SUBSCRIBE TO OUR FREE NEWSLETTER
Daily news & progressive opinion—funded by the people, not the corporations—delivered straight to your inbox.
5
#000000
#FFFFFF
5
#000000
#FFFFFF
palestinian rights
What Fuels My Revolutionary Optimism This Nakba Day
It's hard to think liberation is near when faced with so much death and destruction. But it's even harder to ignore the cracks in the facade of the US and Israeli machine.
May 15, 2026
As a Palestinian born in the 21st century, I am the generational product of Nakba survivors and the trauma that came with it. As distant as it may seem, I am only two generations removed from the 1948 Catastrophe of Palestine, where over 750,000 Palestinians were displaced from their land, and thousands were massacred. Zionist militias backed by the British Empire razed Palestinian villages, killing, raping, displacing, and imprisoning anyone they could find, all to establish the brand new settler colonial project of Israel. This single day in Palestinian history would stain the soil with blood spilled and trauma gained for decades to come.
Both sets of my grandparents are older than the state of Israel, each born a few years before the Nakba. May 14, 1948, was probably a rather normal day in my grandparents' childhood. They would have been inside their homes with their families, or playing outside like any other day. The next day, everything changed. On May 15, Zionist militias stormed their hometowns, slaughtered their neighbors, and destroyed entire villages. My grandparents' childhoods were stripped away, and their entire lives uprooted.
After the Nakba, everything changed. The people of Palestine now live under the occupation of racists who despise and dehumanize them. These foreigners decided what rights they could and couldn't have in their own homelands, and the threat of violence was always present. My great-grandfather was shot in the head by a settler. The Palestinian education system was dramatically defunded, leading my mother's parents to leave for Europe for university. When they tried to come back home after the 1967 Naksa, foreign soldiers somehow had the authority to bar them from ever entering again. They had to move to Jordan and start a new life. They were only two hours away from their families, but they didn't know if they'd ever be allowed to make the short trip back. My grandmother has only been to Palestine once since then, and my grandfather twice.
My other set of grandparents remained on the land, but now had to live a life of heavy restriction and limited movement. It's hard for me to imagine what it was like to witness the plundering of our homeland by foreign invaders, but I can never truly understand the magnitude of seeing the gradual colonization that seemed to only get worse throughout the decades. I will never forget when my grandfather, who was a bus driver back in the day, told me that he was once able to drive to Beirut or Baghdad, and then return home on the same day. Now, such an idea is unfathomable.
In 1948, a time when news traveled slowly, Israel and the West believed they had conquered a territory forever. In 2026, that "forever" territory is still fighting back against years of occupation and genocide.
Ever since I was old enough to comprehend things, I knew Palestine was my homeland and that it was being hurt by something called Israel. Israel was the reason my mom was born in Jordan instead of Palestine, the driving force that led my parents to move to the US for better education and work. It is the thing that separates me from the rest of my extended family, preventing me from knowing them wholly and truly. Israel is why I only see my grandparents every few years, why I have to watch my younger cousins grow up through a phone screen. As a Palestinian who grew up in the States, I was immersed in Western culture and disconnected from my own, and Israel is the reason.
This was my norm, the reality I was born into. After a while, the daily reminders of being disenfranchised, the cruelty of it all, become something you just get used to. You begin to get settled with the unsettling feeling that this may be the fortune of a Palestinian in this world: a life of displacement and diaspora, with the occasional travesty, like the previous bombing campaigns of Gaza in 2008, 2012, and 2014. This process of desensitization is imprinted in my generational DNA; I was practically born already accustomed to the injustice of being Palestinian.
The brutal truth was that the Nakba never ended. We all instinctively knew this, but especially after the Oslo Accords' normalization efforts, a sense of false comfort plagued the Palestinian community for the two decades following its signing. The reality before October 2023 was the occasional protest and the occasional outrage, only to be quelled by half-hearted statements of sympathetic apathy by politicians. I became involved in student organizing for Palestine in 2021, and although we were constantly working, the landscape back then was much quieter and smaller.
Then, two and a half years ago, the current stage of genocide in Gaza began. I don't think I will ever experience life the way it happened that fall. I had gone to sleep on October 6, when everything was relatively "normal," then I woke up for my morning shift at 4:30 am to my phone practically blowing up with notifications. I remember going to my barista job with headphones in the whole time, watching Al Jazeera while I made coffee for people who had no idea what had just shifted in the world.
In the wake of October 7, the protests became consistent, the outrage became something so eternal that you felt like it could consume you and burn you to ash. What was once a few hundred people in the streets became thousands, and in some places, millions would turn out.
