My Story by Deena J
My name is Deena; a Lancastrian, born raised and educated in the city. I am also a Palestinian, from Tulkarim; a city located in the West Bank of Palestine. However, I have not been able to visit the birth place of my father, visit the many homes and farms of my grandparents and ancestors, and I do not know my aunty and 12 cousins who still live there. I can visit, but it would mean using my British passport and having it stamped with the 'state of Israel' upon entry as I would cross the many checkpoints. I have always resisted the idea of visiting my homeland as a 'visitor.' My brother at the age of 18 had a different view to mine, and desperately boarded a packed bus from Amman to take the long and uncertain journey to enter our land, Palestine. To take a tour of the house our father was born in, to taste the olives and oranges that grow on our farms and to embrace our relatives and listen intently to tales about our roots and also the occupation and the forceful expulsion of our family in 1967. My brother was arrested as he was leaving Tulkarim by taxi. He was beaten, his belongings stripped from him and thrown into what he would describe as a medieval style concrete cell, alongside two 'cellmates:' an elderly man and an 8 year old child. Their crimes, like my brothers, was being Palestinian. That is all it takes. No reason and no justice. My brother was lucky, after 3 days a soldier checked his rucksack and saw his British passport and released him. His cell mates unfortunately didn't have that option.
Growing up in Lancaster, my identity as a Palestinian, within the four walls of my home was very loud and proud. It would resonate from the smells and tastes from the kitchen, to the hand embroidered clothes, traditional music and dances to story telling. Yet, when I walked out of my front door my identity seemed lost, unclear, almost mythical.
'You are from where? Palestine? Where is that? I have never heard of it? What language do they speak in Palestine? What is the food like? Is it hot there? What are the colours of the Palestinian flag?'
How could this beautiful culture and ancient land, Palestine not be known? As I grew older, the confusion followed me. Famous writers like William Shakespeare and Roald Dahl have made mention of Palestine. Jesus Christ himself, arguably the most infamous name globally was born in Bethlehem; a city in Palestine, yet the blank expressions on peoples faces followed me.
It then occurred to me as a teenager, that the vagueness around Palestine, its history, its belonging, culture and people was not accidental. This was ethnic cleansing. It starts subtly by erasing the name 'Palestine' entirely from the map, changing all the names of the Arabic towns and cities to Hebrew ones, demolishing culture and heritage {museums, libraries, churches, mosques, ports, airports}, and even claiming Palestinian/Arab foods as Israeli. Even our hummus, olives, our hand embroidered traditions, our kaffiyeh are now being claimed as Israeli in a deeper attempt to erase Palestinian roots from its very existence. On one hand I had to deal with my identities purposeful erasure and ignorance and on the other a further distorted reality with a myriad of mistruths that Palestinians are terrorists and anti-semites.What? The same Palestinians that welcomed the Jews fleeing Europe from persecution? That gave refuge in our land? These Palestinians? I will tell you with certainty, Palestinians are not anti-semites, we are semites ourselves and have centuries of living, working and marrying alongside each other. However, we will resist. Resist our erasure, resist the lies, resist our occupation, our injustice, our incarceration, our killing, our genocide. We will resist the settler coloniser, Israel. We will not be erased and referred to in history books for years to come.
My name is Deena. I am Palestinian from a beautiful land, with history, food, traditions and above all a longing to return and be treated with dignity and justice like all. I am Palestinian, from a land that you all should know. A land that is real, proud and certainly not mythical.