From the Diaries of an Arab Girl under Occupation
Occupied Palestine- Amani Khatter
It's been a while, my friend, that I have been wanting to ask you these few questions stuck at the tip of my tongue. Yet, I never found an oppurtunity to, till now.
I have wanted to ask you if you still remember your Jewsih friend who once inquired: Why do you study the 'Tanakh' [the Torah] when you
attend Arabic schools?"
Do you remember what you answered her at the time? You told her then that the "Tanakh was very important."
Did you blush at the moment when everyone was staring at you, or did you blush because you weren't convinced of the answer you gave?
Do you remember that time at university when the lecturer asked each one of us to write three words that we thought express our identity?
Do you recall the manner of which you acted then? You lowered your gaze to the ground, as if he would not notice you , and then you would not have to answer his questions.
Did you avoid answering because three words are just not enough... or, because three words are just too much to express an identity you do not possess? I think that it was not easy for you to admit that you are
without identity.
Alright. Do you recall the day the judge from the Supreme Court
visited university to speak about equality between man & woman... the Jewish man and the Jewish woman, and everyone was allowed to ask
her questions? Do you remember the excitement of your Jewish friends
as they stood for the first time near a judge of her ranking, and not because they were allowed to ask her questions?
I remember very well how you tried tirelessly to be as excited as they were. I asked you then: "When will we have a lecture addressing
equality between Arabs and Jews?" Do you remember how you just stood their silent; you didn't ask the judge, but kept the question
to yourself? Was it because you acknowledged the risk of this question
being asked in a "democratic country," or was it that you knew the answer, but chose not to hear it?
Shall I publish your photograph, now when you have reached 20?
Do you remember when you were in the bus, and that Israeli soldier tried, with all his unsuccessful trials, to converse with you? Do you recall when, after an hour, a Palestinian came on board- who wished he didn't after all eyes turned to stare scornfully, mixed with fear?
Do you remember how the soldier siezed the moment to speak to you, flaunting his masculinity and chauvinism in front of you, saying:
"Izi Arabeem mlukhlkheem," meaning: Dirty Arabs?
The soldier spoke to you in Hebrew, not knowing you were an Arab. Your laughed back then, but you had unmasked him; you knew that he
was actually an Arab from his broken Hebrew accent.
Alright my little actress, shall I expose you and tell what you did when
you went to rent a room at the university?
At that moment, the Jewish house owner asked you to introduce yourself. You answered saying:" I am Druze."
Yes. Your were born as such, with an ID having "Durzeet" written on it. Druze with a dot before it. A dot that is supposed to be after the ending of a sentence, to seperate it from what was before it. A dot that erases your entire history, heritage, and identity... they didn't even mention anything after it.
Do you remember what you answered the house owner when she asked whether the Druze were Arabs?
She does not rent to Arabs, and she hadn't heard of Druze before.
Do you remember the silence that came over you?
At the time, you liked the room... at the time, it hurt to have lied.
Translated by Moments of Gaza
Original article appeared in Arabic in today's issue of Alakhbar, Lebanese Leftist newspaper