It was the beginning of a period of exhaustion, having something so important to organize for every single day, to the point that my studies didn't even matter anymore. It was tough, but what was happening to those in Gaza was far worse, and it became a matter of expending everything you have for those who have nothing. Millions felt the same all over the world, and this sparked the mass-education and mobilization of the Palestine solidarity movement we see today.
Since October 2023, the images out of Gaza resembling the Nakba have flooded our timelines. After nearly three years of the most inhumane, dehumanizing, genocidal campaign by the US and Israel, one might assume that a sense of hopelessness would take hold, as it did after the 1948 Nakba. But I see this moment as the catalyst for the exact opposite to happen.
Israel believes it can continue what it has always done. It can embark on an outright genocide with the intent of wiping Palestinians off the map, then agree to multiple ceasefires only to break every single one of them. After all, you cannot cease a genocide while the genocidal entity still operates with impunity. The difference this time around is that people around the world actually know what's going on. Israel, along with its benefactor, the US, has backed itself into a corner I doubt it will ever escape from.
And that's the fuel to my revolutionary optimism. Sometimes, it's hard to think liberation is near when faced with so much death and destruction. But it's even harder to ignore the cracks in the facade of the US and Israeli machine. They were both built on false foundations that were already rotten and cracked, and nothing built on the crushed livelihoods of millions will ever persevere. People are seeing the rot come up to the surface, and they are utterly disgusted with the state of our world that has perpetuated genocide, all held together by an ultra-wealthy ruling class, agonizing capitalism, and white supremacy.
When Israel was once known as the democracy of the Middle East, it's now the stain, the villain that has rained chaos, death, and destruction all over the region. When getting American Israel Pubic Affairs Committee money once meant you were a strong candidate, now it's a sure death sentence in local American elections. When American institutions like the American Medical Association once deemed it acceptable to stay silent on Palestine, they are now condemned for it. When our media and news outlets operated as tools of Israeli propaganda, they are now seen as tools of war and oppression. It is our work and dedication as activists that have changed the perception of all these things that were once deemed normal.
In 1948, a time when news traveled slowly, Israel and the West believed they had conquered a territory forever. In 2026, that "forever" territory is still fighting back against years of occupation and genocide. That's the difference: The struggle for Palestine was built on the sacrifice of our martyrs and revolutionaries, on principle, and on love for our land and people. It is a beautiful, rich foundation that can withstand whatever force attempts to tear it down.
Most of my family remains on the land, or near it in Jordan. I see this as a consistent win against the oppressor every day. As long as we keep our homes, livelihoods, and stories, the Palestinian identity will never die, and my family is fighting that battle every day. If desensitization has an imprint on my DNA, so does resilience and the steadfast faith that Palestine will be liberated soon.
Keep ReadingShow Less
No, It's Not Antisemitic to Charge Israel With Genocide and It's Dangerous to Say It Is
It posits that Israel represents all Jews and therefore criticism of Israel becomes criticism of the Jewish people and it denies the victims of Israel’s behaviors their legitimate right to speak of their pain.
May 12, 2026
Is it antisemitic to say that Israel is committing genocide in Gaza? More generally, is it “hurtful and insensitive” for someone to acknowledge the suffering that Israel has inflicted on the Palestinian people? In recent weeks, actions by two different institutions of higher learning brought these two questions to the forefront.
On April 15, a group of faculty and student organizations at Le Moyne College in Syracuse, New York, hosted celebrated Pulitzer Prize-winning writer Mosab Abu Toha to speak at the campus. During his appearance, to set the stage for the poems he was to read, Abu Toha shared his experiences living in Gaza during the start of the Israeli assault. He told of the members of his and his wife’s families who had been killed in Israel’s bombing campaigns. Entire families erased, neighborhoods laid waste, memories eradicated. It was, he stated, a genocide.
Days after event, Le Moyne’s president issued a statement apologizing for the discomfort that Abu Toha’s remarks may have created for some in the college community. The letter noted that his use of the word genocide in connection with the state of Israel caused “real hurt” and was leaving “some members of our community to feel unwelcome.” The president concluded by affirming that “antisemitism, along with all forms of bigotry and hate, has no place at Le Moyne.”
Abu Toha responded to the president’s letter with an “open letter” of his own, rejecting the implication that using the word genocide to describe Israel’s actions could be termed antisemitic.
It is worth noting that the assumption underlying this assertion fits hand-in-glove with the claim of real antisemites who argue that the consequences of Israel’s bad behaviors can legitimately be visited on all Jews.
