On Thursday, August 28, 2025 at 7pm at the Whatcom Peace & Justice Center here in Bellingham, I will be giving another presentation of "Eight Families in Gaza: Amplifying Their Voices." I hope if you have not already attended (or even if you have!) that you will come and join us for this special event. It is an opportunity to learn more about families in Gaza who are trying to survive the ongoing accelerated genocide, and find out about how you can add your support to that of so many of us in the Bellingham & Whatcom County (and also Whidbey, and now also Tonasket & Okanogan) areas and communities.
The featured families themselves have given us so much, and are still sharing with us all that they can. We owe it to them to listen to what they are saying, and to do everything possible to help them survive.
I really hope to see you there.
(Special thanks to the eight featured families, to Whatcom Families for Justice in Palestine, to the Whatcom Coalition for Palestine, and to the Whatcom Peace & Justice Center).
I recently read an article, "Displacement as trauma and trauma as displacement in the experience of refugees," by Monica Luci, about displacement and trauma, the impacts on survivors, the scars it leaves. There was a passage that talked about the "irreversible loss of home," and explained how:
"There is a powerful sense of rightness in being at home: safety, meaningful connections to others, nurturing and stability, and other conditions that favour growth and prosperity. Home is where one dwells, concretely and metaphorically: it is the core of our existence as human beings, something very fundamental and also very symbolic."
Displacement. Again, I struggle with words that are not strong enough, that cannot adequately communicate the depth and full spectrum of all they are intended to encompass. How is this word supposed to capture the full extent of the damage and impact, its physical, psychological and emotional effects, its legacy of intergenerational trauma, the ever-present anxiety, its instillation of fear? No safety. No rest.
The specter and reality of displacement looms heavily over every Palestinian, no matter where they may be. They carry it in their bodies, in their hearts, in their families.
Displacement is a form of violence. It is integral to this genocide. Displacement is stressful and traumatizing. It is a tortuous harmful infliction, an expensive and painful process, something that carries the weight and feeling, the devastation and loss of previous displacements. Displacement is traumatic, dangerous, difficult, and filled with suffering.
This article goes on to explore the relationship between one's home and one's sense of self, and also touches on not just the trauma of displacement, but how trauma can also cause displacementwithinone's own self--the trauma of displacement, of the displacement within one's own self, in addition to their displacement from their physical exterior environment.
"...there is an inner displacement in the self due to a dramatic change in the interplay between inner and outer worlds that profoundly alters the previous organization between the ego-complex and other autonomous complexes. The word displacement derives from the French deplacer, which is ‘the removal of something from its usual place or position by something which then occupies that place or position’. Other meanings of the word are more technical, but the emphasis is always on not only the movement, but the extraction of something from a natural place and its substitution/replacement by something else. There is implied in the meaning a sense of territorial contention..."
The removal of something from its natural place by something which then occupies that place. Displacement. Occupation. Trauma. Words that contain and carry more than they can hold, for people who are enduring more than anyone should ever have to experience. Luci also talks about the split that can happen, how trauma can divide a person's self.
"Often what happens in trauma is that, when psyche and soma are forced apart, their cohesion is sacrificed to the need to survive psychically, and the body insists on witnessing what the mind cannot bear. This means that memories are encoded in the most primitive way, as motoric or sensory body memories divorced from emotion and cognition, which are easily aroused after trauma."
Every family I speak with in Gaza--every single one, not only the eight families who I am most committed to, but dozens and dozens of families--have all witnessed and been exposed to extreme violence and experienced trauma, and have all been forcibly displaced multiple times. And it is happening again, right now, as Israel is expanding its violence and moving forward with its plan to completely destroy Gaza City and the surrounding areas, terrorizing and targeting civilians without any pretense or guise, flying drones nearby to enhance psychological terror, drones that play gleefully threatening audio messages exclaiming, “Wait and see, people of Gaza, wait for what’s coming to you!” ensuring there is no rest, no safety, not even a single moment devoid of fear or terror.
