I never planned to read Allen’s ten tips on anything when he lives in a stolen home, but now it feels extra violent that it was delivered to my inbox. I don't want to be numb to evil. Was I sleeping this whole time?
I can taste the fascism in my mouth. Being in a community, a platform, or a space where the genocide of my people is background noise is for zombies. I am forever guilty of being far away from them.
I lost my will to write about the things I love. The random, everyday, and mundane. How can I write about anything other than Palestine? Especially when many are progressive except for Palestine?
I buried my brother and dad within three months of each other. Most Palestinians sent their condolences, saying I was privileged that I got to bury them at all, and I am. One day, I’ll go back to poking fun at issues that plague my community. But first, they have to survive the American-backed Zionist genocide, or there won't be any community left to poke at.
I die a million times a day. I die when I hear my people’s screams. I die when the kids speak, “Will my legs grow back?” I die when I sense the failure in a parent’s voice, “My children were martyred before they could eat!” I die when I see desecrated graves. I die from the constant gaslighting, the silence, the pacifiers, the apathetic, the traitors, the collaborators, the bothsiders.
I die, but I am not yet gone, not martyred in the thousands like my people — so for them, I must go on. And fight.
“You died. I cried. And kept getting up. A little slower. And a lot more deadly. — Assata Shakur.
Dear reader, I’m putting Haram AF on pause. My insides have been altered forever, and my writing focus has changed. My reason to live too. All issues take a backseat to genocide; genocide is the mother of all issues — from misogyny, LGBTQ, housing, and reproductive, to medical terrorism, cutting off of life-saving resources — food, water, fuel- mass starvation, and more — I hate when people say don't be a one-issue voter when they really mean I don't give a fuck about you.
Until Palestine is free, I will write under my name.
You can subscribe on Nada’s Substack or read my first post to decide.
My heart goes out to you, Nada. How utterly horrific.