When Israel claimed women were sexually assaulted on a mass scale on October 7, the world exploded. Almost the entirety of Israel’s genocidal war was based on these and other allegations, many unsubstantiated. We all remember the infamous’40 beheaded babies” story, do we not?

This article is not about Israeli allegations per se, neither will it only focus on violations against Palestinian women. This is about a world that is immediately up in arms when one side merely alleges atrocities while it turns a blind eye to actual documented violations against the “other”.

In Gaza, it is painfully clear that we indeed, are ‘the other’. How else can anyone explain the muted cries of women being stripped, raped, starved and murdered practically in real time, on our phone screens, documented in UN reports and described in horrific detail in eyewitness testimonies? There is no other explanation than that Palestinians are what Arundhati Roy calls “Children of a lesser God”. We are the victims of deep-rooted colonialism, one whose geographic demarcations may have vanished but whose insidious, dehumanizing mentality still prevails and manifests in the ugliest of manners.

For nearly six months, Palestinians have endured unspeakable atrocities at the hands of Israel’s occupying army. Today, the Gaza Strip has been reduced to an emaciated shell of what it once was. As Gaza is being systematically decimated and ethnically cleansed, the world, for the most part, looks on. Barring sympathetic supporters and a few well-intended but timid political actors, nothing has been done to stop the carnage. Palestinians once believed there was no way the world would allow Israel to erase Gaza off the map, no way it could see a live-streamed genocide and do nothing. But that is exactly what is happening.

Then, when we thought things could not get any worse, something unfathomable emerged from the deathtrap of Gaza. When this happened, we were certain it would be the turning point in this hellish nightmare. Well-documented reports, corroborated by the UN and eyewitnesses on the ground, told of harrowing stories of sexual assault against Palestinian women in Gaza.

We were paralysed with horror when we heard of women being raped by Israeli soldiers in northern Gaza, assaulted and stripped in front of their families. What’s worse, we all know that in times like these, the undocumented atrocities will far outnumber those documented. Who knows what horrors will unfold once the dust settles in Gaza; no doubt they will be so horrific, our entire nation will be traumatized for years to come.

The real question here is not how Israel’s soldiers perpetrated such gross violations. I think by now we can all agree that this depraved military establishment and its political echelon to boot, has dehumanized and vilified Palestinians so much and for so long, they will justify just about anything. No, the question is more about the moral compass of the rest of the world. While alliances and political interests are always part of the equation, even when the issue pertains to basic human rights, nothing can better explain the blatant hypocrisy, double standards and loss of collective humanity than the deafening silence today.

Our women have not only been killed, starved and displaced, they have been exposed to the very violations that sparked global outrage and a genocidal war against an entire population under occupation, unprecedented in modern history. This is not only unacceptable, it is an indelible stain on humanity. Sexual violence is a crime so heinous it is imperative to condemn and prevent, no matter the perpetrator or the victim. That must always be the baseline in any argument.

Palestinians will never get past this genocide; it is not something you can come back from. However, be assured, this is not only about the Palestinians. The world’s women, the majority of so-called feminists who have remained disgustingly silent, must know this: when you do not stand up for women, all women, no one will stand up for you in your time of need.

I once heard that anger is not a real emotion, but a cover for other feelings such as sadness, disappointment or fear. You need to peel back that outer layer to understand what is really going on inside.

Strange how this has lately resurfaced for me, but I think I know why. Lately, I and surely, millions of other Palestinians, have been filled with a blinding rage -- at Israel, at the United States, and at the world overall. This is a rage that is all-encompassing, the depth of which is palpable at the cellular level, permeating every molecule and every atom of our being. The genocide in the Gaza Strip has grated our emotions raw and we are left stinging and burning from our head to our toes.

Our anger is like a huge magnetosphere and we are all trapped inside, but its walls are translucent and we can see the source of our rage mocking us from beyond. We Palestinians are angry because we are so disappointed and we are angry because we are disillusioned and we are angry because we are drowning in sorrow.