Yesterday, the U.S. and Israel announced another deal between Israel and Boeing to purchase two Boeing-made KC-46 military aerial refueling tankers in a $500 million deal to be financed with U.S. military aid. The Israeli Occupation already uses four Boeing-made KC-46 aerial tankers in this genocidal war, but the Ministry Director General Amir Baram said in a statement on August 20, 2025 statement that the aircraft would "strengthen the military's long-range strategic capabilities, enabling it to operate farther afield with greater force and with increased scope."
With greater force and increased scope.
They are bombing children. They are bombing families. They are bombing every form of life, every structure, every piece of land and all who inhabit it. Every animal, every stone, every tree, every memory. And they have announced their intention to do this throughout Gaza. They are implementing a plan to completely destroy every remaining structure, every house, to travel street by street, to kill and uproot those who remain, to cut off water and food from those still in the north, and now with even more support from the U.S., they can do this with greater force and increased scope.
To those who read these words, I ask if they make you feel as sick as they make me feel? And does this sickness compel you to act? And again I say, for those of us in the U.S., what is being done to the Palestinian people could not be happening without this country, without our taxes, our government, our institutions and businesses and media upholding this genocide, while also providing material support, political cover, and weapons of mass destruction. We bear responsibility, and we have a moral and human obligation to do all we can to end this. And we must also at the same time provide as much support as possible to those who are trying to survive. This is not charity. It is not us offering gifts. It is owed. It is the bare minimum of what we should be doing.
It is not an exaggeration for me to tell you that every single family is in more danger than they have ever been in before, and desperately needs all the support we can offer. We must do all we can.
This video offers an overview to why and how I've been trying to connect my local community in Bellingham, Washington (in the United States), to Gaza, Palestine, through the sharing of in-person presentations developed in collaboration with eight families who I am personally close to who are in Gaza trying to survive the genocide.
I have tried to do this through writing, speaking, tabling, and participating in other community events and both local and online organizing. This video explores these activities and connections, and also touches on the responsibility Americans have to do everything they can to end the genocide, while also doing everything we can to provide support to Palestinians who are trying to survive.
It is intended to be the first video in a series still in development, and to be used as a way to expand the reach of the in-person programs, while also generating more awareness, action, and support.
"This is my will and my final message. If these words reach you, know that Israel has succeeded in killing me and silencing my voice. First, peace be upon you and Allah’s mercy and blessings.
Allah knows I gave every effort and all my strength to be a support and a voice for my people, ever since I opened my eyes to life in the alleys and streets of the Jabalia refugee camp. My hope was that Allah would extend my life so I could return with my family and loved ones to our original town of occupied Asqalan (Al-Majdal). But Allah’s will came first, and His decree is final. I have lived through pain in all its details, tasted suffering and loss many times, yet I never once hesitated to convey the truth as it is, without distortion or falsification—so that Allah may bear witness against those who stayed silent, those who accepted our killing, those who choked our breath, and whose hearts were unmoved by the scattered remains of our children and women, doing nothing to stop the massacre that our people have faced for more than a year and a half.
I entrust you with Palestine—the jewel in the crown of the Muslim world, the heartbeat of every free person in this world. I entrust you with its people, with its wronged and innocent children who never had the time to dream or live in safety and peace. Their pure bodies were crushed under thousands of tons of Israeli bombs and missiles, torn apart and scattered across the walls.
I urge you not to let chains silence you, nor borders restrain you. Be bridges toward the liberation of the land and its people, until the sun of dignity and freedom rises over our stolen homeland. I entrust you to take care of my family. I entrust you with my beloved daughter Sham, the light of my eyes, whom I never got the chance to watch grow up as I had dreamed.
I entrust you with my dear son Salah, whom I had wished to support and accompany through life until he grew strong enough to carry my burden and continue the mission.
I entrust you with my beloved mother, whose blessed prayers brought me to where I am, whose supplications were my fortress and whose light guided my path. I pray that Allah grants her strength and rewards her on my behalf with the best of rewards.
I also entrust you with my lifelong companion, my beloved wife, Umm Salah (Bayan), from whom the war separated me for many long days and months. Yet she remained faithful to our bond, steadfast as the trunk of an olive tree that does not bend—patient, trusting in Allah, and carrying the responsibility in my absence with all her strength and faith.
