Letters from Palestine (40 page)

Let me tell you something funny. When Bahaa
hears me wishing for him to get a good job, he says, “My dear young
sister, don’t bother yourself. I am a fuel and energy engineer, and
since there is no fuel in Gaza, they obviously don’t need me!” He
laughs about it, but I am the one who knows how hard it is for
him.

What I am telling you is that I don’t work
because of the circumstances in Gaza. Now that I don’t go to school
for the summer holidays, I spend most of my time at home, taking
care of our small house, cleaning, cooking, looking after my old
father. I also occupy myself with reading novels and short stories
as I am very interested in reading literary works. I also follow
the news and try to educate myself about local and international
realities because this kind of informing myself will help me to
become a writer. I like music, and I listen to songs a lot. But
when [the] electricity goes off, life stops and I don’t do anything
important but playing with my nephews and nieces.

My best wishes to you and Anna.

Hanan

The beginning of July brought another letter
from Hanan, which continued her account of the trials and dangers
of widespread unemployment in the Gaza Strip but went on to
describe the kind of additional restrictions imposed on women. And
here, she also enlarges on her own literary ambitions. In many of
our letters to follow, we discussed literary topics and authors,
but I will have to omit most of those exchanges here because of
space limitations.

Dear Ken,

Yes, it does drive us crazy, I mean being
unemployed. It is accurate that unemployment here is near 80
percent, and it increases each single day, which I’m afraid is
going to lead our youth to desperation. However, I’m pretty sure
that one day all these miseries will come to an end as soon as we
reach the one democratic state solution, which guarantees equal
rights for both peoples. One of these rights is to have cinemas and
theaters. Yes, there is no single cinema or theater in [the] whole
Gaza Strip. I honestly don’t know the reasons for that. However,
what is more important than the reason is the effect. It is
dangerously unbearable to live in a place in which there is no kind
of entertainment. Do you know that Palestinian society has the
highest level of emotional stress and pressure among its people? Of
course you understand that there is a connection here.

In your letter, you asked if I am going to
travel abroad as my brothers did. Actually, I’m not so sure about
the answer. I mean that, yes, it is one of [my] dreams to go out
and breathe some free air and also go for my dreams, but in our
society, there are many stupid restrictions on the things related
to women. For example, a woman is not allowed to travel alone or
without her husband’s or father’s approval, and that is exactly the
reason for which I want to be writer, a feminist writer, to talk
about women and their rights. I also want to be a revolutionary
writer, to talk about revolution and resistance against all
injustice. There is a Palestinian writer, my favorite, named
Ghassan Kanafani, who was killed by the Israeli Mossad through
bombing his car in 1972. This is the kind of writer I aspire to be,
so wish me luck, huge luck, for it.

I think this is enough for one letter. [The]
electricity is going to be cut off in a few minutes according to
the schedule.

Dear Ken, thank you so much for writing to
me. I’m gaining a huge knowledge from you, and also thanks for
giving time to read my messages. I really appreciate it. Take care
of yourself and of Anna.

Yours

Hanan

During the month of July, Hanan’s letters
grew even warmer (“Dearest Ken”) along with the heat, and while our
literary discussions continued, they were often punctuated by
complaints about the increasing problems with electricity and the
lack of any progress on the easing of the siege. The following are
some typical excerpts, concluding with one written at the very end
of July:

I’m really sorry for being late in replying
to your emails, but electricity was the worstest lately, and they
came up with a new terrible timetable in which it is cut off
continuously for nine hours. It is like hell, especially because it
is very hot, and of course there’s no air conditioning.

Anyway, we got used to it.

You asked if the situation has become better
after the cease-fire took place. Well, the answer is a big NO.
Everything seems to be the same or the worstest. I believe you read
about the experience which Professor Haidar was forced to undergo
at the Rafah crossing [see the previous selection], so you can
imagine how awful things are. The same applies to my father. He
needs to travel to Egypt for medical treatment, but he is not able
to because of the siege which is not broken yet. You can see the
harsh reality under which we are living.

I’m sure you follow the news closely and
know that circumstances here are the same, nothing gets better. The
siege is getting tighter more and more, and we are really tired, so
tired that we [are] badly looking forward to getting rid of
everything.

Let me tell you something [that] may help
you to know how life is in Gaza: I used to go to the beach with my
family each summer after school finished. This year, we didn’t. You
want to know why? Because the sea, which is our only way out, is
dangerously polluted. Some of our relatives ignored the warnings
and went out there to swim. They ended up in the doctors’ clinic
suffering with a serious skin disease, and of course you know how
the sea got polluted in the first place. Oh dearest, I don’t want
to break your heart anymore with these words.

By August, things were, if anything, even
worse—or, as Hanan would say, “the worstest.” Deaths and illness
and despondency had all taken their toll on her, and on Gazans
generally, as the effects of the siege, during the still persisting
heat of summer, continued without any sign of improvement. But
despite this, toward the end of her letter, Hanan speaks of the
resilience of the Palestinian people, a theme that appears more
than once in her correspondence with me.

Dear Ken,

Oh, I really missed your words. Thank God I
finally got to receive some. I’m really sorry I didn’t send you
anything before this, but they were the most awful two weeks ever.
First, my aunt died. She was too young, only sixty years old. I
really miss her so much. Then the greatest Palestinian poet,
Mahmoud Darwish, died. He is my favorite. His poems are the best. I
was so sad for losing him. And finally my poor father, he is very
sick. He has been in the hospital for eight days, Yesterday doctors
performed the first surgery on him, and today they will be perform
the second surgery. I’m really worried about him.

So, am I OK? Well, I’m not sure.