Our disappointment lies in the fact that the world has failed us in the worst possible way and has allowed the unspeakable to be committed against us. Genocide is the ‘mother of all crimes’ and, contrary to the promises, the conventions and the historical lessons the world was supposed to learn, it has been committed over and over again. The Palestinian genocide, however, is unique in at least one way: it is live-streamed, which means no one can claim ignorance and everyone has a responsibility in stopping it. Hence, our disappointment is not limited to countries, Arab or otherwise, or to international and human rights organizations. It has spread to everyone in our orbit; acquaintances and people we thought were friends, but whose silence towards our slaughter is a deafening betrayal. Our sense of disappointment has discolored every relationship it touches because every relationship for us is a dichotomy: you are either with or against genocide and either support Palestine in word and deed, or not.

Our anger is a thin veil concealing our disillusion with the international community and its institutions, supposedly established to protect people in situations precisely like ours. We have confirmed what we knew all along, that these organizations were constructed for some and not all, for colonial powers and not those who suffer beneath them. Even when the highest court in the land rules in our favor, the Global North ensures that its ruling will not be implemented to save us, the oppressed, indigenous brown people whose lives apparently do not matter.

And finally, our anger is a survival mechanism to shield us from our own grief. Our sorrow over the murdered men, women and children, defenseless, homeless, starving and shivering in the cold, is so deep, so immense, we ourselves cannot fathom it. If we dare peek behind this anger and truly feel a fraction of the aching in our hearts, it will paralyze us for sure, because no people can endure the magnitude and scale of such suffering and not lose their minds.

We Palestinians know we cannot let go and that a new day is near. We know we must hold on just a little bit longer, because Palestine depends on it. We are no strangers to oppression, suffering and sacrifice and we know the price of our freedom has and continues to be painfully high. Still, we also know that a life without shackles and the yoke of oppression around our weary necks is the only life worth living.

This may be the hardest article I’ve written so far, for obvious reasons. As the genocide in Gaza grinds on into its fourth month, with winter in full force, the situation is so dire it has been described as hell on earth. To date, some 27,000 Palestinians have been murdered by Israel, nearly 70% of them women and children. Another 70,000 have been wounded and at least 1.9 million people have been displaced. With only 2.3 million in the Gaza Strip to start with, this computes to 1% of its population being exterminated, and in less than four months.

However, in the midst of these horrific times, let us allow ourselves a sliver of hope. The ICJ ruling, announced on January 26, prompted mixed feelings among Palestinians who naturally, wanted to hear a clear and firm demand on Israel to stop its onslaught. However, even without the express demand for a ceasefire, the ICJ offered something to the Palestinians for which they have been demanding for many years: their suffering, their plight and the brutal oppression they live under, was finally acknowledged by the highest court in the world. More importantly, Israel is being called out for its crimes, displayed in real time for all to see. For this, we will be eternally grateful to South Africa and its exceptional legal team for bringing this case of genocide to the ICJ and forcing the world to look straight down the barrel of Israel’s cruel intentions.

Of course, for the Palestinians, we did not need an international court to tell us that Israel is committing a genocide, but it was cathartic to hear this acknowledged on a global platform. While we are aware that the actual charge of genocide perhaps needs years to prove, it only takes hearing the ruling and the case argued by South Africa to surmise that Israel is as good as convicted.

This is not insignificant, and we will cling to any shred of hope we can find in this unjust world. Having said that, this is no time to rest. If anything, it is time to push even harder because now, we have ICJ rulings in our favor and legal backing to claims we already knew were legitimate.

However, while this may have offered us some ray of light in the darkness in which we are all engulfed, the fact of the matter is that things continue to worsen on the ground in Gaza. This genocide is so heinous, not only in the brutality of the Israeli bombs and denial of basic aid to the people of Gaza, but in the fact that its people are suffering from multiple and simultaneous injustices. That is, those who are being starved are the same people who have been displaced and the same people who have been injured and cannot receive medical attention. They are the same people who have lost their homes and family members and the same people who are under the rubble. One atrocity does not cancel out another in Gaza and that is what makes this genocide so unimaginable.

We have reached a point where it is unnecessary to describe the horrors of life in Gaza because frankly, in the past four months, everyone has seen them. It is not a matter of the world not knowing. This may have been the case in other genocides and atrocities, but not this one. It really boils down to two things: The dehumanization of the Palestinians and Israel’s impunity for its crimes, the latter being a direct result of the former.

