April/May by Evelyn atieno

The Little Palestinians With A Big Dream

April 2016

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A Special Thank You

A special thank you to because of their unifying everyone that has made message - peace. We all dethis

project

possible. serve peace, and justice, no

From my mother driving matter who we are. This is a me up to Detroit, to the pho- strong message that resotographer who did my pho- nates with my resolve. Thank toshoot for free, to all the you, FRDMCO. Thank you @ people that donated. Thank InsomniacDraws for designyou Evelyn for allowing me ing the cover for free, and for this opportunity to shed never answering my texts. light on American Palestin- Thank you so much everyians. This would not have one. Never in a million years been possible without any would I have thought that Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d of you. A huge thank you be on the cover of a magato FRDMCO - they provided zine. two of the shirts I used in the shoot! I chose to represent their clothes in my spread

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By Samer Alhato

I Don’t Know

Al Fasil Alawal - The First Chapter La

I don’t know. I really don’t. I don’t have all the answers. I don’t know everything. I’m conflicted when I see images like this. Images of people crying, Jews and Palestinians. I’ll start from the top. There’s a picture of this woman, an Israeli Jewish mother, mourning the loss of her son after he was killed due to the rising tensions between Israel and Palestine. I’m hurt because their people’s blood is on our

hands, the Palestinians. I’m in no way defending Israel or their government OR their citizens for the illegal and inhumane acts they’ve committed...but I’m also human. What human rejoices or turns a blind eye to a mother weeping for her child? We have so much blood on our hands because of the reasonable amount of hate sweeping our land and hearts. We detest Israelis for how they occupy us, and so we retaliate by hurting

them where it hurts the most - taking their family members away. And so they return the favor by killing OUR kin. I guess what I’m trying to say is as a Palestinian: I expect more out of my community. I’m a total supporter of “if you want peace, prepare for war,” but I’m also a pacifist at heart and a forward thinker by nature. We need to figure out other ways of hurting Israel besides

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a A’lam killing a mother’s child. And I know, I know it’s so hard. Their forefathers have been killing us, making us suffer, for years and years. But maybe, I wonder, if we can lead by example. I don’t want justice and peace in Palestine built on top of rotting bodies, the corpses of those who’ve done us wrong, the corpses of people we’ve killed to achieve our freedom. I want it to be established in a different way, a way where we show the world we didn’t dig a knife

into someone’s back to achieve it. Am I dreaming too hard? Perhaps. But I’d rather take the long road, the one where we have to work harder, because that’s when you know it’s real. A road built on diplomacy, integrity, respect, all of that good stuff we’re taught in elementary school. Taking the easy way out is useless. Rest in peace to all the innocent Jews and Palestinians that have died in the name of colonization. I’m conflicted, I’m hurt, I’m torn, but most of all - I’m just tired.

guess I’m

what trying

to say is as a Palestinian: I

expect more out of my community.

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Power of Demonstration By Sarah Ghouleh

want to talk about the power of demonstration. Something that many doubt has any power at all. But if you have a cause, then this is a tool you should utilize to make your cause heard. My cause is the freedom of my people, the Palestinians, from their Israeli occupiers. Though I have many causes, as a Palestinian this is the most personal one. As normal people our voices are very often lost in the ignorant void. Most of us aren’t famous, don’t have thousands upon thousands of social media followers, or brand ourselves. As a minority, most of us don’t hold political power in the U.S. or positions on televised news and media. How can we make our voices heard? Organization and demonstration. And I mean all kinds of demonstrations… protesting, blocking traffic, silent demonstrations, etc. As long as you are out there doing something for your cause in a public space, that works. Many people, people that enjoy living in a comfortable and undisturbed bubble, hate demonstrations. They say things like “yelling in the streets isn’t going to change anything” or “blocking traffic and delaying people’s commutes won’t get you what you want” and get angry that their typical day to day got disturbed with some information they didn’t want to hear. But I’m telling you, it works. Last year, my SJP (Students for Justice in Palestine) launched our divestment campaign. Divestment is a movement that is sweeping college campuses across America and is part of Boycott Divestment and Sanctions, or BDS; a bigger movement that was called upon by Palestinians in the homeland. Other student organizations allied with ours to promote our campaign and we joined in solidarity with their causes. One day we joined our Ad hoc Coalition for Students of Color in a march through our campus to give attention to their list of demands for the university to be taken seriously. This included protesting for our divestment campaign, the black lives matter movement, and against the addition of campus police. The plan was to march through campus until we reached one of the busiest intersections that runs through our school. Once there, four students would link arms and sit in the center of the intersection while the rest of us marched around them, blocking all four streets of the intersection. Many of us decided to wear out #MUDivest t-shirts that were a part of our campaign, including some of the students

