As we at UPA wrap up our education campaign, it seemed fitting to share an excellent article written by Barber for the Middle East Policy Council, not long after the latest bombing of Gaza began. In it, he addresses what it means to be a Palestinian in Gaza, in a culture that places such a high value on education.
Most of us, I’m sure, have felt misunderstood in our teenage years, the age of hormonal imbalance, acne, developing crushes, making plans for the future, everything feels new and uncertain. The experience is often incredibly isolating.
Each spring, families across the world celebrate Mother’s Day, a day of flowers, breakfast in bed, and makeshift gifts for our matriarchs. If spring is the season of hope and life, mothers are the settled roots that remain grounded and steady year-round. Mother’s Day in this sense sounds simple and pleasant. A familiar embrace of traditions: showcasing a child’s handmade coupon book or sharing breakfast with a bouquet of fresh flowers often handpicked from a nearby garden or field. However, this Arab Mother’s Day, nothing is familiar, particularly for the mothers of Gaza.
March 8th marks International Women’s Day– a day to celebrate our collective strength, resilience, and the abundance of beauty to be found in each one of us no matter where we might be. We at UPA want to focus on a group that embodies these values despite the most impossible deprivation and violence: the Palestinian woman.
Nestled in the hills near Jerash in northern Jordan lies Gaza Camp, a place that carries the weight of history and the hopes of thousands of Palestinian refugees forced there following the Israeli Occupation of Gaza in 1967.
These are meters between life and death. Here initiates a major fight for existence – perish, or survive. Here you feel survivor’s guilt from all the massacres committed against the Palestinian civilians.
We decided to follow the forced displacement to the south in an attempt to save what is left of our lives. Per the usurper’s instructions, the safe passageway to the South is Salaheddeen St., the street that connects Gaza from the farthest point north to the south of the Strip.
I had told you before that I will narrate to you the journey to the south of the Gaza Strip. It’s not a trip; it is migration and forced, unjust displacement under fire and bombardment. Yes, that’s what it is.
We stayed in our home until the last breath. After the world couldn’t hold us anymore, we decided to move to the hospital and I told you that story.