Shame on the world for accepting Israel’s vile propaganda, hook, line and sinker. Shame on the “western world” in particular, who we will never forgive. Shame on them all for aiding and abetting the slaughter of our people, their displacement, starvation and annihilation. This will not go unnoticed in the annals of history, which will paint each and every accomplice in the criminal light it deserves.

But these despicable powers do not know the lion-hearts of the Palestinians and their fierce loyalty to Palestine. They will never be able to kill us all and my hope is that this thought haunts them day and night.

A sign held up in one of the many protests around the world reads: “Killing the flowers will not delay spring”. Our Spring is coming, without a doubt.

I’m still out of breath. It seems witnessing car racing has that effect. This past weekend, on Friday, March 26, the Palestinian Motor Sports Federation held its first race of the season in the northern West Bank city of Jenin. I’ve taken to describing the experience as the Palestinian version of the notorious street racing movie, “The Fast & the Furious.” Throngs of young men gathered at the makeshift race track in a back alley of the industrial area of the city to cheer on their hometown and witness what many would describe as a “guy’s sport.” Those many are gradually being proven wrong. Despite being able to count the number of women in the crowd on my hands, they were there – not only watching and rooting, but competing. I was befuddled when a friend called me up and asked me if I wanted to help her film women race car drivers in Palestine. Women race car drivers? In Palestine? I didn’t even know Palestine had a racing league.

We hitched a ride to Jenin with Suna Aweidah, better known on the tracks as “Malika Sibaaq Al-Sayyarat” (Queen of the Car Races). “Firstly, I race cars because I enjoy driving, and I simply love racing; I love the speed,” she says with a wink, “But I also think it’s important to show the strength of Palestinian women; to let men know that we are just as capable to do anything we’d like.” With a laugh she added, “(To prove) we can do what we want, when we want.” She later proved her point most appropriately by leaving us in a trail of dust as she vroomed off to show the boys how real donuts are done. Suna and her other female team mates subsequently redefined what “cool” meant to me from that point forward.

I suppose, based on what I know of Palestinian women from personal experience, this should not be entirely surprising. Particularly since the first Intifada, Palestinian women have been at the forefront of the struggle for independence, both for themselves and their communities, consequently elevating and diversifying their roles in Arab society. Initially recruited to contribute to the quest for national independence, young women engaged in Intifada activities began to question social norms and believed that their vital roles as active participants in a future government would continue. Although there was a lull in this progress and participation from women during the second Intifada, Palestinian women continue to prove that they are just as capable as their male counterparts at anything they set their mind to.

“Women have always had these (leadership) roles,” Suna contends, “in their families, and in their homes. But they’ve only been appearing more (publicly) lately.” As we zigzagged our way through the West Bank’s hilly and winding roads, I asked her if she felt the occupation played a part in women’s empowerment movements. “Oh, definitely. The political situation in Palestine forced women to be strong, to go out and work to support their families.” As with the history of resistance movements in other global contexts, women in Palestine were able to capitalize on the greater visibility and influence they gained through their contributions to the national struggle to challenge and transcend traditional gender roles.

Despite such progress and a greater transference of women’s roles from the private to the public sphere, however, some women still feel that there has been a noticeable pattern of depoliticization and gendered nationalism since the second Intifada. I recently got into this discussion at a café with a young woman from Jerusalem: “Men dominate the politics in the entire region let alone in this country," she said. They’re in charge of all the major decision-making and they lead these political parties that have done little for the welfare of the Palestinian people since the big mistake that was the Oslo Accords.” Letting the ashes from her cigarette fall into her empty cup, she continued, “Sure, we as women have made progress in our social rights, and perceptions and expectations are slowly changing as our daily struggles often force us to be strong and independent, but there is still a strong feeling that the men, and even our communities, feel threatened by having a greater presence of women in such typically male-dominated arenas.”