“Seriously?” he asked. “Are the crimes of the Israeli state representative of all Jewish people? I personally refuse to believe that is the case… I never used the word ‘Jewish’ during the entire event; I refuse to conflate the faith of Judaism with the actions of Israel.”
He concluded: “If anyone told you they felt ‘hurt’ because I used the word genocide, then I ask you: How should I feel? How should my wife feel after losing her father? How should my three children feel after losing their grandfather?”
And then, this past weekend, the University of Michigan held its commencement ceremonies. One of the speakers was the president of the faculty senate. He began his short but eloquent remarks by noting that while the university celebrates its athletes and their accomplishments, there are other heroes who should also be celebrated—those who challenged the stale and unjust status quo of the university by opening the doors to inclusion and understanding.
He began by mentioning a young woman who in 1858 challenged the school’s opposition to enrolling women as students. He went on to note the first Jewish faculty member and the Black Action Movement that pressed the university to expand their curriculum to honor the black experience, and closed by recognizing the “student activists… who sacrificed much to open our hearts to the injustices happening in Gaza.”
His remarks were so beautifully constructed and presented that they elicited a roar of approval from those in attendance. The video of the event appearing on the university’s website shows his colleagues and administrators applauding the speech.
Within a few days, the same university president who is seen applauding issued a letter denouncing the professor’s speech as “hurtful and insensitive” and “inappropriate.”
(To avoid “further controversy” the university removed the video of the event—in which the president is seen applauding the speech—from the website).
The question that must be asked, in addition to those noted above, is what is the logic behind this claim that the remarks of both Abu Toha and the faculty senate president were hurtful to the point of being antisemitic?
The place to begin is by asking: “What is antisemitism?” The simplest and clearest definition is that antisemitism is hatred of, stereotyping of, or discrimination against Jewish people because they are Jews. Like other forms of bigotry, it claims that there are inherent characteristics or behaviors that are shared by all Jews, simply because they are Jewish.
Given this, the only way that criticism of Israeli actions can constitute antisemitism is if the critic implies that Israel does what it does because it is Jewish and “that’s the way Jews are,” or if the person making the claim of antisemitism maintains that because Israel says it is a Jewish state that whatever it does represents all Jews and therefore criticism of Israeli policies is the same as criticism of the Jewish people.
This latter position has long been propagated by pro-Israel organizations. Until recently, this proposition was mostly rejected, but it has now come to gain acceptance. It is dangerous precisely because it posits that Israel represents all Jews and therefore criticism of Israel becomes criticism of the Jewish people. It is worth noting that the assumption underlying this assertion fits hand-in-glove with the claim of real antisemites who argue that the consequences of Israel’s bad behaviors can legitimately be visited on all Jews. Interestingly, this is the same logic that has long plagued Arab Americans who have been victims of hate crimes because it was claimed that their ethnicity or religion made them legitimate targets in response to the actions of some Arab groups in the Middle East.
The other consequence is that, as Abu Toha correctly notes, it denies the victims of Israel’s behaviors their legitimate right to speak of their pain and call out, with specificity, the agent who caused it because of the hurt that might cause those who support Israel—or in the case of the University of Michigan, to deny the right of students to empathize with and demand that Palestinian victims be heard, because acknowledging Palestinian pain might also cause hurt feelings.
Keep ReadingShow Less
The Global Sumud Flotilla to Gaza—A Cry at Sea to the World's Dormant Conscience
Activists, representing the best of humanity, have come from all seven continents because history is being written beneath the stars and across the cobalt waters. They stand apart in a world that has chosen to look away.
Apr 30, 2026
While the world’s attention has been hijacked by the new American, made-for-Israel war against Iran, a quieter act of resistance is gathering on the deep blue waters of the Mediterranean Sea. An act of defiance determined to remind the international community that there is no pause in Gaza’s genocide, and there will be none for those fighting to end it.
The Global Sumud Flotilla, (sumud means "steadfast" in Arabic), is now on its 2026 spring mission. International activists boarding close to 100 boats, with Greenpeace's Arctic Sunrise providing technical and operational support, are sailing to Gaza under the slogan: We sail until Palestine is free.
The goal is clear, and against all odds, to establish a direct maritime corridor to Gaza's shores, delivering what Israel's blockade has long denied the more than 2.2 million human beings. The 1,000 multinational seafarers carry something harder to quantify: the accumulated moral weight of a world that has grown tired of watching governments perform concern while doing nothing.
