Dear friends all over the world:
I would like to thank every one of you for your continuous efforts to
support us and sympathize with our cause. Your tender human feelings and
political awareness and moral courage give us what we desperately need
of courage and hope. I'm particularly grateful to every one who sent my
family and me nice words of understanding and solidarity in these ongoing
bad times.
It is bad, because of the brutal killing, injury and destruction, but,
to me, it is particularly bad as I'm getting to understand more and more
about the scale of the blot of my people. As a young man I find myself
confused in a confused nation. Both of us with no plan of action except
to fight a massive logistic power at countless fronts. Both left alone
in the darkness of terror and violation, suffering from the religious and
historical complexities of others.
I'm not used to spending a lot of time browsing the internet, specially
during my work days, as some of you know I have to work and study, so I'm
barely left with little time to check my email inbox. It is only during
this period that I have more time to work on the Internet. I was imprisoned
in the village due to the siege imposed by the Israeli army.
A second reason is that I feel the urge to help spread our word to the
world, because you go to the Internet and see the Zionists sending their
intentionally or unintentionally distorted version about what is going
on. I did write some appeals and made some posters. I also did write responses
to Zionists at many mailing lists. That took a lot of my time, but I think
it is the duty of every one of us who know what is the Internet to try
spread our word to the world. I do not know if it made any effect, but
it was very rewarding for me.
Working on the Internet made me understand many things. I realized the
great support the Zionists do have in the United States, the world's super
power and model role of democracy and civilization, and also the high level
of efficacy they are working with. I also did understand the huge efforts
that the Israelis do invest in the media work. They have mobilized thousands
of their best men of all the sorts of occupations; journalists, politicians,
media men, propagandists, businessmen, intellectuals, writers, poets and
cheaters. All to make the world justify their unlimited violation of our
nation in the name of protecting the endangered past victims of the holocaust
and present victims of our explosive, rubber coated and 500 mm anti-tank
stones. They are waging a war at the international media level because
some kids are throwing stones in Gaza and Nablus. And it is miserable to
see how little and scattered our, the Palestinians', efforts are.
We are in the worst position a nation may find itself in. We are people
who lost their land, their homes, their dreams and even their human title.
But on atop of that the Zionists and their super power allay are trying
to make us feel guilty for our misery. This is the worst of what can be
done to a human being, and is frank racism and fascism, dehumanizing the
victim.
I'm not forgetting that not this entire situation is Zionist made. May
be due to the shattering of our society once and again, may be due to receiving
a trauma after a trauma, or may be for reasons that I could not comprehend,
our nation is much less efficient and effective as our enemy. We have done
dramatic mistakes that we are suffering till now. But the whole picture
is a collective misery that we the young generations have to fight and
improve.
But what can we do apart from resisting this imposed fate with all what
we have? Nothing. We will resist this fate, and continue our struggle for
our rights. Throwing stones, I recently realized, is not a simple act to
break the glass of their buses and scratch their tanks. It represents the
ultimate of human expression, it is saying no in the loudest voice available.
It's such an artistic and magical act that absorbs me with its beauty.
Where are you, our national poet?
Yesterday I saw the most expressive and touching sight in my life. Three
school kids of the first primary class 6 years old were going to school
with their not very well done blue school uniform and bags on their backs.
They were still half-asleep as you can see in their sleepy eyes, naughty
hair curls and zigzag walking. To reach the school they had to pass by
an Israeli tank, with three plastics like soldiers atop, and a 500 mm automatic
gun.
Situated at a green hill, the khaki tank was silently violating the
beautiful green morning view.
The three kids passed by the tank without giving the least of attention,
but after few meters they stood, whispered to each other, and walked back
to the scary figure. Astonishingly, they stood in a raw two meters from
the wheels of the tank, and raised all their hands with a V sign. They
stood for minutes, moving their hands all directions and rotating them
to make sure the soldiers see them, even jumping in the air and one of
them stood on a small stone.
Disappointed by the plastic faces, the kids chanted "falsteen 7urra-Palestine
is free" and ran away with bent backs, panic tiny voices and hands
covering their heads as though under heavy shooting. The three soldiers
kept frozen with a mask face. Not smiling nor shouting or even looking
at each other. At that very moment I wanted to join these little boys,
but more I wished I could know what did those three soldiers, in that dreamy
morning, think of.
Yes we are logistically weak, but let our last shot in this war be saying
NO to the Zionist fascism. They will never defeat us. They can kill us,
yes. They may deport us and destroy our villages as they did 52 years ago,
yes. But they will never defeat us, as we will grow in our land with the
lilies of the next spring, the olive trees will miss us nest winter and
we will come with the rain drops to kiss their leaves and assure them that
we are still around.
One day we will overcome, the truth will make us free. I'm not afraid
for my people, I'm praying that the day will come when our aggressors will
defeat the inhuman mentality that occupies their minds, the day when they
can, instead of pointing a 500 mm automatic gun, smile to three morning
flowers.
I'm doing the medical training of my final year now in Nablus, I did
three weeks there and spent some of my time either at the emergency room
or in the demonstrations with the paramedics, but did not throw stones,
as I'm suddenly lacking the courage that I once had at the secondary school.
