Young authors of fiction from Gaza, some of whom say they are finding Palestine on the internet while unable to see it exist in reality, have just published Gaza Writes Back, a collection of stories written in English. The anthology marks the five-year anniversary of the 23 days from December 27, 2008, until Obama’s inauguration, during which Israel bombed the people of Gaza far more heavily than usual. They’re publishing a new excerpt of the book each of these 23 days on their FaceBook page. You can talk with them in an upcoming Google Hangout.
For five years, the world — just like Obama — has overwhelmingly been “looking forward” when it comes to crimes committed by nations aligned with the U.S. government. But the crimes in Gaza then and now, and in other countries, have been exposed to unprecedented “looking present” through immediate real-time blogging available to those actively looking, even in the places responsible for the far-away terrorism-too-big-to-call-by-that-name. If everyone turned off their television and searched on a computer for news about their own country as reported in other countries, injustice, rather than our natural environment, would be endangered.
The telling of truer-than-news stories by these young Gazans has the potential to reach many more minds, and to set an example that just might scare off the next “humanitarian war” no matter where it’s targeted. If victims of military benevolence can have their stories read by people who matter, or who could matter if they acted, and if those stories inevitably effect understanding of the obvious-but-always-denied fact that they are like we, that those people are people just like these people, that something has “brought out their humanity,” then the shock and awe might have to move from its fictional location in the streets of non-humans’ cities to a real existence in the offices of Lockheed Martin.
The stories in this book are of childhood and family, love and loss, soccer and toothaches. As with any story, people are placed in particularly special circumstances. A visit to the doctor is a visit to someone making decisions of triage: Will your father be sent to a specialist to be saved, or will this baby who has a better chance at living be sent instead? Two farmers, a Gazan and an Israeli unknowingly stand just inches or feet away from each other, separated by an impenetrable wall. A Gazan and an Israeli are perhaps attracted to each other, but blocked by a wall that needs no physical presence. A child is listening to a bedtime story when a missile strikes the house. Who will live? And who will be traumatized? Or was everyone pre-traumatized already?
I spent that night thinking of Thaer’s home, of the distant life in Mama’s eyes. I kept wondering what’s more torturous: the awful buzz of the drone outside or the sounds of some tough questions inside. I guess I eventually slept with no answer, thanking the drone for not giving my inner uproar any chance to abate.
Children in Gaza know the names of books, of toys, of movies, of trees, and of deadly flying aircraft. Some of the latter are called “Apaches,” named after a people marched, and imprisoned, and slaughtered by the U.S. military, people kept in camps that inspired the Nazis’, whose camps in turn inspired what the nation of Israel now does to non-Jewish African immigrants. How long will it be before little children in China are pointing to the sky in fear of a swarm of “Gazas?”
These stories are of people and of land, and of efforts to understand other people on the land. Understanding is a challenge: