“It is not so hard to believe, even during the worst of things, that courage is the more potent contagion. That there are more invested in solidarity than annihilation. That just as it has always been possible to look away, it is always possible to stop looking away.”
—Omar El Akkad, One Day, Everyone Will Have Always Been Against This
There is a bird that flies across Palestine, through gardens and scrublands, groves of olive trees. The metallic blue and green plumage of the males shimmers in the light of the sun as they pass over fields of blooming poppies—black, green, and red hues like flags—pollinating wild thyme and other plants that sprout with resilience throughout the occupied territories. This bird, the Palestine sunbird, knows no borders. It is free, unlike the people living where it flies.
Over the last year and a half of witnessing a genocide through our phones, I have written about the olive trees of Palestine as a plea for peace, honoring my Palestinian ancestors, and fighting for a liberated future for all humanity. Other stories at Atmos have covered the rising death toll (now 53,655) and intergenerational trauma in Gaza; shone a light on artists and archivists preserving and uplifting their culture in the face of erasure; documented dwindling natural resources; and platformed Israeli and Palestinian voices mourning the dead and calling for an end to this bloodshed. Still, it continues.
This week, Israel launched Operation Gideon’s Chariots, an expanded military offensive aiming for full control of the territory—despite the International Court of Justice declaring the occupation unlawful and ordering Israel to withdraw, make reparations, and allow displaced Palestinians to return. The offensive follows months of deliberate starvation tactics: More than 9,000 children have been treated for acute malnutrition so far this year, and the United Nations’ humanitarian chief warned that 14,000 babies in Gaza are at risk of dying without urgent aid. While some trucks have been allowed in, a UN spokesperson called it “a drop in the ocean,” with relief still failing to reach those most in need.
This time has been morally clarifying. Amnesty International, Human Rights Watch, and UN Special Rapporteurs have determined that Israel is imposing apartheid—institutionalized racial segregation—and genocide upon Palestinians. I cannot fathom why it is still controversial to say so, but I believe apartheid and genocide are wrong and without justification. I believe the same about antisemitism and acts of violence toward innocent civilians. I want a world in which all humans are free, regardless of race or religion. This is not complicated to me.
The “it’s complicated” argument as it relates to Israel and Palestine is one that author and journalist Ta-Nehisi Coates has diffused numerous times in talks surrounding his book The Message, which he wrote after visiting the occupied territories of Palestine. Coates has drawn comparisons between the segregation he witnessed there and the Jim Crow laws in the United States, which were often justified with the same arguments: that it was a complex issue, that there could be uprisings, and so on. These excuses did not make them right.
We are witnessing documented attempts to silence people from speaking out about Palestine, all the while global solidarity spreads as clarity about what is happening becomes more impossible to deny or disregard. I do not consider myself an activist; I started doing environmental work because I did not have it in me to turn away from the planet’s suffering. I believe that when we do so, we turn away from the very best of what makes us human: the part that says we can do better than this. It is for the same reason that I am writing to you, again, about these horrors.
I’m thinking this morning about the Palestine sunbird and the nation it symbolizes, the children who deserve to see its iridescence shimmering in clear skies free of dust and debris. I’m thinking about the courage of the hungry, those waiting for the world to intervene so that they can one day watch those blue skies without fear of bombs falling. I’m thinking about how contagious that courage is among hearts that are open, how much they can hold when they do not beat alone.
Biome
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