The sights of the slaughtered and seriously injured young men and children
tore my heart into one thousand pieces. The snipers used all kinds of ugly
bullets, all explode once in the body, shattering the heads, chests and
eyes.
I saw snipers experiencing their brand new sharp magnifying guns with
our kids, who represent no threat to their life. I saw the anti-tank missile
fired at them, exploding their bodies in the most brutal picture that you
could imagine. I saw that, and can not clear it from my memory, and I'm
sad, heart broken and full of tears. Some times I say it is a dangerous
act to throw stones at those merciless killing machines, but most other
times I understand the despair, misery, pain and pressure inside these
young men and say that it is understood.
The last two weeks our village was under siege so I did not go to work,
I helped my big family collect olives and squeeze the olives to get oil.
This is a great fun to do, it reminded me of my childhood days. As we gather
around, under and atop each tree, we find the chance to discover each other
again and enjoy the simple ways of life. Some villagers were short of flour
and other necessary things, but others collected things for them and people
shared things.
One horrible day the settlers from the settlement behind the hill tried
to attack our village and created an atmosphere of terror. Every single
kid was crying, and you can hear the scared people shutting their doors
and windows and running in all directions. My brother and me escaped to
a little room that we used to store our olive oil in and waited there while
my mother and sister stayed upstairs. I was dead worried about my family,
and that night felt the weakness, violation and vulnerability of my whole
nation concentrated, bitter and painful.
In middle of the terrible situation we are passing through, it becomes
most difficult for us, we the younger generation of Palestine, to stick
to our ideals and dreams. It is extremely horrible to feel violated, weak,
vulnerable, and at the same time to feel that you are left alone. It is
some thing that can make a deep crack in your basic beliefs in life and
love.
I'm one of the persons who believed in love as the basic law of life,
I believed in the human brotherhood and in the unquestionable human rights.
At a certain point in my life I believed that humanity is at last making
its steps towards the dawn of freedom and peace. In this time, we are not
only fighting to keep alive, but also to stick to our ideals and principles.
While we are being violated and killed as though we are no more humans,
and while the world shut their eyes in a horrible silent approval that
indeed we are not, it becomes difficult to prove to your self that you
are really a human being.
We are facing a reality that is not more advanced than the stone age
era, where the stronger gets the lion share, and the weaker is killed and
condemned. At such a situation, it needs a different type of person to
believe in the ideals of the civilized human being, if there is such a
thing yet.
At many moments of despair I was at the edge of exploding of anger,
shock and disbelief. What should I do, is this the reality or an ugly nightmare,
I was asking myself. My imaginary powers to fantasize, minimize, or suppress
the horrible situation collapsed and I was shattered by the black cold
reality. Yes it is real and it is happening to me and to my dear ones.
Should I tie an explosive belt around my waist and go explode my anger,
misery and 100 years-long pain in TelAviv streets like many of my generation
did? I will be forever thankful to God for giving me the faith when I needed
it, lifted me up when I was injured and down and showed me His thin strong
ray of hope that kept my soul parts together, and showed me that my role
is to work hard within my small circle of influence.
My home atmosphere became very patriotic, my mother became addicted
to listening to the Intifadah news from all sorts of radio stations, comparing
and repeating it to every one. My father, who used to hide his patriotic
feelings in front of his sons, announced that he is fed up and that we
should fight forever if the need to be. At the TV news time we stick glued
to the screen, full of pride and anger.
I wander around in the village at the nights and talk to my old friends
about the situation and find great pleasure living with my peers our feelings
and our emotions. I crack up every time I remember a friend of me, Khaled,
who was silent most of the nights, and one night he spoke suddenly and
in length about our situation, and after analyzing the power balance he
nnounced his conclusion with a deep sigh, his eyes looking at the ground
"we should surrender", we all cracked up.
We cracked up because we wanted to make fun of him, but more because
we knew in our hearts that we can not surrender because this is our basic
element. Your identity is some thing that you can not negotiate about,
you will be negotiating your existence. Your identity is something that
you fight for, and if you are defeated, you keep it deep in your heart
and dream.
We also know that, in this time, when we are denied our right to have
a flag, our right to have an anthem, to have our own land and fields, and
our right to at least be treated as victims, we must also be denied the
right to surrender.
Yesterday it rained for the first time this winter. You can not imagine
how glorious, romantic and touching the first rain on our green sad hills
is. I stood at the window, watching a gray poor cat that had lost one of
her eyes at some sort of battle or incident, she was shivering, trying
to find a shelter. I wished if I could take her in my arms. The soft drops
on the glass were so tender and gentle that they moved in my soul a warn
wave of passion and love, in a moment of purity I remembered all the lost
smiles and dreams, the cries, tears and sorrow, and wanted to cry.
Isn't it great to have a lost dream, so dear, so intimate and magically
beautiful. Isn't it great to fight for that dream. Isn't it great to even
die for it? I hope, in some spiritual way, that you can be with me to know
that yes, it is so honorable and great.
Thameen Darby
thameen@hotmail.com
Please pass this personal message to every one you know, it is a thank
you for every one who understands our cause and has the moral courage to
stand by the side of justice, and a message of love to every one who is
still unaware of our need for his understanding and support.
