On writing in solidarity
A transcript of the speech I delivered at Dlúthpháirtíocht/Solidarity fundraiser in Belfast, 14/01/2024, on the 100th day of the genocide in Gaza.
Back in December my poem m.othering was included in Dlúthpháirtíocht (Irish for solidarity), a compilation of political poetry and artwork in aid of the Palestine Red Crescent (some of the money raised has since been redirected to help a family evacuate from Gaza). The compilation is published in pdf format and can be bought here for a donation of £2 or more, with a hard copy coming soon (stay tuned).
Last Sunday, 14/01/2024, a fundraiser event was held at Madden's bar in Belfast. It was an absolute privilege to be able to read my poem alongside talented Irish writers and musicians who contributed to Dlúthpháirtíocht and I'd like to use this opportunity to thank everyone involved once again. As an artist and writer, the silence among far too many artists and writers has been particularly deafening, and on this occasion it was very important for me to encourage everyone to keep writing and speaking up, but also to be able to amplify Palestinian voices. The following is the transcript of my speech from the fundraiser evening.
Before I read the poem I wrote for Dlúthpháirtíocht, “m.othering”, I'd first like to tell you about two Palestinian poets and about the act of writing in solidarity.
Before I wrote my poem I haven't written for about 10 years. Before that, I lived in Croatia and I worked as a journalist, I published a couple of stories, and then I just stopped writing. Life took a different direction. And then, in October my words just came back because I owed it to Palestine. That was the only way I was able to express the rage and the sorrow I was feeling. I read something that really put my writing practice into perspective; I read these beautiful words from Palestinian poet Mosab Abu Toha who invited all the people of the world to become writers for Gaza. He is currently exiled with his family in Egypt, but before that he was kidnapped by the IOF. (I don't want to call them the IDF and give them legitimacy; there is no defensive element here, they're an occupation force - let’s call it what it is). Mosab Abu Toha was kidnapped on his way to Rafah where he was instructed to go by the US government, he is an American citizen and a father of a child who is an American citizen. That did not stop the IOF from kidnapping him and torturing him. So let me tell you his words:
An open invitation to all people in the world to become writers.
There is a duty that everyone should take on, that they need to write about what they see and feel. It can be about everything. About your dinner with family, you trips to the seashore, watching the sunset, etc.
But let Gaza be part of it. Write down about what you watch on TV, on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter (X), etc., what I say here as fellow human.
Put your feelings on the page ( or your electronic device) save it for your children and your grandchildren so they will learn what you experienced as a human. How you suffered like us.
Dlúthpháirtíocht cover illustration by Diabhal666, inspired by Irish Republican murals, particularly the mural of Irish mythical hero Cú Chulainn in Lenadoon, West Belfast.
And then the other day, in the same tone Mosab Abu Toha shared this post:
(Before Goodnight)
Thing is, everyone, even my 3 years old child, later in the future, will go online or rummage through bookshelves in bookshops and libraries and the archive, searching for writers (especially poets) and media personalities and see what they wrote and published, what they said live on TV or radio about the genocide in Gaza, whether any of them saw the photos of decomposing corpses of kids under the rubble or in the street.
Whether that made them say even one word
CEASEFIRE
Even without an exclamation mark.
I think this really sums up what our solidarity is all about. In a world where we deal with unreliable, lying media that is complicit in genocide, the truth is in our hands. The hands of writers, artists of all descriptions. We are the ones who have the power and the platform, no matter how small that platform is. Whether it's 5.000 followers on Instagram, 50.000 followers on Instagram or any other channel, your words will reach people and they will stay a part of the history. The right side of the history. Don't stop talking about Palestine. Talk more. Write about the people under the rubble, write about olive trees, write about enemy tanks rolling over onto their side, find parallels with your experiences. Goodness knows we have plenty of that in Ireland with not just her history, but her ongoing colonial occupation here in the North. Write about how your blood boils when you see Genocide Joe spit on his Irish ancestors. Write about your rage when Irish politicians have the audacity to celebrate St. Patrick's Day in blood soaked America.