In the “man’s world” of car racing, this threatened feeling is no different. “Sure, men tried to intimidate me and the other women, especially as they learn that we are competition. However, we still work hard and try our best.” In Suna’s case, she faced several obstacles simply trying to convince her family to let her race: “I've always loved driving and when I heard in 2005 that they were starting races, I wanted to join. But because it was street racing and only men were competing then, my family said no. However, they were ok with me competing in a women’s only go-cart race in Sharm El-Sheikh. After I placed towards the top in that competition – my very first time racing - I became stubborn and told them I was going to participate in the national street races.” Since then, Suna has become somewhat of a fan favorite, giving the crowds cause to chant her name enthusiastically when her turn comes up to run speed tests.

Yet, whether by showing their skills on the race track, going head on against political figures both in the PA and in Israel, or as they teach me to wrap the perfect war’a arnab (grape leaf), Palestinian women continue to astound me with their stories of fortitude and wisdom. They have inspired me with their contagious good humor, by reminding me to never give up. As Malikat as-Sibaaq says, “If you have a goal, try your best to reach it. Don’t lose hope.” She chuckles and adds, “Race towards your dreams!”

Hajr Al-Ali is a Writer for the Media and Information Department at the Palestinian Initiative for the Promotion of Global Dialogue and Democracy (MIFTAH). She can be contacted at mid@miftah.org.

A friend of mine skipped out to Jordan to renew her visa, recently. She is among the many foreigners working in the West Bank that have to play the tourist card to remain in the country. A first-time bridge crosser, we spent a long time strategizing how to ensure, as much as we could, that she would not be denied entry by Israeli border patrol. Despite it being her first re-entry, we discussed in detail and at length what her excuse for wanting to be in the country another couple months would be. Thankfully, with the help of a little acting, my friend has returned victorious with another three-month tourist visa stamped securely into her passport. She decided to have fun with the young security woman interrogating her and pretended to be a rich airhead who wanted to scope out Israel’s beach scene.

As the time approaches for me too, to leave and renew, I have become consumed by my re-entry strategy; thinking about what I should pack, what I would say, how I should act, and what I will wear. My situation is noticeably different than those of my other international peers – I have an Arabic sounding name, come from a Muslim family who spent time in the Middle East, and wear a head scarf. When I was first planning on coming into the country, I asked a lot of different people for advice on how to best ensure being allowed entry, especially given my background. These were the basics: Find a contact in Israel to vouch for you, do not mention anything about visiting the West Bank, and act as American, or as western, as possible. Some even suggested I take off my scarf. Although interesting, it was not an option I was willing to surrender to and believed it was ultimately unnecessary. It was this last piece of advice that has eaten away at me. It enrages me that I am made to feel that I need to try to cover up my “Arab-ness” or “Muslim” identity in order to satisfy the Israelis who have the power to deny or allow me entry into a country they illegally occupy.

It’s racist.

This shouldn’t be surprising, though. Israel’s border entry policies are just another blatant reminder of the racism and xenophobia ingrained into its Zionist doctrine. Let me break it down: In establishing its racially exclusive state in 1948 by expelling the majority of the indigenous Palestinian population from the land they had been on for centuries, Israel’s Zionist policies have trampled over the land and its people’s history by espousing the belief in racial superiority and the exclusion of non-Jews. Based on this, it’s unfortunately expected that I - who simply from the outset so closely resembles those the state discriminates against and removes from its soil daily - would be viewed as a “potential threat.”

This is not to say that white, western foreigners have not been denied entry. They have. Being part of a network of internationals working in the West Bank, we hear all kinds of stories of those who have been denied entry, or deported. There have even been instances of deportations via night raids. The most recent case to make headlines was that of the Jewish-American editor of Ma’an news, Jared Malsin, who was detained at Ben Gurion Airport, interrogated, and then deported back to the US, followed by his girlfriend Faith Rowold, an American church volunteer. Additionally, Right to Enter – the Campaign for the Right to Enter the Occupied Palestinian Territory (oPT) – exposes various testimonies of those who have been turned away at border crossings. The reasons are predominately farcical. They range from being completely random and inexplicable, to having one’s name searched online and finding that the person in question has 'criticized Israel'. Yes, Israeli border officials’ latest weapon seems to be Google. Those who do get in, but mention that they are going to the West Bank, are slammed with a PA-only stamp.

