four decades in carrying the burden of being a result of a blood treason under a notion of nationalism, and a surrendering city under a concept of a miracle, and a defeated soul inside a continuously raped city … I feel it is time to raise up my own flag of accepting the reality.
The reality of the Palestinian notion of a Palestine that will never exist. A Palestine that continued to be a dream inside a reality of a nightmare. I don’t know if what I am going through is a paradigm shift, or is it just a state of anger. I am not angry, though. I feel ashamed. I feel ashamed from the reality of our history that persisted on not change. A whole life of wrong notions based on parts of the truth and constant brainwashing. A complete set of the system in everything we breathe, from education to culture, to religion. All in a politically deformed existence.
Feeling the shame of a continuous failure of leadership that continued to buy and sell first in the land and when the land was gone with us. The people.
The feeling of being so naïve, in believing in everything I believed in.
This image may explain how it is going at this instant in my head. …
I feel like a beautiful well-raised aristocratic woman who was raped, by a scum of a man, who fantasized about her and was obsessed with her and got disillusioned and one day he decides to rape her. She has twins and, the rapist is condemned by her and tries his best to prove that he is fit to her. He works on himself to be the man she deserves. She hates him. Despises him .a feudal cousin comes on the scene and decides to marry her. A man of honor. She quickly falls in his great favor. She gives in entirely to him, and she feels of worth and honor. A day in. A day out. A month. A year. A decade after another, this husband proves nothing but possessiveness, control, a macho, useless, lazy, unambitious, a loser, spoilt, corrupt, cheater, a gambler, alcoholic… whatever makes him enjoy his day and time in any possible way. He takes her for granted. She gives him one chance, ten, thousand chances of changing and improving. She gives him excuses. She tries to help. She begs. She pleas. It is just about him and around him. She starts to perish. Her children suffer. Her property fades along with her youth and beauty. The rapist stays around. After all, it is her kids she carried. It is his love for her. His obsession. She is what he wants. He converts. He learns. He works harder. He gets rich. He becomes powerful. He begs. He pleas. He urges. He sneaks. He tries. He pressures. He uses every single way to have her.
One day she wakes up and looks at herself, to realize that divorce is inevitable from her cousin. And maybe that insists obsessive man who was once a rapist, did it all out of love. Out of seeking recognition. Maybe he wasn’t as evil as she saw him. After all. Look at him and her cousin.
Something inside me always wanted to believe in a day when the Palestinian cause will win. When Palestine will be a reality. The dream of Palestine vanished within the decades of a vicious occupation and a corrupt leadership that continued to breed itself with corruption. After decades of the same politics of corruption with leadership, that only changes the name of its men as they died and replaced with a system that the cause of Palestine has never been on their real agendas. They have been prospering, becoming rich, becoming powerful, and becoming pathetically disgusting in their greed. All under the name of a Palestine that they gave up long before the making of Israel.
A build up of a state, a nation needs a leadership that can bring the people into being, not a direction that makes its being on the people.
A leadership after the other, and tragedies of this being named Palestine has been evaporating into nothing. No more land to dream of. No sovereignty. No economics. No dignity. No hope for a future of liberation. Liberation is no longer a notion. Occupation became a fact of life, as much as the wall, the checkpoint, and the daily humiliation. For what? For an authority on leadership that sucks?
I am standing at this difficult moment of an intersection of choice or of a realization I am not really sure. But Israel seems to be a lesser evil in the current state of affairs.
At least being a Palestinian surrendering to Israel’s autonomy and power, will give me more power as a Palestinian to fight for my own freedom as a human being. Something I will never find in a Palestine of leadership that will continue to be the same.
In an ironic twist, I would say, I was thinking about all this on my way out of the country. In the airport I was “scanned” and “anomaly detection” showed on the screen. I was giggling from within thinking, something in me is like that transgender woman they stopped some days ago in an airport in the U.S.A. the anomaly wasn’t in my sexual organs (thank goodness), but was in my abdomen. I usually go to the airport with minimal clothing so nothing can ring. I double check myself making sure that no metal is attached anywhere even in my underwear. One becomes an expert through traveling Ben Gurion airport. But this time as they, of course, decided I have to be body searched, and the friendly security woman continued to apologize, and I continued to assure her it was ok, I was ready to strip at their convenience. It actually came to a surprise when the other lovely woman said that the scanning machine showed something like a scar on my stomach. “Have you had an operation here?” she asked nicely. And I was: “ which injury exactly do you mean.” Well, one has to be very precise when it comes to my precious scars. And I was amusingly explaining them my scars pointing to my abdomen. I started showing her the map of my children, and I said laughing: “ These are Palestinian children.” …
Anomaly…..I repeated to myself.
It has been exactly ten days that I wrote this. The eruption of the events hasn’t occurred then. As harsh as it may sound, or as efficiently influencing my usual state of mind, my kind of automatic relating the situation to my secret marriage and divorce is a natural resemblance. Luckily I was not in the worse case scenario when I decided to leave a dead end of the wedding, as I was still relatively young, but I remember that situation of continuing to give that man a chance. And each time he insisted on proving to me that the best thing is to just run as far as I could. Today, ten years later, I fully acknowledge my decision and admit that my naivety had to do a lot with what continued to take place. Naivety should be a characteristic in the Palestinian mind. This week of eruptive incidents brought us as a nation again into this anguish of a feeling mixed with some hope that a miracle will take place. The miracle we want is as simple as a miracle of a life with some dignity. The sparkle in the street and among the young generation proves once again that the Palestinian blood is that of resilience that somehow also characterizes the Palestinian hearts. Everyone prayed in his way that the leadership will stand up for what it should.
It is not a matter of declaring war against Israel. This would definitely be suicide. But in the simplest way of standing up for their own words and statements. When Abbas made his “firework” bomb announcement, he made a “threat” to end Oslo. It was less that a few days and while hundreds of Palestinians were wounded and four were at least killed he came out to say that he respects the agreements and he was pledging Israel to commit to any contract they signed. The way he practically disappeared from the scene while bulldozers and tanks were waving in the West Bank streets. The unfortunate statements that came out from the different leadership levels. The confirmation from Israel’s side that together with Abbas they decided to coordinate even more and not to allow the situation to deteriorate makes this leadership into its last instant of existence to someone like me.
I haven ever thought I will declare my detachment from this leadership. Until that last moment, I was praying deep within me that there should be hope.
As the people themselves proved that they are still alive. The leadership showed that it doesn’t belong to the people.
We continue as people to definitely struggle to survive this harsh Israel of a fascist state that is marked by racism. A Palestinian state is no longer what I yearn to see. It is just a Palestinian proper build up. And like many, it will be a personal build up from within the very basic what is one’s own family and existence.
As I feel lost in this state of severe loss. Again, like that feeling accompanied by divorce. But somehow, seeing the real face of Israel doesn’t make it a choice for a husband. And that much attachment to this Palestinian identity makes decisions null in this dramatic state of being.
It is hard to be a Palestinian, and it is impossible to get rid of the Palestinian that resides within.
My flag remains that of the color that mixes my identity with an olive tree so rooted in, and branches that spread out like veins filled with pure oil blood and carries black and green olives…
A state of an incoherent paradigm.