As an Arab, I do not need to write for Palestinians. Palestinians have written to all of us for years with their words, lyrics, prose, verse, silence, blood and limbs. But their narration, no matter how eloquent, mild, angry, or distressing, remains impossible.
As the bombs rain on Gaza today, killing and maiming thousands of civilians and displacing more than a million, how does one write of Palestinian pain, Palestinian tears? What burden of believability must the Palestinians endure for their grief to meet the decency of recognition? In what language will their suffering be understood? What medium will ever carry their agony to safety?
In Arabic, the Palestinian pain needs no translation. It is visceral and piercing. Consider this scene from the live coverage of Palestine TV channel when reporter Salman al-Bashir broke down live as he delivered the news of the passing of his colleague Mohammed Abu Hatab and his entire family in a bombing in Gaza.
Al-Bashir, speaking outside a hospital and in tears, removed his protective gear in a sign of utter despair as he delivered a harrowing account of his friend’s murder amid the blaring sounds of ambulances. “The only difference between us and those who died already is just a question of time,” he said.
“We are hunted down one after the other. Nobody looks out for us or realises the severity of this tragedy in Gaza. No international protection at all. These jackets and these helmets don’t shield us from anything. They are mere slogans we wear for nothing. We are pure victims live on air. We are just waiting for our time.”
I wish everyone understood Arabic to feel the sonic vibration of pain in this reporter’s words and connect with the sorrow in the voice of the studio anchor as she sobs in the background. In this tongue, there is no distrust, no test of sincerity, and no heartless expectation of proof of humanity.
In English, al-Bashir’s torment was greeted with questions, suspicion or eviscerating calls of self-condemnation, while this narration found a tender chorus in Arabic. In English, it registered for many as mere information to be endlessly verified despite an appalling heap of evidence of thousands of children deliberately killed, dozens of journalists targeted, hospitals and schools bombed, and countless homes destroyed.
Through screams and moans, through unbearable scenes of children trembling with fear, through the wailing of mothers and fathers holding dead babies in their arms, and through the anguish of the elderly forced to experience the dread of the Nakba twice in their lifetime, why does this Palestinian suffering feel like an endless performance with no resolution? Why does their pain need countless statements and signatures? Who are we to require another human being to audition for their humanity?
Why is Palestinian testimony forbidden?
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