On Writing, Palestine, and Faith

About an hour ago, I had all these ideas about writing.

Maybe I’ll dig up that Google doc I started God-knows-when and start writing there again.

Or maybe I’ll start afresh, because I like starting new things.

Or maybe I’ll journal an outline of essays I’d like to write.

Or maybe I’ll just blog.

But then I ate my oatmeal, surfed some things on the internet, read the latest summary of what’s going on in Palestine, and then all of a sudden… my mood dampened a bit.

A part of me feels conflicted about trying to live my life while so many innocent civilians are being killed, and that too enabled by the money I pay toward taxes. What can I do? I ask myself. Really.

I’m not an activist, at least not your stereotypical protest-organizing-and-attending one. I have attended a couple of protests and would like to attend more, if only to feel like I am doing something. But I don’t think I’ll ever turn into someone who self-identifies as an activist. But who knows, if this genocide continues, I may find myself navigating that world.

I recently (re)joined Twitter just so that I can follow what’s going on on the ground. Everything and everyone I am following is centered around Palestine. I find myself wanting to read all about its history. I’ve already read a couple of books by Ilan Pappe, Noam Chomsky, and Khalid Rashidi. But I have by no means exhausted my study. There’s so much I need to learn, to place in context. It’s been a while since I’ve had this level of insatiable thirst to read up on a single subject. Except this time, it’s not about ultimately getting closer to a thesis topic. This time, it’s really to fill in the gaps in my knowledge.

I guess you can say there has been a bit of an evolution within me. The fact that I am even using the word genocide (and sticking with it) feels like an act of rebellion. But it’s really not. It’s the truth.

As a Muslim, if I see injustice and can’t even call it out out of fear, then my faith amounts to one that has become so interiorized it is basically rendered meaningless. Islam is not a privatized religion. If you’ve been following the politics of Europe, you’ll see that being played out on a very visceral level. Things in the United States are better, relatively speaking. But everyday I step out of my apartment, by the simple act of donning the hijab, I announce to every human being who comes across me that I am a Muslim. That’s not insignificant.

So if I’m already making that announcement, why should I then be afraid to speak and write what I know to be true?

What is ultimately the purpose of my writing?