Today marks a year since the commencement of the violent hostilities led by the Zionist entities in Israel in a retaliative response to the attack of the militarised Palestinian resistance organization Hamas.
The 7th of October 2023 signified the re-ignition of the aggression by the State of Israel, a condition that despite being presented as an a-historical eruption of a so-called self-defence move, is in fact a slow burning genocidal assault, perpetuated as part of Israel’s colonial settlement project.
We refuse to forget and normalise a genocide.
This podcast comes as a symbolic expression of our solidarity with the Palestinian people.
The decision to record in different languages is a deliberate one: First, to show that people across the world care about this issue while exposing the coloniality of the hegemonic English language. And second, to allow space for our emotions to grow by focusing on the rhythms, the pauses, the tones, the voices first, and the content second.
The speakers in this podcast share selected poems, personal thoughts, academic essays and journalistic articles of their choosing. By doing so they express their will to keep Palestine and Gaza alive through the act of talking about it.
The episode you are about to listen to consists of two parts. In the first part, 3 anonymous speakers read aloud poems and media articles. In the second part, you will hear a reflective narrative and an activist interview, both recorded in August 2024.
All links and sources will be available in the description box below. All credits belong to the original authors of the material shared.
Part 1: Poems and writing from Palestine
Poem 1. Noor Aldeen Hajjaj
(…)
This is why I’m writing now; it might be my last message that makes it out to the free world, flying with the doves of peace to tell them that we love life, or at least what life we have managed to live; in Gaza all paths before us are blocked, and instead we’re just one tweet or breaking news story away from death.
Anyway, I’ll begin.
My name si Noor Aldeen Hajjaj, I am a Palestinian writer, I am twenty-seven years old and I have many dreams.
I am not a number and I do not consent to my death being passing news. Say too, that I love life, happiness, freedom, children’s laughter, the sea, coffee, writing,
Fairouz, everything that si joyful – though these things will all disappear in the space of
a moment.
One of my dream is for my books and my writings to travel the world, for my pen to have wings that no unstamped passport or visa rejection can hold back.
Another dream of mine is to have a small family, to have a little son who looks like me and tell him a bedtime story as I rock him in my arms.
My greatest dream is that my country wil have peace, that children will smile more brightly than the sun, that we will plant flowers in every place a bomb once fell, that we wil trace out our freedom on every wall that has been destroyed. That war will finaly leave us alone, so we can for once live our lives.
[Italian translation]
(…)
Questo è il motivo per cui sto scrivendo adesso; potrebbe essere il mio ultimo messaggio che arriva al mondo libero, volando con le colombe della pace per dire
loro che amiamo la vita, o per lo meno, quella vita che siamo riusciti a vivere. In Gaza tutte le strade davanti a noi sono bloccate, e invece, ci ritroviamo ad un solo
Tweet o una notizia di cronaca dalla morte.
Il mio nome è Noor Aldeen Hajjaj, sono una scrittrice palestinese, e ho 27 anni e molti sogni.
Non sono un numero e non consento che la mia morte sia solo una notizia di passaggio. Si dovrebbe dire che amo la vita, la felicità, le risate dei bambini, il mare, il caffè, la scrittura, Fairouz, e tutto ciò che c’è di gioioso. Ma, nonostante ciò, tutto scomparirà nello spazio di un momento.
Uno dei miei sogni è che i miei libri e le mie scritture possano viaggiare il mondo, che la mia penna possa avere delle ali che non possono essere fermate da un passaporto senza timbro o un visto rifiutato.
Un altro mio sogno è di avere una piccola famiglia, un figlio piccolo che mi assomigli e al quale possono leggere la storia della buonanotte mentre lo coccolo tra le mie
braccia.
Il mio più grande sogno è che il mio paese possa trovare la pace, che i bambini possano sorridere in modo più lucente del sole, e che pianteremo fiori in ogni luogo in cui una volta cadde una bomba, tracceremo la nostra libertà su ogni muro che è stato distrutto. Quella guerra finalmente finirà e ci lascerà in pace, così potremo finalmente vivere le nostre vite.
Original source: https://www.gazapassages.com/noor-aldeen-hajjaj/english
Poem 2. Hind Joudah
Oct. 30, 2023
What does it mean to be a poet in times of
war?
It means apologizing …
extensively apologizing
to the burnt trees
to the nestless birds
to the crushed homes
to the long cracks along the streets
to the pale faced children before and after
death
to the faces of every sad or murdered mother
What does it mean to be safe in times of war?
It means being ashamed …
of your smile
of having warmth
of your clean clothes
of your idle hours
of your yawning
of your cup of coffee
of your restful sleep
of having alive loved ones
of having a full stomach
of having available water
of having clean water
of being able to shower
and for incidentally being alive!
Oh God,
I don’t want to be poet in times of war
[Czech translation]
30. Října, 2023
Co to znamená být básnířkou během války?
