Falaasteen

Strangely
.....I don't recall posting or endorsing the views of this striking poem by Gihad Ali. Give me liberty or give me death is not what I endorse. It is not the Gandhian way.
In fact I wrote a poem urging Palestinian mothers to leave with the babes in arms rather than fight for a piece of land which is turning into a slaughter house for their kids. That fight to death for a narrow strip of land is the patriarchal way of seeing things not the matriarchal way of living.
People have forever been dispossessed of their lands, moving on they have found new and better life elsewhere, not stuck in a vicious checkmate.
Sometimes I feel it's a brave and beautiful thing, to give up, and turn around and begin a new life where your babies do not see bloody bombs blossom at their doorsteps.
Of course I love my mother and my motherland to death. Of course if a refugee I would yearn to come back. And find as many legitimate peaceful ways of protest and petitions against oppression. Mahatma showed us the power of non cooperation, urging of other governments to impose sanctions, setting in motion a chain of reactions that reach out to every human heart.
But not this. This shock value of a bloodbath where children are trained to throw stones, are led to the slaughter to fuel international outrage. Because as mothers, as fathers our first duty is providing safety for our children.
Fight to death for liberty becomes our privilege, and not a price we make our children play.
Islamic nations surround Israel on all sides.
Surely all of these sympathetic nations can, if combined accommodate the refugees of a narrow strip of land?
Yes I believe, unless this is become an ego tussle, land over lives issue, where manufactured outrage and outpour of sympathy, is but a vicious urging on of the Palestinians. Die, for die you must, for Falaasteen. We are looking on, we are here, not with arms outstretched, pleading with you to flee to us. But we are here, to cry to weep and scream over your children's graves.

Nevertheless, Mr. Gihad Ali, your definition of a terrorist, touches my heart terribly. All the more reason to take the children, and leave. Syrian refugees have shown the way. How much more terrible and tragic is your plight!
How much greater responsibility to stop this generational bloodbath where the minds of children are becoming warped and skewered in the charnel house of hell itself?

Eye to Eye - by Gihad Ali

Look into my eyes
and tell me what you see.
You don't see a damn thing,
`cause you can't possibly relate to me.

You're blinded by our differences.
My life makes no sense to you.
I'm the persecuted Palestinian.
You're the American red, white and blue.

Each day you wake in tranquility.
No fears to cross your eyes.
Each day I wake in gratitude.
Thanking God He let me rise.

You worry about your education
and the bills you have to pay.
I worry about my vulnerable life
and if I'll survive another day.

Your biggest fear is getting ticketed
as you cruise your Cadillac.
My fear is that the tank that just left
will turn around and come back.

American, do you realize,
that the taxes that you pay
feed the forces that traumatize
my every living day?

The bulldozers and the tanks,
the gases and the guns,
the bombs that fall outside my door,
all due to American funds.

Yet do you know the truth
of where your money goes?
Do you let your media deceive your mind?
Is this a truth that no one knows?

You blame me for defending myself
against the ways of Zionists.
I'm terrorized in my own land
and I'm the terrorist?

You think you know all about terrorism
but you don't know it the way I do.
So let me define the term for you.
And teach you what you thought you knew.

I've known terrorism for quite some time,
fifty-four years and more.
It's the fruitless garden uprooted in my yard.
It's the bulldozer in front of my door.

Terrorism breathes the air I breathe.
It's the checkpoint on my way to school.
It's the curfew that jails me in my own home,
and the penalties of breaking that curfew rule.

Terrorism is the robbery of my land.
And the torture of my mother.
The imprisonment of my innocent father.
The bullet in my baby brother.

So American, don't tell me you know about
the things I feel and see.
I'm terrorized in my own land
and the blame is put on me.

But I will not rest, I shall never settle
for the injustice my people endure.
Palestine is our land and there we'll remain
until the day our homeland is secure.

And if that time shall never come,
then you will never see a day of peace.
I will not be thrown from my own home,
nor will my fight for justice cease.

And if I am killed, it will be in Falasteen.
It's written on my every breath.
So in your own patriotic words,
Give me liberty or give me death.

-Gihad Ali [a volunteer with the Arab American Action Network (AAAN) and the Palestine Solidarity Group, Chicago]