The Electronic Intifada 5 February 2025
People return to what remains of their homes during sunset on 31 January.
APA imagesAt 5 am on Saturday 18 January, the day before the ceasefire came into effect, I woke to the sound of an explosion.
Talk of a ceasefire had been ongoing for weeks at that point and everyone knew it would start on the Sunday.
Yet that didn’t stop Israel from using every remaining moment to kill, maim and destroy.
The blast filled my room with the smell of explosives and death, which, despite the countless times I’ve smelled it, I still can not get used to. I kept my hand over my nose until the smell faded, just as did its victims, disappearing to a place only God knows.
I sat in my place, waiting for the dawn prayer a few minutes away. In the meantime, I opened my phone to browse social media. I found people engaged in an online war of words, most of whom have never been to Gaza and know nothing about it other than its name. The debate: Has Gaza won?
When prayer time came, I prayed. The discussions about victory and defeat seemed meaningless. Who am I to determine whether it was a victory or not? I remembered the words of my grandmother, displaced since May from Rafah – where she lost two homes – to our place in Nuseirat. She always used to say: “It’s all God’s will, Hassan. Say ‘alhamdulillah’ and move on.”
On social media, I saw nothing wiser than my grandmother’s words.
Watered with blood
Those celebrating Gaza’s victory don’t see the magnitude of its people’s tragedy. They didn’t wait for the hearts of its people, burned by the loss of their children, to heal. They didn’t give Gaza’s people the space to forget the global betrayal they’ve endured for 15 months.
They didn’t wait for the martyrs to be buried in a dignified manner in cemeteries, instead of in streets, hospitals, gardens and playgrounds. All of Gaza has become a cemetery.
They didn’t even wait for Sunday to declare victory, forgetting that the people of the tents were still at war.
It hasn’t ended yet.
Gaza’s people cautiously read the news with hope and fear. We searched for confirmation that the occupation would not continue killing. We wanted to make sure we would survive, that no one could starve us or take our children, sisters and families again.
We wanted to be sure that we wouldn’t be burned or dissolved in a furnace of violence.
We just wanted to mourn in peace.
There are those who see nothing but slogans celebrating a massacre they didn’t suffer.
Yet on the other side of the debate there were those, perhaps opining from a plane bound for a new destination, asking sarcastically, “What victory is this?”
Accustomed to a life of freedom, theirs has been an existence of luxury. They fail to understand that life isn’t seized through wishful thinking, but through hard work. A homeland is built and rebuilt by our own hands. It is in our care. It was handed to us by our ancestors. And we hand it on down to those who will follow.
This is our homeland. We’ve built it with our own hands and we’ve vowed to reclaim it with our blood. Don’t be surprised by the many honorable people in Gaza; the land is planted with martyrs and watered with blood. Such land gives birth to such people.
Don’t be surprised, either, by the presence of the lowly ones, the traders and thieves who exploit their people’s plight. Gaza is not perfect, its people are not angels.
Be silent and let us mourn
The name “Gaza,” given to it by the Canaanites, means strength. In the past, it was said, “whoever wins the battle of Gaza, wins the war.”
Despite the destruction, and despite the fact that the only thing left in Gaza is death with its lingering scent, Gaza’s victory – if it can be called that – is that it broke the will of all those great powers conspiring against it and stayed alive. It gave everything for Palestine.
Gaza stood alone and proud as history has always known it.
Don’t cry for our martyrs. Their blood watered this land. We honor our martyrs by the life we live, and we immortalize their memory through our steadfastness.
I don’t know whether what happened was a victory or not; I don’t have a standard to judge. But I know for certain that it is not your place, world, to sing of a victory you didn’t participate in or to cry over losses you were silent about when they occurred.
Just as you were silent about the genocide, the famine, the destruction of Jabaliya, the al-Ahli hospital massacre, the pleas of Dr. Hussam Abu Safiya, the destruction of our hospitals and the killing of our children, world, be silent now!
Be silent, and let us bury our martyrs in dignity, so they may find the peace they couldn’t find in this world. Be silent, for it is not your place to decide who won: the olive branch or the lingering smell of death.
Hassan Abo Qamar is a writer based in Gaza.
Comments
Let Us Bury Our Martyrs With Dignity
Permalink Julie replied on
Your words go out, so clear and true. They confirm that you will not leave Gaza, no matter what real estate plans are imagined by the Trump administration. Gaza belongs to you. I donate small sums and watch with compassion your lives in this new phase.
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