"Since I left Gaza in November 2023, my life has been defined by visa rejections and endless hours waiting in airport lines. I watch people behind the counters staring at my Palestinian passport with confusion, often having to call for help just to process it. I've learned to explain the details automatically: My name is Plestia, Rana is my mother's name. Yes, on Palestinian passports, we include our"
"One rejection after the other; I am stuck in Gaza, I am stuck outside. Where are Palestinians supposed to go? We are pushed out of our own land, then met with locked doors everywhere else. Why should survival mean being permanently exiled from home? Why can someone with the right passport walk freely into my country, while I need a mountain of papers to prove I am real, genuine and worthy just to enter theirs?"
"I still remember one airport officer flipping through my passport as if it were written in an alien language. He looked at me, then at the pages, then back at me, as though trying to connect an impossible puzzle. This is the reality of being Palestinian. The world has turned our identity into a security risk. Yet this makes me think what if it was still me, but I have another powerful passport?"
Gazans endure shrinking territory, forcible displacement, bombing and starvation. Palestinian travel is marred by visa rejections, long airport waits and intrusive scrutiny of passports. Maternal names on passports and other identity markers provoke confusion and extra documentation demands. Many Palestinians experience repeated denial of movement, blocked exits and closed borders, limiting refuge options. Holders of powerful passports receive freedom and trust, revealing global double standards. Public sympathy for casualties does not translate into opening borders, and Palestinian identity is frequently treated as a security risk rather than a claim to human belonging.
Read at www.theguardian.com
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