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who sat in the center of traffic. The refusal to move and unblock traffic brought police forces and attention from bystanders.

eople. started. talking. Police involvement attracted media and news attention; and during the event the Yik-Yak for our campus flooded with racist comments and anger about the disturbance. So many of such comments in fact that a photo album of screenshots was created and widely spread on Facebook. More people became interested in our campaign after seeing people and photos of those wearing our divestment t-shirt and started me asking more questions about it. The protest even sparked conversation in one of my classes and even extended to talk about the divestment campaign; all brought about by a student who was previously unaware about these campus issues. I had dialogue amongst peers about the surprising and overwhelmingly racist nature that was shown anonymously on Yik-Yak. Suddenly, what usually took weeks and months to inform people through flyers or holding events, was now known to nearly every student on campus. We had made a statement, we were heard. We shouted our concerns at the top of our lungs and it was up to the student body to make of it what they will. Some dismissed it with opinions they wouldn’t dare reveal if not anonymous, some asked questions and researched for themselves, and others allied with us. People have been enlightened; there is less ignorance in the world. Bravo! These are all huge strides when you want people to pay attention to your cause. Demonstrations allow your voice to be heard, allow people to ask questions, and reveal the true colors of those that stand against you. Whatever your cause may be, freedom for Palestine, black lives matter, gender equality, you name it... Exercise your freedom to protest and freedom of speech and demonstrate your concerns to the audience around you. However they take it, you know your voice will be heard. And that is pretty satisfying.

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Art by @LipstickYoda

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Al Fasil Althani -Alsokhreya Ironic istory repeats itself. Or at least, it rhymes (according to Jay-Z). At first, it was the Jews fleeing Europe because of Hitler’s genocide. Fast forward 68 years and voila, it is now they who commit genocide. Irony rules our lives, whether we like it or not. People try to sound profound and intellectual through the use of eloquent words to convey their opinions. In fact, it’s exactly what that last sentence was. Israeli and American politicians often condemn and deplore terrorism, but we know underneath it all their true feelings do not reflect their eloquent words. It’s the embodiment of that irony which surrounds us throughout everything we ever face and encounter. In the Palestinian community, we are told to stay in school, get good grades, and stay out of trouble (drugs, alco-

hol, sex). Yet many of us have fallen and will fall to temptation. Maybe it’s my people’s attempt to explore the un-explored, to taste the forbidden fruit that we lack back home because it’s exclusive to Israelis. Experiencing these things do not make us “better” or “worse” than anyone else, it just means we are willing to take chance on experiencing the bad things life has to offer. There comes a time where we all have to grow up, and we end up preaching the same things we were taught way back when by our parents. The things we were told and in turn disregarded in order to find something, someone. Anything, anyone. We try to escape irony but it’s intertwined with our very existence, our history is proof of that.

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We cheat, but we despise cheaters. We retweet and share pictures of starving children but so few of us strive to make a change. We experience racism, and are the racist. We’re not allowed into a thriving society because an apartheid wall separates us, but build our own invisible walls in our own communities to keep out black Palestinians. We want freedom and equality but not for anyone who’s LGBT. We complain about society not being able to change the social, political, and economic issues our people face, but fail to realize that we are the very society that control the outcome of said issues. However, this isn’t to say we are all doomed to fall at the hands of our oppressors or this overbearing contradictions; it’s actually quite the opposite. In order to move on, it is crucial we begin to recognize our flaws as a community, and learn how to fix them. We may not always understand why they are there or why our struggle even exists, but to be outraged at what we cannot understand gets us nowhere. We must take a leap of faith — some-

which we cannot understand, not just because we want everyone to be equal, but simply because it is the right thing to do. And the right thing to do is a very difficult choice in a world full of grey areas. We must look past our small differences to see the bigger picture. If, and only when we accomplish this, can we truly begin to understand and thrive as a community. And by “community” I don’t mean a group of people that are all the same, like how many Jews want Israel to solely be a country of Jews. I mean a group of infinite differing personalities, views, ethnicities, and religions that somehow live

harmoniously together. I know it’s possible. Maybe then we will truly understand the irony that holds a grip on us, and maybe we can conquer it together. We have the power to rebuild, restructure, redefine, and recreate our lives - together. We all have a responsibility to correct the issues placed upon us by the historically inevitable, and politically impossible.

