From the Pacific to Palestine, Women Want to Sleep in Peace
Two women, connected by crises, pawns for patriarchy and The Powers That Be.
Israa K. Mousa is a Project Manager and Techwomen Fellow, and consultant, like me. She posts on LinkedIn like I do, and in pictures I see she likes to speak, too. She’s entrepreneurial and got her Masters, like me. We have a lot in common, though tonight is the first time Israa’s face and voice crossed my feed.
She’s also awake at 3:30am, like I am far too often. (It’s almost that hour here.) Unlike me, Israa is usually a morning person.
Unlike me, she is up because of bombs and her wounded mother is crying.
Unlike me, a missile hit the neighbors house of her pregnant sister and brother in law (who is now in surgery).
Her Uncle and 15 relatives were killed having lunch today.
She has no car. It was bombed over a week ago.
No phone service.
No way to get anywhere.
And there’s no where to go anyway.
Israa is not okay, and how could she be? I am really not okay, lying here grateful to hear rain pouring down instead of bombs, but gutted knowing it’s random luck. How is anyone okay with war? How can we allow this to happen to our fellow human beings?
There are no words strong enough that won’t get me in trouble and booted from social media. Sorry feels too small — almost insulting.
What can people do with “Thoughts and prayers” when war crimes are being committed in broad daylight, by “democracies”? What can people do when militarized police and extremists kill kids with AK-47s? What can people do when we’ve been out lobbied so we can be out voted and shut out of deciding where our money goes, what we invest in? What can people do when our President, the good Catholic guy (who lost his son), is also bought, sewing fear to keep America’s financial position and control over weapons?
What can we do when the algorithm was designed by the same type of engineers and project managers who designed the bombs? If only Israa and I could have led the design of a platform to ensure we amplify the truth. If only we could co-write a better story.
What can people do when our media is also controlled by hegemony, patriarchy, and capitalism?
If we stop speaking up and posting, they get to tell a narrative of lies, and do so callously.
So I post and post and post, hoping for a viral moment…not of content, but of compassion spreading out like the virus did, fast, invading the chests of men, like the magic of mystics, a salve of care for the whole planet.
It’s a naive wish. The reality that Israa may not be alive to read this is stuck in my stomach, making me queasy and angry and sad and enraged and incredulous and stunned.
Wishing does little to change things, but I must believe that speaking and writing can make it so people matter more.
For some, writing is all they have left. For others it’s how we survive. Sometimes, it is one and the same.
Before I close my eyes, hopeful I’ll wake up to news that the world finally woke the hell up, I had to write and share these thoughts with you. I had to write to you and about you, Israa, because your life and story matters. I’m typing out letter by letter on my phone screen, from the West Coast of Turtle Island, in what is now called the Pacific Northwest. I’m wondering how far you are from the sea. Just an hour like me? Less? More?
I’m wondering if you did online school or went there? Have you had water today?
I’m thinking about your suffering.
This war, like all wars, is pure injustice driven by blinding greed and fear. The way our government is aiding and funding this war and occupation is unacceptable and their lack of bravery, their arrogance.
Genocide is unacceptable.
Everyone in Gaza, the West Bank, and refugees everywhere deserve kavod (dignity, honor, respect). You and your family deserve freedom and peace.
I will keep marching and calling and writing and boycotting and voting but that won’t do you any good. I wish I could do more, but for now all I can do is sit up and write, like you, hoping that the world sees these words and comes to their freaking senses.
I’ll say a prayer in my head that my community says, Misheberach. (I wish I knew one from yours.)
May your family find strength, and renewal of body and spirit.
May our leaders have the courage to make their lives a blessing (instead of the violence they’ve cowardly chosen).
May you all find healing. May we return to our humanity and find peace.
Free Palestine.
Ceasefire.
End genocide.