There’s often little to nothing we can do if we are denied entry. At best, our consulates may attempt to argue with Israeli officials on our behalf, but the likelihood of even that is slim and eventually we are told that, “It is up to Israel’s digression as a sovereign state who it allows within its borders.” Ultimately, such racist policies are condoned by the international community. Whether through the futile banter of politicians in the Middle East, or the silent acceptance of states in the West, the status quo of racism that Israel has established through its policies, are pardoned. The US, for its part, only encourages these actions. For starters, supporting its buddy Israel, the US does not attend the UN Conference on Racism, Intolerance and Related Xenophobia, refusing to accept that Zionism equates to racism.

As I sit here and gripe about the hassle of foreigners entering the oPT, however, it would be unacceptable not to mention the countless number of Palestinians who are repeatedly turned away from the border and the plight of their families from whom they are separated. In 2006, the Arab-American Institute reported that 120,000 Arab-Americans were “adversely affected by Israel’s policies” and often denied entry into the country. Upon applying for visa extensions, foreign passport holders who are married to or the children of Palestinian ID-holders are labeled as “last permit” by Israeli authorities. If they overstay their visas, they are considered “illegal,” arrested, and immediately deported. To avoid facing such consequences, and to prevent being separated from their loved ones, most of these Palestinians move their families abroad. This policy of refusing visa renewals for Palestinian family members is part of Israel’s effort to deny foreign nationals either of Palestinian origin or who are pro-Palestinian, entry into the oPt.

Sure, it’s a pain to have to play the re-entry game as an international, especially as a Muslim from the Middle East. As foreigners, being in tourist-visa limbo “interrupts our plans” and hinders our ability, and that of the organizations we work for, to complete projects. Through Israel’s visa renewal policies, it’s interesting to observe how the media so often reflects our attitudes towards the Palestinian situation. We, as a global community, have become indifferent to the ordeal of Palestinians entering this country, yet shake our heads appalled that Israel would have the audacity to turn away a white American or European. It’s abominable that we’ve come to expect, and accept Israel’s racist policies. As for me, I plan to hum my way through Israel’s border security, singing that 70s tune, “It’s a strange, strange world we live in, Master Jack.”

Hajr Al-Ali is a Writer for the Media and Information Department at the Palestinian Initiative for the Promotion of Global Dialogue and Democracy (MIFTAH). She can be contacted at mid@miftah.org.

I recently returned from a trek out to pre-1948 Palestine, formally recognized today as Israel. The journey was tolling. With no direct bus from Ramallah to Haifa, the journey time is doubled. You have to catch a bus from Ramallah to the Qalandiya checkpoint, from the Qalandiya checkpoint to Jerusalem, take a cab from the Old City to the central bus station, and then take the next bus to Haifa. Qalandiya was packed this time, and they had shut down most of the gates. Or rather, the bored Israeli soldiers sitting idly behind the bullet proof windows found amusement in making us all wait in the cold.

It was an odd transition traveling from the West Bank into the “First World” of Israel. Everything about the area signals that it’s a completely different country – the developed roads and highways, the signs in Hebrew, the McDonald's. More than that, though, was the heightened sense of security present in the large numbers of Israeli soldiers roaming around, beginning with my entry through Haifa’s Carmel Central bus station. As I grabbed food from a station vendor, I stood inches away from a soldier with an M-16 draped across his chest. We stood, the pair of us, looking at the menu board. I, more aware of his presence then his of mine. It was surreal to be that close, and unsettling that it was so enigmatically normal.

I happened to meet with some young Israelis at a café near where I was staying. Most of them were either currently serving in the Israeli military, or were ex-soldiers. This was a change of scene for me. Knowing them as those who harass me at the airport and checkpoints and help sustain a brutal occupation, I suddenly found myself shaking their hands and watching them chug a beer as I asked them what they did. I listened politely, as one of the young men told me that he wanted to be a messenger, a messiah of sorts. He was planning to go to the US to do “Birthright” work, recruiting young Jews to visit Israel and donate to the state. It was an alarming “Welcome to Israel,” and a devastating reminder that Israel and its occupation were not going anywhere, anytime soon.

