18. We Need New Words.

The ones we have no longer seem to be enough.

Almost every day for the past six months I have found myself desperately searching for the words that might adequately describe the horrors we are seeing- horrors that continue to escalate in ways they shouldn’t be able to. Rather terrifyingly, not only is the line is never drawn but it is intentionally shifted in directions so sickeningly cruel that we should all be afraid to walk the earth with those capable of inflicting such torment.

And yet, no matter which words we choose to use, and how vehemently we express our revulsion and fury, I can’t help but think that if someone who hadn’t witnessed this genocide were to read any attempts to describe what is happening in Gaza, they still wouldn’t grasp the magnitude of this brutality, the full scale of the destruction, the incomprehensible number of lives taken, families erased, homes lost, previously unimaginable injuries made all too real, the skeletal figures of people starved, innumerable accounts of crimes so heinous you’d rather choke on them than have to repeat them but repeat them we must because so many still insist on denying and disregarding them.

And I say all of this as a mere observer, and not as someone who has been forced to attempt to communicate the true extent of their suffering in a language that isn’t their own. I think of all the feelings and experiences no other language would allow me to articulate as effectively as the one my tongue is most familiar with, and then I think of all that we don’t know: all that is lost in translation, all that people cannot bring themselves to speak of, all that the cameras can’t capture, all that was witnessed only by those no longer alive to speak of it. Is it even possible for us to imagine how much worse it must really be?

I’d written most of this letter before the Israeli army withdrew from Al-Shifa Hospital and the world saw the extent of the violence and destruction. In two weeks, they killed, tortured, sexually assaulted, mutilated and starved civilians; they destroyed the hospital complex and the homes surrounding it; they systematically targeted healthcare workers, executing some and kidnapping others whose fate remains unknown.

@ICJP via Instagram

They did all of this with the continued funding, backing and unhindered supply of weapons from many of our governments.

They did all of this after the UN Security Council passed a binding resolution demanding a ceasefire.

They did all of this (and more) knowing that the world was watching.

These are war crimes but, as we have seen, there are no red lines.

Image by @kcmillyak via Instagram.

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May we all find the words required to adequately and ceaselessly articulate the truth so that the lies so many insist on clinging to can’t overshadow it, and so that every individual, organisation and government that has justified and supported the murder, torture, forced starvation, mass displacement and dispossession of Palestinian children, women and men will be forever known for who they are and what they knowingly used their position to facilitate.

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Three Book Recommendations (and an article)

I was going to leave this letter here but I haven’t shared any books with you in a while and, while we’re on the subject of new words, I think it makes sense to share a few of my favourite recent reads: one newly released, two new to me, all relevant and all worth every penny of your hard earned money (or the trek to your local library).

1.A Mouth Full of Salt by Reem Gaafar

Winner of the 2023 Island Prize and due to be published by Saqi Books on the 9th April, A Mouth Full of Salt is set in an unnamed village in North Sudan where death and loss leave villagers fearing for their futures. It opens with a search for a young boy, presumed drowned in the Nile like so many before him and, as the search for his body continues, the villagers find themselves beset by a series of catastrophic events: camels die of a mysterious illness, date tree fields catch fire and, as the villagers despair over these blows to their livelihoods, these losses only seem to grow in number.

Split into two parts, this novel explores a number of key themes including the roles and expectations of women and racial discrimination within Sudanese society - the consequences of which these villagers must face for reasons the reader eventually becomes aware of.

Overall, I found this novel and its many strands utterly compelling; it is a quietly devastating tale that leads the reader towards the inevitable conclusion that, where there is injustice, sooner or later the balance must be restored.

While we’re speaking of Sudan, I wanted to share this recent article by

Yassmin Abdel-Magied

for Shado Magazine.

Almost as year has passed since the beginning of the current conflict in Sudan and, while I think that people are becoming increasingly aware of it, it can be hard to make sense of the historical context, the cause, and the devastating humanitarian impact. This article is written so clearly and will hopefully help to fill in any major gaps. It also includes plenty of other useful resources if you’re looking to do some further reading.

2.The Watermelon Boys by Ruqaya Izzidien

Published in 2018, The Watermelon Boys is a book I’d been wanting to read for some time and I’m so glad to have finally done so. If a WWI novel offering a less predictable angle sounds like something you’d appreciate, you’ll want to keep reading.

Set predominantly in Iraq, this story follows two men- Ahmad and Welshman, Carwyn whose paths cross in ways that are, ultimately, incredibly tragic. This is a story of war, betrayal, and the ways that colonialism and the colonisers’ greed and insatiable appetite for that which does not belong to them destroys lives indiscriminately. Both Ahmad and Carwyn find themselves fighting wars they don’t believe in for countries and governments whose interests don’t align with theirs. They, like so many, find their moral compasses forcibly redirected in order to serve of the interests of the most corrupt and are left to deal with the consequences of these decisions and the actions that follow.

3.You Can Be the Last Leaf: Selected Poems by Maya Abu Al-Hayyat (translated from the Arabic by Fady Joudah)

While I typically don’t share books I haven’t finished, I’ve discovered so many new favourite poems in this collection that I don’t think I’d be getting ahead of myself to share it with you now.

Plans
Now and then I lay down plans
to solve the world's problems.

My plans eliminate longing from groans,
place full stops in runaway sentences,
rescue even soldiers at checkpoints
along with children
who grow up in detention centres,
mothers who wear their wardrobes
of patience, and also laborers
who commit suicide
off scaffolds. I save the whole world
as a star might in well-drafted screenplays,
with plans that my impoverished
creativity ultimately kills. My plans,

they would have worked,
they would have saved us all.

Written by Palestinian poet, Maya Abu Al-Hayyat (and translated by Palestinian poet, Fady Joudah), You Can Be the Last Leaf is a collection that somehow so beautifully depicts the violence of colonialism, its ceaseless cruelty and the losses of land, love and life that its victims must bear. But, while it recognises these losses, it also demands that we claim laughter, hope and humanity even in the face of their opposites. Like I said, I’m still reading it but it feels like an undeniably special collection.

You Can't
They will fall in the end,
those who say you can't.
It'll be age or boredom that overtakes them,
or lack of imagination.
Sooner or later, all leaves fall to the ground.
You can be the last leaf.
You can convince the universe
that you pose no threat
to the tree's life.

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Lastly, two Substack recommendations because I keep meaning to share the reads I’ve loved more often.

Sadia

has written maybe fifteen posts (so far) this Ramadan and they are such a pleasure to receive and sit with. It feels like such a privilege to read someone else’s reflections and experiences of the month and hers are moving, insightful and offer much food for thought.

Noha Beshir

‘s Substack is another one I really appreciate and I’ve read her post, ‘To be a Gazan During Ramadan’ more than once. I’m forever grateful for the words of those who articulate familiar feelings in ways that I’m unable to.

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