My lack of knowledge prevents me from opining about everything that happens around me. I have spoken about much in the past, including things that I had little knowledge of, and that was wrong of me to do. But people change; I certainly have, as I am open to learning things anew without necessarily holding on to any particular point of view, nor do I feel the need to comment upon that which I have little wisdom to offer. My love for silence comes from my view of silence as philosophy.
I have refused numerous interview requests in the past; this does not mean that I am apathetic, indifferent, or that I avoid my responsibility, but rather that I do not always want to give my opinion where it is not needed. I no longer feel that need – most certainly not on Facebook or Twitter, where many only look for confirmation of the opinions they already have. This is something that does not interest me at all; I do not want to be right, nor do I wish for validation. To say the right thing or to remain silent is something that the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) advised. So, don't let anyone blame another if he prefers to remain silent.
An example of my resolute silence, especially where people’s opinions have been most deafening, is with the corona crisis. All I can say about that is that I was infected with the virus while studying in London; this was only apparent after antibodies were found in a blood test I took upon my return to Belgium. As for the rest of it all, I can only stand my ground like the rest of you and try to remain patient.
Some may wonder why I have become so seemingly withdrawn in my refusal to speak as of late. The answer to that is time and circumstance: the death of my father three years ago; focussing on my work; researching and fieldwork in Syria; living and studying in London for a year. The distances that all of these afforded me in my thinking helped me to renew and develop my perspectives, including that of speaking my mind.
Today, I can no longer hold my tongue, as I feel compelled to respond to ongoing events in my homeland, Palestine, where a piece of my soul is buried. The fact is that my heart is torn and bleeding with every injustice levelled against my people, and there have been many. How painful it is to see that Palestinians have become desensitised to the guns aimed at them for decades now. The agony we have known, and continue to know, is something many will never experience.
The occupation has exposed us to such extreme emotions from a very young age, the traces of which remain with us even after we leave. The roots of our grief are closely linked to loss. Death has come to live with the Palestinians, not merely as a loathed guest, but as an inescapable member of our family. Our anger is one that many cannot understand. Our pain can make stones weep. And the way we love is no exception. Ours is a love born between falling bombs and piercing bullets. A vulnerable and resilient love that transcends the undervalued hearts that yield it.
For everyone who will have their opinion, this is mine: The occupation, colonisation and annexation of Palestine, and the accompanying state terror which does not spare even our children, must end. For as long as this injustice lasts, Palestinians have the right to resist and fight for their freedom. Sincerely, a Palestinian whose village was ethnically cleansed in 1948 without remorse, and still without apology to date.