The Ever Young
Catastrophe, 52 years later
by Ramzy Baroud
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May 15, 2000 What has become of Palestine, I wonder? I am in search of a definition, to depict my homeland, a verse of poetry to describe it, a song to fill me with anger and determination, or one of my mother's memories to tell me how happy we once were before Zionist gangs blew out our glowing candle, and separated us from the land, the beloved homeland. It is the middle of May already, the time for the tormented wound to recall the tragedy, to remember the "Catastrophe." In Lebanon's refugee camps, most Palestinian residents were born. Like me, they can still name the village where their families once lived in Palestine. They might know what bordered their village, from the north or the south, how the people celebrated during the harvest season, of what their homes were made and why they are no longer there. And like me, they have never seen the place, of which we insist to refer to as home. No, we are no dreamers nor have we stopped dreaming as the wheel of time keeps turning. But how can we forget while the circumstances that led to our tragedy still reside, the refugee camps, the prison walls, the settlers armed with automatic weapons chasing our young children, the military occupation, the injustice, the rest of the world's the apathy.. A message somehow landed in my e-mail box, "you're invited: Dinner for Arab Israeli Coexistence," it read. I looked at the date May 16, and thought of my old analogy of the slave and the master. A slave is offered better food and a comfortable mattress if he promises to obey his master and to live with him in peace. The slave looks at the shackles on his hands and feet, the bleeding welts across his back, the fact that his children are bought and sold in the market, and he screams, "give me my freedom before you ask me to live in peace.. remove my shackles and treat my wounds and then ask me to be civil!" The master calls on the guards, "take him back to dungeon, he is still a savage, he still needs to be tamed." Yesterday's savages are today heroes. There is a little disagreement that the logic which urged those slaves to "disobey" their masters is one of great validity. Maybe one day, those who are fighting for their homeland, those who today are perceived as terrorists, will become in the eyes of the world, heroes. In the West Bank and Gaza, the anniversary of the Catastrophe has it's own rituals, just as in the refugee camps which lie despairingly in Lebanon, Syria and Jordan. Here in the United States, commemorating the unfolding Palestinian tragedy seems more difficult than elsewhere. While Hollywood is ready to celebrate the independence of Israel, Palestinian student groups and other activist organizations desperately battle to inspire a few protests across the United States. "What are you angry about?" I was asked once while waving my wrinkled flag and chanting in a downtown demonstration. "We are here to protest the occupation of Palestine in 1948," I replied with enthusiasm. "Pakistan?" he asked. "No, No, Palestine.." I replied. "Pakistan?" "Palestine." "Never heard of it," and he walked away. I wonder how many more years we will count before we stop taking our carefully folded flags from the closet, and call out to the passersby in the street, urging them to take a flyer, spending most of the time explaining that it is Palestine, not Pakistan? I won't be surprised if one day my 17 month old daughter, Zarefah, will have her own folded flag to wave in one of these downtowns across the globe. Will she also be called a terrorist? Fifty two years have passed from which 7 are seen as years of peace where Arabs and Israelis have come to an acceptance of one another. Once more the above statement makes no sense. The news today spoke of dozens of Palestinians being injured, including a 6 year old boy who lost an eye as Israeli soldiers came to silence the voices of those demanding the release of Palestinian prisoners. The prisoners, thousands of them, still held in Israel, as they are now known as the Israeli bargaining chip in the "peace" talks, are holding fast to their hunger strike, for starving themselves has became their only means of leverage for freedom. Four million displaced Palestinians, wave the deeds to their lands, waiting for UN resolution 194 to take them back to where they belong, 52 years later. What is it about remembrance that makes decades fold as if they were
just days, or as if they were not even relevant factors to the process,
to the Palestinian struggle? Injustice never ages, nor the fight to reclaim
freedom. Originally published at Arabia On Line | |
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