The ever-bleeding Gaza

I visited Gaza twice after the Oslo Accords and before Hamas began its rule of the Gaza Strip. I had slept there three nights before, and on my second trip, I went from Gaza to Cairo in a hired car. It was once of the most beautiful trips I have been on in my life. I do not know why and I have not tried to explain it. The road between Gaza and Cairo is lined with nostalgia and love, as I know how much the Gazans love Cairo and how close they are to the Egyptian people. The road between the two cities is that of suffocated love, rejected most of the time. On that day, I left Gaza with a love for its people that still has not died down. I felt that Gaza was kneaded with goodness and sadness and a hubbub unlike any other Palestinian city, and perhaps unlike any of the cities I have visited or lived in.

I did not feel like a stranger when I wandered around the city. I felt as if the city were familiar; a city I have known since I was born. Maybe this is the reason why I felt the goodness of the Gazans. Gaza, where the first intifada broke out, its flame extending to the rest of the West Bank cities, is the Gaza that was uncontrollable by the Israeli army during the nights of occupation after 1967. This Gaza kept the occupation’s generals up at night. Gaza is also the first place Yasser Arafat lived after the Oslo Accords and in which the first airstrip was built.

I remember the picture that filled us all with questions. Perhaps it depicted Yasser Arafat’s hidden sadness, as he looked over the sea in Gaza, which foreshadowed Gaza’s miserable future; a Gaza that is currently living in a state of continuous destruction due to the violent war on the people and infrastructure. I feel like today’s Gaza continues to bleed. Every day we hear news about Gazans committing suicide, either burning to death, hanging themselves or poisoning themselves. It is as if the fate of this part of Palestine is to die slowly. When the deaths caused by Israeli missiles and planes slow down, the Gazans are relieved from the bombing, but they look around themselves and find that they have nothing. All they have are closed crossings, dire need and death, due to a lack of medical treatment or an inability to afford it.

I look at the pictures coming out of Gaza today and I see masked individuals. I do not see any faces. It is as if the faces in Gaza have disappeared behind the mysteriousness of masks and their secrets. However, the people of Gaza do not know where such suspicious mystery will lead them or when the next fire that will kill their children, destroy their homes and uproot their crops will come. The area has entered a dark place, both literally and figuratively, as it seems as if the people in Gaza are waiting for something unknown and they do not know if they are waiting out of their own will or if Gaza is just destined to await the unknown.

I am saddened by Gaza and I am saddened by the Gazan children who did not have the opportunity to grow up as normal children do. I am also amazed by the Gazans as they patiently resist death and besiegement, and they continuously make efforts to rise from the ashes by means of individual initiatives in art, sports and writing. I feel anger and sorrow when I see children burned to death because of the power shortage, while the leaders live in light, surrounded by pitch darkness. Gaza is in a confusing state, as the government in Gaza is indifferent to the people’s suffering and the PA in Ramallah is indifferent to those suffering darkness, poverty and a siege.

When we see the unknown fate of the Palestinians in Syria and Lebanon, and before them the Palestinians in Iraq, how can we not feel the pain of the siege and death in Gaza? How can we remain silent in the face of this deadly chaos in the Palestinian body, causing the people in Gaza to suffer tragedies, suicide, hunger and homelessness after the destruction of their buildings? Woe to the catastrophe that continues to recur.

The views expressed in this article belong to the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial policy of Middle East Monitor.