I urge you to stand by them, to be their support after Allah Almighty. If I die, I die steadfast upon my principles. I testify before Allah that I am content with His decree, certain of meeting Him, and assured that what is with Allah is better and everlasting.
O Allah, accept me among the martyrs, forgive my past and future sins, and make my blood a light that illuminates the path of freedom for my people and my family. Forgive me if I have fallen short, and pray for me with mercy, for I kept my promise and never changed or betrayed it.
Do not forget Gaza… And do not forget me in your sincere prayers for forgiveness and acceptance.
---Anas Jamal Al-Sharif 06.04.2025
This is what our beloved Anas requested to be published upon his martyrdom."
Anas Al-Sharif was killed by Israel, along with four of his colleagues who were also media workers, Mohammed Qreiqa, Ibrahim Zaher, Moamen Aliwa, and their crew driver, Mohammed Nofal. May we not let borders restrain us. May we be bridges toward the liberation of Palestine and the Palestinian people, until the sun of dignity and freedom rises over their stolen homeland.
Words from a Music Show Event in Bellingham from Friday, July 25, 2025
This a video from a recent event in my community where I was given a chance to speak briefly about Palestine, and about the fundraising and awareness building events I have been involved with on behalf and in support of families in Gaza. (The sound quality of the video improves part way through, and you can also enable captions on the video.)
"Let Palestine be present everywhere and in the heart of every person and remembered on the tongue of every lover of us. So let Palestine be the talk of everyone.”
From the River to the Sea, Palestine Will Be Free.
Palestine has beenrenowned for years as having one of the highest literacy rates in the world, and as being a place where education and reading are valued, supported, and highly esteemed. Education is integrated into Palestinian culture, heritage, and identity. Which is why Israel (with the support of the United States government) has always targeted it.
The targeting and destruction of libraries in Gaza, and the violent attacks and killings of library employees is something that should demand the attention and solidarity of every library worker and library professional in the world. Literature, books, writing, and libraries are important features of Palestinian life and culture, and I have heard many stories and seen many photos of friends in Gaza who tried desperately to rescue their books from the rubble of their homes, their schools, and the bombed library buildings.
I have also seen Palestinians resorting to burning books for fuel to survive during the harsh winter or for cooking, because of Israel's continued illegal blockade, which is currently still in place, as the genocide expands its reach, and as Israel and the U.S. continue to violently assault and kill Palestinians in Gaza using every possible means and method to cause suffering, harm, psychological distress, and death.
All of this has deeply affected the way I feel about my personal library, as well as feelings I have about my own profession as a library worker here in the U.S.
On Saturday, August 2, 2025 I will be hosting a "Bookshare & Give-Away" fundraising event at the Bellingham Public Library. Books and other media will be available to be shared and given away as encouragement to those who will make donations to families in Gaza. Stop by and browse an assortment of books and other media donated by local community members and free for the community, in exchange for donations to support Palestinian families in Gaza, and in homage to those whose libraries and book collections have been targeted and destroyed by Israel.
I will be bringing in the bulk of my own personal library, which I have built over the past 25 years, in the hopes of turning something I once loved into support for people who I now love even more.
This event is affiliated with the Whatcom Coalition for Palestine, the Whatcom Families for Justice in Palestine, and the "Eight Families in Gaza: Amplifying Their Voices" public presentation and community support effort. (This event is not sponsored by the Bellingham Public Library).
Today was a hard and heavy day. I try to not let myself sit silently beneath the weight of the heaviness for too long, always mindful of those who are suffering and for whom every effort and every moment is a battle for survival, mindful of those to whom I owe everything.
I have been thinking today about how in Gaza they are running out of room not just for the living, but also for the dead. I have been thinking about the 66 (known) infants and children who have been murdered through forced starvation. About how baby formula has been blocked by Israel and the U.S. from entering into Gaza, how it is even confiscated from the suitcases of medical workers trying to smuggle in just a few cans to share during the limited time they will spend trying to help at the hospitals and clinics, many which are no longer even in buildings but only in makeshift tents. And about how these clinics and hospitals and tents, what few remain, have also become places where people go to die in pain because there is no longer enough medication, no supplies, not even any gauze or saline, and fuel is running out. I've been thinking about how no place is safe, whether it is a place intended for healing that has become a place for dying, or whether it is a place meant to give shelter but cannot offer any protection.