I’m not headed back to school yet. It opens
in September, so I believe there is still some time for me to
rearrange myself. It is just unbearable, and I’m not talking about
myself, I’m talking about the situation here in Gaza. It is the
worstest, nothing gets better. People are getting furious. Some
became disappointed, and most are feeling lost. I do feel lost. I’m
talking about the poor people’s lives; they cannot take it anymore,
It’s too much for them. However, they have that amazing power to
heal themselves, and they keep going no matter what; they just
won’t take “No” for an answer, and that’s exactly what keeps my
faith.

Oh dear, I don’t want to break your heart
with my terrible news, but I am looking forward to get[ting]
another message from you. I will steal some time to write to you as
I’m doing right now because I care about writing to you. Please
take care and keep in touch.

My best wishes and best regards,

Hanan

It was during this time that the first two of
the Free Gaza boats were getting ready to make their perilous
voyage from Cyprus to Gaza to try to break the siege for the first
time. Most of us in my community, and certainly most Gazans, were
following these developments closely, with more anxiety than
confidence about the outcome. And so was Hanan.

Dear Ken,

Concerning the sailing in August, even
though I’m counting so much on it, I’m also concerned about the
people who will do it and try to break the siege. The Zionist
Israeli forces may attack them, hurt them, and even arrest some of
them. Even though this ship will bring us some essential
necessities, it might get hurt, and we will never accept something
like that. But I’m not so sure what we can do to protect them.

This sailing carries not only food and
medicine, but also hope and freedom. I can’t wait to see it coming,
breaking the horrible siege, bringing with it the free air which we
need the most. As I told you before, life here in Gaza is
unbearable. And the cease-fire deal is only some “ink on paper.”
Nothing gets better, the crisis is growing wider and wider. At the
same time the siege is getting tighter and tighter, and we are
stuck in the middle. By “we,” I mean the poor people whose biggest
dream is to live a decent life enjoying their rights, equal to any
other human beings. Is that too much to ask? Or are we just not
humans?

In the media, they used to call Gaza Strip a
big prison or mega prison. I personally call it a mega cage. The
difference is obvious. At least in a prison one can still have some
of his rights; in Gaza, we are driven to give up our rights,
dignity, and, most important of all, our humanity. However, I have
learned that no one, whoever he is, has the right to take away any
of my rights, especially the right to a decent life for me and my
children. I’m a woman, and my ultimate hope in life is to be a
mother someday, a good mother. But the question is, how can I be a
good mother when bringing my children into a world that rejects
them, and steals their right to life? How can I bring them into a
world in which they have no right to play, to get proper medical
care, proper education? Sometimes our children even lose their
right of birth—I’m sure you know about the uncountable number of
women who had to deliver their babies at the checkpoints, and many
of these babies passed away before the permission to go to the
hospital arrived.

What I am saying is the world is standing
still, motionless in front of the crimes against our people, and we
all have to stand up and say no in the face of injustice.

Sorry to bother you with this too long
letter: however, I felt like writing, and I think this is what
letters from Palestine is all about.

But finally, in early September, Hanan had
something to mitigate her anger and despair. She even had something
to cheer about.

I’m sure you watched the arrival of the two
boats. It was amazing—people down here were flying happily. Most of
them were on the beach, jumping into the water to welcome the
supporters. It was amazing. I called Professor Haidar one day
later, and he told me that he was there, and he found the reaction
of the Gazans unbelievably great, as if they were locked in a
prison for ages and finally got out of it. Wish you were here. It
was a remarkable day in our lives.

Over the next two months, my correspondence
with Hanan consisted mainly of short exchanges, partly because I
was sick for a time during this period while Hanan was very busy
with her school work and preoccupied with her father’s health.
Also, beginning in October, I became very preoccupied with
preparations for the trip that Anna and I would be taking the
following month to Palestine and Israel. It was to be our first
visit to the Middle East, and we would be away for virtually all of
November. Of course, Hanan wrote to wish us well, but with that,
our communications necessarily ceased until after my return in
early December.

A few days after getting back home to
California, I wrote Hanan to let her know that Anna and I had had a
marvelous time during our journey to the West Bank, where of course
we had a chance to meet many Palestinians and even to stay with
some Palestinian families. She quickly responded with one of her
warmest letters to date, and one of the hardest for me to read.

Dearest friend Ken,

Oh . . . I’m so gratefully glad to receive
your email and know that you’re back home safe and well. I have
just read your words and feel very happy that you have spent good
time in the West Bank. I’m fine, and my father and family are fine
too, so don’t worry about us.

I really missed your letters during these
days, and God knows how much I wished you were permitted to visit
the Gaza Strip and finally meet you. You have become one of my best
friends ever, but I do realize that it was impossible . . .

After describing some of the recent hardships
she and her family had been experiencing because of chronic
electricity outages, she poured out her heart to me about what life
in Gaza was like for people living there as 2008 drew to a
close.

My dear, I don’t want to break your heart
with the awful news of the late Gaza, peace be upon that place of
earth. I’m sure you follow the news wherever available, yet media
cannot and will never be able to honestly describe the truth of our
reality. People here have reached a point at which they feel as if
they are isolated from the rest of the world (which they are). I
have personally heard some saying, “This is not a life; we are
dead. We have been for a long time but lying to ourselves, saying
that we are alive, but we are just some moving dead people.”

Believe me, it is worse than that, but there
are still many people who truly believe that the salvation is very
close. I’m not sure which one of them I am??

What do you think?

I believe I have already broken your heart,
but never mind, my friend. I’m very glad that we are back in touch
again. It might be the best thing of this siege that it gave me the
chance to communicate with such a devoted friend as yourself.