We Carry the Key, They Carry the Rubble

The first word that comes to my mind when I think about what is happening in Palestine is “Qahr”. There is no English word for it, but it is more than pain or anger, it is a feeling that gnaws at your throat, making you feel hopeless and powerless as you watch people killed every day.

What other word than Qahr could describe the feeling of Anas Al Sharif, targeted and killed while documenting a ceasefire? Or Saleh Al Jafarawi, who filmed the genocide for two years only to be shot seven times after another ceasefire was declared? Or the cruelty of hostages being told their families are dead as a form of psychological torture? Or a mother holding a chocolate bar, asking her newly released son to take a bite? I could go on, but how could I possibly sit and write all the stories of all the injustice people are facing?

Even after a ceasefire was announced, the truth is still being hidden, censored, and deleted. Instagram accounts are being targeted, and the few ways journalists have to share the truth and expose injustices are constantly under attack. Saleh’s Instagram account was deleted the same day he was killed, even in death, his voice had to be silenced.

I think about my own privilege. The only reason I am not there is because my great-grandfather fled. That one decision is the only thing that separates me from my people in Gaza. Like many Palestinians, my father still keeps the key to his grandfather’s home. For us, the key is not just a piece of metal, it is a promise that we will return.

We carry the key, and they carry the rubble. I scroll through videos of Gaza from the comfort of my own home with an unbearable feeling of guilt and hopelessness. This is Qahr.

It is a feeling shared by every exiled Palestinian. Even though we may never have set foot on our land, it lives within us. Our connection to the soil runs deep, through memory, through blood, through the keys that hang on our walls. And no matter how many homes are destroyed, they will never erase the belief that one day we will return. Until then, we resist, resist, and resist.

(The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the Daily Tribune)