Muset se omlouvat…
Omlouvat se tisíckrát
Spáleným stromům
Ptactvu, co ztratilo hnízda
Rozbořeným domovům
Puklinám lemujícím ulice
Pobledlým dětem před smrtí a po ní
Truchlícím matkám, obětem vrahů
Co to znamená být během války v bezpečí?
Muset se stydět…
Za každý úsměv
Za teplo domova
Za čisté oblečení
Za líné dny
Za každé zívnutí
Za hrnek kávy
Za klidný spánek
Za přeživší blízké
Za plný žaludek
Za přístup k vodě
Kterou lze pít
Za horkou sprchu
Za náhodu, jež mi dovolila žít!
Ach Bože,
Nechci být básnířkou během války.
Original source: https://www.gazapassages.com/hind-joudah/english
Poem 3. Ramsey Nasr: ‘We Have On This Earth What Makes Life Worth Living’
On this earth what makes life worth living:
the hesitance of April
the scent of bread at dawn
an amulet made by a woman for men
Aeschylus’s works
the beginnings of love
moss on a stone
the mothers standing on the thinness of a flute
and the fear of invaders of memories.
On this earth what makes life worth living:
September’s end
a lady moving beyond her fortieth year without losing any of her grace
a sun clock in a prison
clouds imitating a flock of creatures
chants of a crowd for those meeting their end smiling
and the fear of tyrants of the songs.
On this earth what makes life worth living:
on this earth stands the mistress of the earth
mother of beginnings
mother of endings
it used to be known as Palestine
it became known as Palestine
my mistress:
I deserve, because you’re my mistress
I deserve life.
[Greek translation]
Μαχμούντ Νταρουίς
Σ’ αυτή τη γη υπάρχει κάτι που αξίζει να το ζήσεις
Σ’ αυτή τη γη υπάρχει κάτι που αξίζει να το ζήσεις
Ο ερχομός του Απρίλη
Η μυρωδιά του ψωμιού την αυγή
Αυτά που λένε οι γυναίκες για τους άντρες
Τα γραπτά του Αισχύλου
Η αρχή του έρωτα
Το χορτάρι πάνω σε μια πέτρα
Μητέρες που ζουν με το σκοπό της φλογέρας
Και ο φόβος των κατακτητών για τη μνήμη
***
Σε αυτή τη γη υπάρχει κάτι που αξίζει να το ζήσεις
Το τέλος του Σεπτέμβρη
Μια γυναίκα που ανθίζει μετά τα σαράντα
Η ώρα του ήλιου στη φυλακή
Σύννεφα που σχηματίζουν πελώριες μορφές
Τα συνθήματα του λαού για κείνους που φεύγουν γελαστοί
και ο φόβος στα μάτια των τυράννων
***
Σε αυτή τη γη υπάρχει κάτι που αξίζει να το ζήσεις
Σε αυτή τη γη, την κόρη της γης
τη μάνα όλων των ξεκινημάτων
τη μάνα όλων των τελειωμών
Τη λέγαν Παλαιστίνη
Karim Abuawad’s English translation: https://arablit.org/2013/01/15/we-have-on-this-earth-what-makes-life-worth-living/
Part 2: Reflection and conversation
Sources referenced in reflection piece
Excerpt from John Berger’s ‘Undefeated Despair’
https://criticalinquiry.uchicago.edu/undefeated_despair/
How is it I am still alive? I’ll tell you I’m alive because there’s a temporary shortage of death. This is said with a grin, which is on the far side of a longing for normalcy, for an ordinary life.
Everywhere one goes in Palestine—even in rural areas—one finds oneself amongst rubble, picking a way through, around, and over it. At a checkpoint, around some greenhouses that lorries can no longer reach, along any street, going to any rendezvous.
The rubble is of houses, roads, and the debris of daily lives. There’s scarcely a Palestinian family that has not been forced during the last half century to flee from somewhere, just as there’s scarcely a town in which buildings are not regularly bulldozed by the occupying army.
There’s also the rubble of words—the rubble of words that house nothing any more, whose sense has been destroyed. Notoriously, the I.D.F.—the Israeli Defence Force, as the Israeli army is called—has become, de facto, an army of conquest. As Sergio Yahni, one of the inspiringly courageous Israeli refusniks (they refuse to serve in the Army) writes: “This army does not exist to bring security to the citizens of Israel: it exists to guarantee the continuation of the theft of Palestinian land.”
Activist interview
The interviewee’s name, Sam, is a pseudonym used to protect their identity.
Conversation was recorded in August 2024 and took place in an outside setting with background noise.
Content warning: Police violence and brutality, sexual assault.
Learn more about the case of Stella Maris, former rector at the University of St Andrews:
https://www.theguardian.com/education/article/2024/aug/01/st-andrews-university-rector-dismissed-governing-body-israel-genocide-accusation
https://www.brismes.ac.uk/news/academic-freedom-letter-to-university-of-st-andrews-regarding-ms-stella-maris