I have been to occupied Palestine and Israel three times. I kept connections there, including two close friends, one on each side of the wall.
A few days ago, my Palestinian friend sent me this message (which I translate here with her permission): “Thank you for asking me if I am still alive. I thought no one cared about us. Yes, I’m alive, if what you’re asking me is if I’m still breathing. Yes, I still wake up every morning, wondering if I’m still breathing. But being alive has nothing to do with breathing. »
“Being alive implies having before you the possibility of a new day, of possible hope. To be alive is to wake up without wondering how to breathe. As a Palestinian, I am no longer alive although I am still breathing. I lost hope,” she continues.
“Since the war started, I have not left my house. I stopped watching the news on TV or the Internet. I thought that protecting myself from the story of these war crimes, these crimes against humanity perpetrated by the Israeli army in the Gaza Strip and the West Bank, would make me feel better. I was wrong,” she explains. “Nothing can protect me. I live every day at the heart of these crimes. Can you advise me ? How can I protect myself? How to be alive? »
She does not live in Gaza, but near Nablus, in the West Bank.
What to answer? The numbers are staggering. More than 24,000 dead, including more than 10,000 children, according to Palestinian Hamas. How can we believe that their families can continue to hope, that their loved ones will not be tempted by hatred?
Eighty percent of the civilian population displaced, including 50,000 pregnant women and more than 60,000 injured without treatment, 250 deaths per day (a rate higher than that of all recent conflicts), the majority women and children… No more water, no more food, no more medicine, gutted cities, hunger, disease… despair.
“How to be alive? »
In January 2009, upon returning from my third stay in the region, I wrote “Where Hamas hides »published in The duty. The Israeli operation was taking place in Gaza at the time. Hardened lead, similar to what is happening today, but on a small scale. Already, in 2009, I highlighted the doping effect that these massive bombings had on obscurantist Islamic movements like Hamas.
Fourteen years later, last October, when hatred of Hamas had just crossed new limits, I was looking for new words to name the perverse effects of despair on these movements. The duty then published another of my opinion pieces: “Mohamed the hairdresser”.
Unfortunately, these two texts say pretty much the same thing. When you create hell, you shouldn’t be surprised to see demons arise. After 100 days of war, at a time when the region risks igniting on other fronts, in Lebanon and Yemen, even with Iran, what are our governments playing at? They know that Hamas is more than a terrorist movement, that it is an idea. An idea that feeds on despair.
Let’s not let our governments give up hope. Let’s not let cynicism fuel hatred. Let us not let this spiral of revenge contaminate entire regions, entire generations. We must impose a ceasefire, stop the escalation, irrigate empathy, allow dignity, give something to lose.
Who can advise us? Who can protect us? How to be alive when humanity tolerates hell?