Yet I find an unsettling paradox has emerged, becoming ever more evident as Americans witness the ongoing genocide in Gaza-why does the empathy we cultivate through literature often remain a performative gesture, confined to the realm of fiction and failing to take root in the real world?
Growing up as a young Palestinian-American woman in post-9/11 America was profoundly isolating. I learned early that my heritage was laden with controversy, and saw that the mere mention of "Palestine" often ignited strong reactions, ranging from claims that Palestine didn't exist-and by extension neither did I-to being branded as a terrorist.
The weight of oppression was twofold: the external oppression imposed on Palestinians by Israel and the Western world, and the internal oppression within our own community, an oppression that was less visible but equally potent, where trauma left its scars on our families-the struggle of Pal
[
add
]
[
|
|
...
]