My own experience for example is unfortunately war. I was born in Croatia, just before the Croatian War of Independence, and I spent the first five years of my life in bomb shelters. How could I have moral right to stay silent when my own mother 18 years old mother was a sitting duck holding me, a very premature baby, wondering how long would we survive? The doctors told my mother I wouldn't live more than 24 hours. This very Sunday there is a baby just like that in Gaza. Maybe dozens of babies. The day after my 1st birthday was the day of one of the biggest battles of the Croatian War of Independence, the Battle of Vukovar. Vukovar being a large border town meant that if Vukovar falls, it's over. Everyone will fall. Before the fall of Vukovar on the 18th of November 1991, the town was under siege for 87 days. At that time, what happened was considered to be the biggest battle that happened in Europe since WWII. Vukovar was the first town in Europe to be completely destroyed since WWII. When Vukovar fell, it was ethnically cleansed, as declared by international courts - the same courts that are now doing nothing.
So when so-called neutral people say why do I bother writing about Palestine or Zionist trolls attack me on social media and tell me that I'm a woman from Ireland who can't even find Gaza on the map, just how wrong are they?! I will keep writing about Palestine because I'm a human, a mother, a child born in a war, but I can boil it all down to one simple thing - I write because speaking out is our moral imperative. Because decolonisation is long overdue and this is simply a matter of morals. Because there isn't a single thing on this planet that can make murdering more than 10.000 Palestinian children acceptable. Because solidarity is not conditional.
If you ever feel like you have no impact, just remember this week. Remember the evidence shared at the International Court of Justice. It was shared and gathered thanks to people all over the world who thought they're small and have no reach. We're not small. We are leaving an impact. As artists, painters, writers or else, we can virtually force people to be exposed to the reality and history of Palestine. We can't be shut down. And that's exactly what colonialists can't stand, they can't stand transparency. That's exactly why they're targeting writers, journalists, universities, libraries. They're trying to erase the existence of a nation. But they can't make us all shut up because we're speaking out all over the world and we have all become Palestinians.
Among the voices that Israel sadly did silence forever was professor and writer Refaat Alareer. He wasn't killed by just any bomb. He was assassinated. He left the school where he was sheltering because he didn't want to endanger others. He went to his sister's apartment. That apartment was surgically targeted and removed from the building, killing Refaat, his sister with her three children, and his brother with his child. That's 7 members of a family, murdered because one person dared to use his words. Refaat, one of the brightest voices of Gaza now doesn't have a grave or a gravestone. For over a month now, he's been one of over 8.000 bodies lost under the rubble. Many of them are nameless. It is our moral duty to give them a name and give them a story. They're not numbers.
Refaat's last poem was If I must die. If this poem doesn't give you hope, if this poem doesn't make you write more, I don't know what will.
If I must die, you must live to tell my story to sell my things to buy a piece of cloth and some strings, (make it white with a long tail) so that a child, somewhere in Gaza while looking heaven in the eye awaiting his dad who left in a blaze— and bid no one farewell not even to his flesh not even to himself— sees the kite, my kite you made, flying up above and thinks for a moment an angel is there bringing back love If I must die let it bring hope let it be a tale.
So, this is how much Israel fears written word, this is how much they're uncomfortable when they're called out for what they are. Good - colonisers should be uncomfortable. We should make them uncomfortable. So to finish with my own poem, in it I called out other mothers. The ones who are silent, because I just can't understand how can you be silent when your voice is simply a matter of basic human morals.
(At this point I’ve read my poem m.othering.)
Keep speaking up, keep boycotting, keep writing! It's been a 100 days and 75 years. Your words are heard and the occupation fears your words more than anything. They fear your solidarity, your sense of community and your humanity. It's been a 100 days and 75 years, and we can't accept a day longer. Free Palestine!
A short poetic film by Dylan Wright centred around pro-Palestine protests in Belfast, featuring a poem by Mikey Cullen (premiered at Dlúthpháirtíocht fundraiser).