Despite these interactions, though, it’s the glorious northern coasts of '48 Palestine which I will remember most. I walked along the shores of Acre, tasting the sea’s gift of salt on my lips, and reveled in the freedom of the water hitting my bare feet. I roamed its old city, settling myself for a while on the docks, my feet dangling over the water’s edge, and watched as fishermen prepared their nets. I was undeniably ecstatic to see the water again, yet mortified by the gruesome history we were standing upon. I felt almost guilty being able to witness the landscape of the Palestinian narrative in its entirety, while most Palestinians themselves can not. I could not help but think of friends and their families who have been barred from exploring the vast beauty of their own land. “My God,” my friend turned to me and said, “They took the most beautiful parts… the most abundant with resources. They strategically sliced this place up.”

In slicing Palestine up, Israel has cut Palestinians off. Surrounded by the boundless sea shores, I could not help but think of how Israel has appropriated the majority of Palestinians’ water-rich land and barred Palestinians from accessing it. According to a recent report by Amnesty International, “Israel uses more than 80 percent of the water from the Mountain Aquifer, the main source of underground water in Israel and the occupied Palestinian territories, while restricting Palestinian access to a mere 20 percent.” To make matters worse, while this happens to be the only water source for Palestinians in the West Bank, it is among several reserved for Israel, which also takes all the water obtainable through the Jordan River. Additionally, the report states that while Palestinians’ daily water consumption is below 70 liters per person, Israelis consume four times this, more than 300 liters. These discrepancies are far worse for Palestinians living in rural communities, who barely make it on 20 liters per day.

In addition to being cut off from critical water supplies, though, Palestinians are also disconnected from their jobs, and employment opportunities in the Palestinian territories remain bleak. Walking around the streets of Haifa, alone, it’s clear to see the stark differences in the standard of living between Israelis and Palestinians living in the West Bank. It doesn’t surprise me that while the national earning average of Israelis is $21,000 per year, that of Palestinians in the West Bank is $1,200. In Gaza, it’s expectedly worse, as they make on average a dismal $600 per year.

Israel’s deliberate policy of fragmentation has not only separated Palestinians from water or work, but it has systematically severed them from their greatest resource: each other. Gaza has been amputated from the West Bank, West Bankers are prevented from entering Jerusalem, and then there are the hundreds of thousands of Palestinians who are living in exile across the Middle East and the world. Let’s not forget the one million Arab citizens of Israel, who are among the approximately 156,000 Palestinians who managed to remain after 1948 when 800,000 others were forced into a life of refuge. Today, they comprise over 20 percent of the Israeli population, yet continue to be second-class citizens, the oppression of Israeli policies just as real for them as for those living in the West Bank and Gaza. In addition to being divided by concrete barriers, though, Palestinians have been divided by causes. While Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza are wrestling to develop a united national vision, Israeli-Palestinians are fighting to secure equal citizenship rights as non-Jews living in a Jewish state. This forced disunity is all part of Israel’s calculated attempt to obstruct the prospect of Palestinian independence and self-determination, making any Israeli statement about such a possibility laughable.

The journey to ’48 Palestine – or Israel - was ironically more emotionally exhausting than anything I’ve witnessed in the West Bank thus far. On the bus ride home, I watched as the hills of Haifa passed behind me, and as the waves crashed angrily against its shores, cognizant of the drought and perpetual thirst Israel’s borders have created amongst Palestinians. Thinking of the fortitude of the friends and families back in the West Bank I so admire, I found comfort in the thought that although Israel’s occupation would not be giving up anytime soon, neither would the Palestinian people. As the hip hop group, DAM, raps, “You will not sever me from my roots/ (Palestine) Like a bird that breaks out of the cage/ Will spread her wings and fly.”

Hajr Al-Ali is a Writer for the Media and Information Department at the Palestinian Initiative for the Promotion of Global Dialogue and Democracy (MIFTAH). She can be contacted at mid@miftah.org.

Imagine one day that your home is invaded and you and your family are forced onto the street. Imagine now, that others are allowed to occupy your house, one which has belonged to your family for generations. Imagine that every day since then, your family is subjected to harassment by both the police and the new occupants of your home; that the paltry tent you set up for shelter is repeatedly torn down.