A close friend in Gaza once said to me that this genocidal war is "a war on every front"–there's nothing left unscathed, no part of their lives untouched–it is a war on food and shelter, health and medical treatment, land and agriculture, nature, animals, and pets, babies and children, men and women, the young and the old, and everyone in between. It is a war on their social fabric and institutions, infrastructure and security, routines and stability, the past and the future. It is a war on hearts and minds, on bodies and spirits. It is a war on banks, stores, water, money, computers, phones, communications, schools, libraries, leisure, freedom–and even on time itself. It is a war on everything. Nothing escapes. I challenge you to try and think of a single thing that isn’t under attack in Gaza. I have yet to find one.
As I listen to people in my physical proximity, at my workplace and elsewhere, complain about mundane things of no real consequence, especially when juxtaposed against the reality of those for whom every moment is one between life and death, I am overcome with weariness, impatience, frustration, and yes, anger. How I long for a future when everyone can be concerned with mundane, ordinary, even petty things. When such things can take our time and attention. But it is hard for me to take much care for what feels self-indulgent and superficial at this time.
Yes, today is a hard and heavy day. Another friend wrote this morning about how this day is the eleven year anniversary of the deaths of half a dozen members of his family, massacred in their home as they were spending time together enjoying each other's company. And I’ve been thinking about this, about how my friend has had to finish growing up without his father, how he took on the responsibilities of becoming a provider for his mother and younger siblings from an early age, and how he is still fighting for their survival even now, while he experiences constant grief and loss, as more loved ones are cruelly murdered every day.
Today is also the anniversary of the death of Ghassan Kanafani, who was assassinated by Israel on July 8, 1972. In her piece “We Knocked Until Our Hands Broke,” originally published in May 2025 but shared again online today, the brilliant Palestinian writer Alaa Alqaisi expresses how “abandonment is not an accident — it is a decision.”
As with anything Alaa Alqaisi writes, after I read it the first time, I kept returning to it, finding and feeling more each time, as there are layers that build upon each other with each new feeling and each added understanding. I have read it six times just today, and I cannot stop thinking about it. I brought her words to work with me, in my heart and in my head. And then I also read an even more recent piece of hers called "The Double Life of a Palestinian Translator,” where she writes:
"The world will always choose familiar narratives that preserve its sense of stability rather than those that unsettle it with the full force of disruption. And so, translation becomes not only a necessity but an ethical battle: to find a language that resists both disappearance and domestication, allowing pain to remain unfiltered while still ensuring it crosses the linguistic checkpoints that decide which suffering is acknowledged, and which is discarded."
Which suffering is acknowledged. And which is discarded. I have been struggling with this myself. Confused by this dynamic, by my inability to understand why there is this disparity. I encounter this discarded suffering daily in academic spaces here in the United States, spaces filled with people who seem more committed to constructing and maintaining the illusion that the genocide in Palestine is somehow not part of us, not something we should be working to stop, let alone acknowledge.
Perhaps people are afraid to see, to acknowledge, to recognize because then it would mean they would have to act, they would have to take ownership, they would have to accept their personal responsibility. Whereas if they can keep pretending they somehow don't really know or understand, then maybe they believe they are somehow absolved? But they are not. And what a terrible soul-destroying lie this is. There is no absolution to be found in intentional retreat. In feigning ignorance. In masquerading behind self-indulgence as though it is a virtue. Abandonment is not an accident, it is a decision.
I am grateful to the writers, to the translators, to the poets and the teachers. To all my friends in Palestine. To Alaa Alqaisi who writes:
"And if the stories I carry are not always welcomed—if they are met with indifference or rejection—I will still carry them, because their very telling is resistance. Because to name the dead is to resist their disappearance. Because to write a sentence about Gaza in English is to defy the architectures of global indifference."
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