Today I watched a livestream of a conversation between Plestia Alaqad and Zein Rahma. The whole thing was moving, heartbreaking. These past days, like most of you, I’ve spent hours and hours online looking at images of Gaza, but there was something deeply moving about watching two women my own age (actually, Plestia is 3 years younger than me) speak live, in real time. I felt like I was on a zoom call with my friends. Except what they were talking about, what they are experiencing, is a nightmare I can never imagine.
Plestia has been working tirelessly as a journalist on the ground in Gaza since October 7th. Her reels and images have shown the day to day reality of Gaza to the world, and everyday I wonder if we are worthy of the faith being put in us with these images being sent our way. Rahma said she sometimes feels hopeless sharing stories and images from Gaza- there have been so many already, how much horror do they need to share before things change?
“when we posted the first photo, they should have stood up and never sat down”
I’ve been thinking a lot about times in my life when I was faced with the body of a dead, dying or sick loved one. I never experienced this in a context as traumatising as the people of Gaza face now- but in warm beds in safe hospices, I watched people die and I did not post it to instagram. Why? Because nobody wants to do that. Nobody wants to take out their phone while they lose a loved one. The mother, fathers, parents, children, neighbours, friends of Gaza are taking out their phones and recording the most painful moments of their life because to them, we have power. We are citizens of countries that are theoretically democracies, that have a say on the world stage. We are consumers and workers in the system of global capitalism that helps perpetuate the genocide they are dying from. We still have internet access, we still have energy, we have a vote, we have choices.
I used to think that when I saw an image of war that it had nothing to do with me. That I stumbled upon it by happenstance. Now I understand that these images are for us. They are a plea for us. Horrifyingly, it does not seem that our leaders will be changed by these images. They are not filming their traumas for Biden or for Von Der Leyen or for Sunak- they are sharing them with us. Putting faith in our ability to seize onto our collective power like never before, and to mobilise in their names.
I’ve also been thinking a lot about this essay by Anupa Mistry:
They write about John Berger’s idea that “mass demonstrations are rehearsals for revolution: not strategic or even tactical ones, but rehearsals of revolutionary awareness. The delay between the rehearsals and the real performance may be very long… its value is the result of its artificiality, for therein lies its prophetic rehearsing possibilities.”
It feels connected to a post I;ve seen a few times quoting Diana Buttu:
I guess I bring this up because to me these are both about how sometimes an action does not have to have a tangible cause-and-effect outcome in order to be “useful”. (although I believe that protests can absolutely have specific outcomes) Sometimes, it is enough to be reassured of our power. Any action we take alone is a drop in the ocean, but to stand in the street surrounded by angry, activated comrades is to know that you’re not alone. That every action you might do will be amplified by a million. That you have power.
If you’re reading this, if you’re familiar with my work, it’s likely that you're disabled. Most of you found me through youtube, through my reflections on life with a debilitating condition. I have spent much of this month dealing with a recently diagnosed heart+ lung situation which has made it difficult for me to leave the apartment, let alone march in solidarity or participate in the actions on the street. I know many of you are like me in this. But as I lie inside, sometimes believing that sickness has the power to hold me back from politics the way it holds us back from all other facets of life, I remember that my political education started in bed.
I think of this instagram post about the value of disabled people organising and showing up in online spaces.
I remember that this is, above all else, a battle of narratives.
I remember that the zionist powers are paying influencers to lie, that propaganda is expensive, and that posting online is no inconsiderable contribution in a world that is trying to commit a genocide in silence. I think too, as I sit in my home, about the disabled people of Gaza. About how many people are becoming disabled through injuries and sickness. About how under-nourished people will have a harder time fighting infections, how sickness has always been part of colonial brutality- through violence, malnutrition, lack of access to clean water and hygiene. There are people in Gaza far more tired or limited than I am in this moment and they do not have a bed, phone connection, food, water, a voice or a vote.
I say this not to voyeuristically turn the suffering of others into fuel for “gratitude”- but to remind myself: we have so much power. On the off chance that this might be relevant to some of you, I think it’s worth saying that even if your doubt the usefulness of your actions, showing up in whatever way you can matters. Consistent, stubborn devotion matters. Even if our platforms are small and our bodies unable to march, the people of Gaza have trusted us with these images and we must show them that we see, that we hear, that we will carry the responsibility of these images always, that we will never stop fighting for their liberation.
There’s a million things to say! A million things to scream about, and I’ve been making a mess of this letter all day trying to say it all- instead, I’ll send this small, inadequate letter, and try to just say one thing at a time. Remembering that I speak as part of a choir.
Today, it’s to remind ourselves, three months in, that it’s working. The UNGA passed a motion yesterday for a ceasefire. This is non-binding, which means it has no functional power, but it shows that most of the countries of the world stand with Palestine, which is not nothing. The calls to local representatives, the demonstrations, the boycotts, the organising- they are slowly pushing things. Puma has been sufficiently affected by the boycott and has ended its sponsorship of the Isr**li soccer team. There are small reasons to be hopeful, to keep going.
And beyond that- we don’t get to feel hopeless. We don’t get to wonder if anything we do could possibly change anything. Because the people of Gaza don’t have the option of giving up hope.
When they are asking us to use our power, let’s not sit around and ask whether it exists. Let’s act as though it does, just in case. Maybe the power will come in the acting.
Apartheid regimes can be ended. Through exhaustion. Through boycotts, sanctions, political pressure- and also by a global resistance that is simply louder than the propaganda, so that at a certain point, it's too expensive and exhausting to go on. We have that power. We have to believe that we can outlast their propaganda. We are being asked to believe that. Every time you see an image that makes you want to cry and scream- remember that it would not be sent to us if we did not have that power.
A sliver of hope- even the smallest, weakest and most fatigued of us have the power, collectively, to exhaust an occupation.
This is by no means a well thought out or expert take, but a few things that I’m thinking of tonight.
To believe we don’t have power in this moment in history will only make us complicit and inert in the face of a genocide.
I would love to hear what you are doing, how you are mobilising, particularly if you are disabled. How can we better show up for Gaza, and for each other?
Until then, I send you strength and solidarity and love.