For Nasser Ghawi, his wife, and their five children, this is not hard to do. First evicted in 2002, and after nearly a decade of battling in Israeli courts for the right to keep their home, they were once again forcefully evicted on August 9, 2009. Since then, they have been living in a tent across the street from their home in the east Jerusalem neighborhood of Sheikh Jarrah. Recently, this tent was destroyed by Israeli police for the twelfth time. Having personally met Nasser’s family, a group of friends of mine coordinated a small fundraising initiative to buy Nasser and his family another two tents, but to no avail. We learned soon after that Israeli police had confiscated both, one in the morning and the other in the evening of the same day. When asked what he needed, Nasser finally said, “Chairs. We need chairs to sit on.” For most of the day, Nasser sits in front of his house, newly decorated with Israeli flags, watching as Jewish settlers unabashedly go in and out, often stopping to verbally assault him and his family. Still, despite this, despite the verbal taunts, stints of imprisonment and violence from police and settlers – one of whom threatened him with an M-16 - Nasser refuses to leave, remaining on his property as a form of protest against the injustice of Israel’s “second Nakba.”

Refugees from the 1948 war, Nasser’s family is among those Palestinians who were evicted from their homes, mainly in west Jerusalem and Haifa, and relocated to east Jerusalem through a joint project between the United Nations Relief and Works Agency (UNRWA) and the Jordanian government in 1956. Now, after 53 years of building a life in Sheikh Jarrah, they are once again experiencing the trauma of Israel’s policy of forced homelessness through the state’s plan to embed a new Jewish settlement in the neighborhood. In all, Israel has unlawfully expropriated 35 percent of east Jerusalem for this colonial project.

Unfortunately, the Ghawis are not alone. They are among the 28 families in Sheikh Jarrah alone, including the Al-Kurds and the Hanouns, who – after battling settler claims to the land in state courts for 37 years - are currently living in makeshift tents. In December, nearly 20 settlers, accompanied by private armed security and Israeli police forces, entered the Al-Kurd’s house and began emptying it of the family’s possessions. In July, Israeli courts ruled that Maher Hanoun would be imprisoned indefinitely and his family forcefully removed unless they gave up their keys and left “voluntarily.”

It’s almost comical how Israeli forces throw around the word “voluntarily” and “choice” regarding Palestinians. When Nasser Ghawi asked the police where he should live after being evicted, they replied, “We don’t care. It’s your choice. You can move to Jordan, to Saudi Arabia. It’s up to you.” There’s nothing voluntary about being forced out of your home with a gun stuck in your face, as others are moved into your home by their simple claim that they have “rightful ownership of the land as Jewish people.”

The twisted reality of these families is written all over the faces of their children. I can’t even begin to imagine what it would be like to go to school and return to a tent, next to the home you are barred from entering simply because another family and another child is considered superior because they are Jewish. Daily, these children witness the gross injustice of displacement - including the strain of financial loss and physical and social upheaval – leaving them the most vulnerable to family and community tensions. Caught in the battleground of their homes and suffocated by their tumultuous living conditions, according to Save the Children, these children have a higher likelihood of experiencing symptoms of withdrawal, somatic pain, anxiety, depression, delinquency and violent behavior.

Ultimately, the situation of such families is unimaginable for privileged outsiders such as myself, who are able to return safely to their homes. Each time I’ve visited Sheikh Jarrah, I leave with a rock the size of a fist lodged in my chest and my throat dry. The injustice is so blatant. As I listen to friends brainstorm ways in which we can provide assistance to the families affected in Sheikh Jarrah, I am infuriated by the knowledge that the neighborhood is amongst a long list of areas that Israel has targeted for expanding its illegal settlements through forced evictions. According to the United Nations, Israel has forcibly evicted or demolished the homes of more than 600 Palestinians, half of them children, in the West Bank and east Jerusalem in the past year. However, despite Israel's continued aggression, families such as the Ghawis, Al-Kurds, and Hanouns continue to resist, even if it comes in the form of flimsy, plastic chairs.

Hajr Al-Ali is a Writer for the Media and Information Department at the Palestinian Initiative for the Promotion of Global Dialogue and Democracy (MIFTAH). She can be contacted at mid@miftah.org.