The language I use is the language I feel. Sometimes there is no place left for making it softer.
Today I received this from an Israeli friend responding to my post about the Israeli invasion of Palestine TV program Good Morning Jerusalem:
“I think this piece (as well as some others) would be far more credible if the strong language would be toned down a little bit. It seems a bit “too” extreme and, while I certainly understand the sentiment, winds up only appealing to those that already hold similar beliefs and ideologies. To explain your reality to those that see it differently, the words need to be more measured and less provocative.”
I just found myself answering him without hesitation: “The language I use is the language I feel. Sometimes there is no place left for making it softer.”
As we continued with a quiet debate, I thought of how impossible it was to satisfy the occupier… well, there is more than one issue here; I don’t write to convince the occupant or anyone. I write to reflect on my very own feelings as a Palestinian. A sense that only Palestinians can feel. Only oppressed, occupied can touch down. There is no attempt to convince anyone. To make our case clear. For what it is from us, people. Regular human beings who are striving to live … live.