Before speaking of what the flotilla is sailing toward, the world must first reckon with what it has chosen to normalize: Israeli occupation of 53% of Gaza. Its suffocating blockade controls every calorie that enters the strip, so precisely, so deliberately engineered, that humanitarian organizations have documented an official daily intake for Gaza's children, a number calculated not to sustain life but to regulate its slow erosion. A supposed ceasefire that never ceased using food as a weapon in a war of starvation.
For all its firepower, Israel has not found a weapon capable of extinguishing people’s determination to stand up against injustice.
Since the October 10, 2025 ceasefire announcement, the headlines moved on, but Israel kept killing. Six months later, United Nations Human Rights Chief Volker Türk reported that at least 738 Palestinians had been murdered since that ceasefire took effect, with airstrikes, gunfire, and shelling continuing daily across the strip. “Palestinians have no blueprint for survival… Whatever they do or don't do, wherever they go or don't go, there is no safety or protection afforded to them. It is hard to square this with a ceasefire,” he said.
It cannot be squared, because it is a one-sided ceasefire. More than six months on, Israel continues to cordon 2.2 million Palestinians into 47% of their own land, an open-air prison shrinking by the day, its walls drawn not in concrete but by the calculated silence of the international community. Homes, or what had remained of them at the time of the ceasefire, have since been systematically razed to the ground. More than 1 million human beings are not permitted to return, not even to pitch a tent over the rubble of what was once their home.
They are separated from their homes and farms by the so-called yellow line. In reality, it’s a red bloodline, demarcated not by markings, but by the corpses of murdered Palestinians. A moving death trap that follows Gazans into their streets, their neighborhoods, their tents. A father walking his child to what remains of a school. A woman carrying water back to a tent. A man standing outside because his home no longer has walls. Any of them, at any moment, can fall within the “bloodline” death coordinates, and be shot.
To hide the story, Israel kills the witnesses attempting to document the murder. On April 8, the Israeli military murdered another journalist, Mohammed Wishah. Wishah, the 294th Palestinian journalist targeted by Israel in Gaza since October 2023. According to Brown University, Watson School, as of April 2025, Israel “killed more journalists in Gaza than the US Civil War, World Wars I and II, the Korean War, the Vietnam War (including the conflicts in Cambodia and Laos), the wars in Yugoslavia in the 1990s and 2000s, and the post-9/11 war in Afghanistan, combined.”
Israel has exported the same tactic to Lebanon, where the targeting of journalists and media workers has brought the total number of murdered Lebanese journalists to more than 20. It is a regional Israeli strategy of silencing witnesses, not an isolated pattern of collateral damage. The number of murdered journalists in Palestine and Lebanon are not just a statistic. It is an Israeli methodology. Where the blue helmet and the press vest have become Israeli military priorities, not because journalists carry weapons, but because Israel fears the camera more than it fears the gun.
This is why Gaza remains sealed to a complicit international press. A blackout designed to conceal what Israel's killing machine is doing on the ground. When it cannot stop the truth from existing, it kills the locals who expose it. When it cannot stop the world from eventually seeing, it ensures the world sees as little as possible, as late as possible, and filtered through its own hasbara outlets. The camera is the enemy because the camera does not lie, does not accept military briefings as fact, and does not look away from a child pulled from under the rubble in Gaza, or a screeching cat rescuing its kitten from under concrete wreckage in Lebanon. Evidence is the one thing that cannot be bombed into rubble, or starved into submission, so it murders the bearers of the truth.
The Global Sumud Flotilla understands this. Among those sailing are journalists, documentarians, and human rights monitors. People of conscience who have chosen to place their bodies between Gaza and the world's forgetting. Israel has intercepted previous attempts in international waters many times before, jamming their signals, seizing their vessels, humiliating activists, and dragging them into custody. It’ll certainly try again. But the calculus of the world’s public opinion has shifted. Every interception is new proof, and every crew member taken in the dark Mediterranean night is a witness who will tell a story.
Israel has the most sophisticated military hardware American taxpayers’ money can buy. Its drones hunt journalists by name, and a diplomatic shield is held in place by Washington's veto. What it neither has nor can manufacture is the power to kill an idea whose time has come. The flotilla sails, again, because Gazans have not surrendered. It sails because the blue helmet and the press vest, though stained with the blood of nearly 300 journalists, still mean something to the people who wear them. Activists, representing the best of humanity, have come from all seven continents because history is being written beneath the stars and across the cobalt waters. They stand apart in a world that has chosen to look away.
Yet, and for all its firepower, Israel has not found a weapon capable of extinguishing people’s determination to stand up against injustice. Gaza will be free. The only question is, how many flotillas must sail, and how many witnesses must be murdered, before the world’s conscience awakens.
Keep ReadingShow Less
Most Popular