Activist > Writer

Someone suggested to me that I should settle down about government, policy and media outlets so I can write something that would humanize Palestinians for the outside world. “Why don’t you write something about a normal Palestinian person, like a portrait” or “why not a story about a little Palestinian boy?—even a novel!”

There are several problems with this idea. The first problem is I already considered the idea and I liked it much better when I had it, not someone else; nothing takes the shine out of an idea like someone else prompting me with it. If someone else thought of it, then they should get on a plane, come over here and do it; it’s so obvious. I could as easily find new ways to paint the horror of occupation. I am not here to catalogue their memories in preparation for their demise—I’m here in solidarity while they resist the forces that threaten their way of life.They really would not need to be humanized if others were not out there dehumanizing them.

The main reason I am reluctant to start profiling Palestinians or create a Palestinian storyline is because that is not my story to tell. The implications are disgusting to me. If I were a naturalist, this would be an excellent time to find my voice on behalf of trees, birds, animals and landscapes in danger. I am a peace-worker: my job is to make people listen to the voices that are already crying to be heard. I do want to tell stories about Palestinians but I want to step carefully because I am not better equipped to tell those stories than they are. I will be the best vessel possible, I promise, when I return to the United States but I think the author of the novel about the little Palestinian boy should be a Palestinian man remembering his childhood. He will be perfectly capable of telling his own story ten times better than I might.

We have passed the age of 35mm film; I am capable of posting pictures that speak louder than my words, via this blog and social networks, with relative ease. What I cannot do it locate one of those tiny, plastic film canisters. Every morning, I day-dream about unscrewing the lid from one of those and moseying over to the apartheid wall. There, I would scoop in some dirt and squirrel it away for the next year. When mid-terms came and I made my brief visit to Michigan (to tell family hellogoodbye) I would take that little vial of dirt with my everywhere that I spoke. Whenever someone contested me, I would carefully pour some of that dirt on the nearest table and say “if you have any dirt from underneath the apartheid wall, you got me. Otherwise, I advise you to sit quietly and listen for a while.” That dirt would scream louder than any picture. This is my selfish little fantasy because I was not believed when I spoke at West Michigan Annual Conference. I relied upon the witness of a friend to make my case for divestment and the assembly voted to the contrary for reasons I still do not fully understand. I like to say that people are pro-Israel but the Israel they favor does not actually exist—it’s in their imaginations.

So, here I am cutting down the audience at home instead of building Palestinians up. I know this is a dead-end and I'll have to do better. The thing is, patting these wonderful people on the back repeatedly does too little. They already know that they deserve better—they are extremely hospitable. They are more multi-lingual, on average, then Americans. They drink better coffee over here. Their kids can dance. They suffer more with less bitching. They also know all of this. I would feel silly, sitting here patronizing Palestinians when I feel as if what they need me to do, for them, is hammer very very hard on my passport country and all its ridiculous policies that support what will be legendary levels of oppression. In the grander scheme, I have too little faith in my compatriots overseas. I’m afraid I would write a stirring and accurate portrayal just for someone in the mid-West to go ...

“Oh, that’s nice...” and never do anything.

So, I’ll save my stories for another day. Today, I will keep ringing in peoples ears about government, policies, unethical media and all of the other macro-level garbage that makes me cantankerous on a daily basis because I DO know that these people deserve better. I also know that the only people who read my blog regularly are also Young Adult Mission Personnel who get cranky about similar things and right now I want solidarity, not a Pulitzer Prize.