Alishba Umer
“Six years after the writing of this book, my mother died. Her hope – as I mentioned at the end of the book – ‘to live to see the end of this tragic story’ was not fulfilled. The way things are going, it doesn’t seem likely that I will live to see the end of this tragic story either. But then I listen again to the birds in my garden and wonder what I can do to make it happen, and so
I continue to write.”
Grief is a circular staircase. Reading When the Bulbul Stopped Singing, Shehadeh’s parting words pen down the inexplicable dilemma of a crumbling world, one that bears witness to the tragedy, loss of moral compass and unforgivable violence-yet still demands hope, to survive. The pulse of hope, fleeting in nature, stays and departs much like a songbird, the Bulbul. Mirroring the defiant spirit of unwavering resilience of a Palestinian, the Bulbul rises as a living metaphor for the fragile hope and broken dreams of Palestinian homes, held by children, mothers and fathers. Every Palestinian heart, young or old, testifies to the presence of quiet, unshakable rebellion to guard one’s moral ground, sense of righteousness and faith in the face of Israeli occupation and settler colonialism while carrying the weight of grief, flickering hope and fragile dreams. Yet, fleeting as it remains, the spirit draws a portrait of human resilience, enduring strength and a heart that remembers how to hope, sing and live. This remembrance turns into an act of rebellion in a world that constantly demands them to forget, give up and erase their roots. Nevertheless, the Palestinians had understood long ago that if they’d pull their roots themselves, what would hold them all together?
In today’s divided world, the Nakba transcends history. Israel’s show of brutality, unparalleled violence, prejudiced mentality and unchecked moral accountability persists. The timeline of 1948 runs throughout the past and the present fate of Palestinians. During the Israeli siege of Ramallah (West Bank), hometown of Shehadeh, the state of normalcy was soon replaced by echoes of war drums, gun shots, ammunition and tanks reverberating across the streets of the city. The city life carried by the embrace of songbirds, sweet chirping and singing, silently faded away with time. It is this systemic erasure that does not solely erase the living but also the natural atmosphere that surrounds them; this ensures every ounce of hope, faith and harmony is shattered, utterly and completely.
Witnessing grief as a familiar setting across multiple accounts of Palestinian literature, the process of systemic erasure lies at the heart of every Palestinian story, which manifests in multiple ways. For that matter, Kanafani’s stories are defined by the leitmotif of memory as a battleground. In Returning to Haifa, the simple act of revisiting one’s hometown establishes the necessity of confrontation with the unresolved past. To pursue this act of confrontation with memory and remembrance is what colonial structures actively work against, from time to time. Kanafani’s words narrate the ‘tragic story’ of Palestinians, as Shehadeh calls it, truly rooted in the continuous attempts to be forced to live in a world that demands they forget. Oppressive regimes, like Israel, understand that memory is the sole evidence and testament to Palestinian resistance, which, despite countless attempts, can be erased.
History is rewritten, narratives are misconstrued, truth is manipulated, and statements are sanitised to distort reality to frame the victim as the oppressor and the oppressor as the victim. On these lines, the violence of Palestinian memory, their iron will and conviction to survive, is weaponised as a form of threat and terrorism in the eyes of the oppressor – a truly unsettling sight. Living in today’s global world suspended at a moral crossroads, humanity fails to intervene meaningfully. The normalisation of Israeli settler colonialism dominates the global landscape under the disguise of diplomacy and actively works towards the erasure of Palestinian lives into figures, their names and fading stories lost to statistics and grief, only anchored in rows of nameless data.
In the words of Kanafani,
“The cause of Palestinians is not a cause of Palestinians only,
But a cause for every revolutionary.”
The day hearts awaken to this truth, humanity shall prevail in its truest sense. Coming to the question directed to our autonomy, the least that can be done is to actively educate ourselves by amplifying Palestinian voices, silenced for countless years and generations. To educate oneself translates to setting one’s moral ground, advocating and standing on the right side of history. Contrary to what many consider, literature is not passive. Politics is not passive. Justice is not passive. Our will to ponder, speak and act is outrightly political given times of conflict.
If it feels like the world already might be too late, the latest occurrence of the ‘Madeleine Ship’ advancing to the Gaza Strip, carrying humanitarian aid, sailed with 12 international activists to express solidarity for Palestinians and oppose the Israeli blockade of the Gaza Strip, risking their lives for the greater good of humanity. Over the past three months, not a single grain of flour has reached Gaza, with thousands of children and pregnant mothers undergoing severe acute malnutrition, dying from pangs of hunger. With the current aid blockade imposed by Israel, the children of Gaza are starving as “they have officially run out of infant formula”, reports Khaled Beydoun.
Upon hearing the news of the Madeleine ship, named after a Palestinian girl who’s known to be the youngest professional fisherwoman in the world, several Palestinian journalists expressed the joy of Palestinians who locked eyes on the ship as the only silver lining in their lives. As one might fear, the departure of the ship occurred a few days ago, once journalists were abducted and cornered by Israeli forces. Following this incident, Palestinian journalist Plestia Alaqad reiterates, “If a boat with just 12 people carried that much hope to Palestinians, imagine what the whole world could do if they dared to act.” Out of many occurrences, this incident merely reflects how their everyday relationship with the paradox of hope, fear and survival drastically changes, in the eyes of Palestinians.
As the author Zelena Montminy articulates:
“We live in a world that rushes grief. Grief is heavy, but not in the way people think. It is not just the sadness that comes in waves or the tears that appear at inopportune moments. It is the weight-the sheer exhaustion of carrying something that has nowhere to go.”
In the cruellest of times, these sentiments poignantly convey what the Palestinians have internalised, ages upon ages. Daring to survive in this continuous loop of grief channels the spirit of Palestinians, carrying resilient hope and despair, such conflicting feelings, existing in one place, at one time. A heart at war with itself. Beneath the rubble of shattered homes and fragments of broken dreams, every act of solidarity means the world to Palestinians, affirming that the world has not forgotten them, their loss and sufferings matter and that the cries of Bulbuls still reverberate through our hearts and share the grief of those still waiting to live.
The writer is a freelance columnist.