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An Undeniable Existence By Jenna Al-Hub

side from the sixty-eight plus years of occupation, what defines us as Palestinians? They were dumbfounded, then quiet. I caught onto the dumbfoundedness pretty quickly and immediately wanted to retract the question. But this was a sincere question and it therefore deserved an answer. The audiencesâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; ears perked, eager to hear the answer, too. But there was nothing; silence. I waited, my heart sinking lower by the moment, I so badly wanted to hear them proclaim, in front of this large audience of predominantly non-Palestinians, that we refuse to allow the deprivation of our well being to become our sole existential identity. would rather not ask this question to a panel of esteemed Palestinian doctors, human rights lawyers, or even political strategists. It needs a human answer; an answer that will give me something, if not hope, then inspiration. An answer from an artist: one who recognizes and analyzes the issue at hand only to translate the extracted emotion with each brushstroke of vibrant colors, each snap of a camera, and each stanza of a poem. Like all artists, Palestinian artists feel. But unlike most artists, Palestinian artists carry a fresh load of trauma due to the constant deprivation of a legitimate identity that nullifies their whole existence. his delicate personification comes from a genetic trait that can only be understood with the encounter of a Palestinian. The evolutionary process over the course of a century of constant oppressive occupation created the Palestinian trait. Starting with the nine months of the embryonic period, it is a time of preparation; whether pure bred, or created with a mere drop of Palestinianism, the battle for homeland, for legitimacy, begins at conception. With this temporary home, the protest begins with the mere defiance of the notion that Pal-

estinians have ceased to exist. And as soon as we are forced out of the first and last place of comfort, we sprout between the legs of injustice and into a world of conflict. We then immediately learn to swim and navigate the proverbial pool of ruthless politics. With a constant urge to fight for liberation; our â&#x20AC;&#x153;wokenessâ&#x20AC;? was instilled in us even before our first words. But the largest battle is a fight for legitimacy; our identity is defined by our homeland, and the proclaimed lack thereof. s Palestinian Americans, our paradoxical reality of our current homeland (not homeland) evokes frustration as we advocate for human rights on colonized soil, marching around in shoes assembled by mistreated factory workers, that stimulates our mass-consumerist capitalist society, married to the federal taxing system that finances the very occupation our families fled from. Not to mention advocating for the causes of our oppressed American friends, when our own families are stuck in a rut of phobias and racisms. The contradictions can be extremely discouraging to an activist, but overall it is hard to attain a progressive mindset with all these setbacks in a country that refuses to recognize the legitimacy of your ethnic origins. The reformations of social policy can only do so much; our screams and echoes for change outside of government buildings can easily be muffled by the ill-speech of our president reiterating the unbreakable, unshakeable,

ur stories are being released one post at a time, with every 140 characters the neglected words of our teachers are finally being told.

Art by @LipstickYoda Universal Magazine

unmistakable bond between the perpetrator and the glamorous, oversized refugee camp we call America. Palestinians have been driven off their own land because of sociopolitical and socioeconomic tactics by the oppressor, and those who settled in the United States have been lured in by a country that continues to repeat the same offenses, while simultaneously whitewashing the history and culture of any marginalized group that graces foot on the land. ith the slow erosion of the Palestinian cultural presence, and the constant silencing of our voice, how does one, who is neither recognized by a country of asylum or country of origin, become visible? How does one prove their existence in silence? In order to leave a ripple effect, or an echo, a constant presence must serve as a reminder: something to watch over, and to be watched over: something to be spoken and to be spoken about. Something on a wall, on a shelf, in a frame, on a screen, in a book, where it is permanent. In print, where itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s presence is immortal; unlike its maker. Where the message is noticed, so long as it is reiterated. nd I will repeat, the arts speak louder than policy. It preserves history; their story, the firsthand narrative of the oppressed. In a way that cannot be erased or forgotten;

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what is heard and seen cannot be reversed. The arts evoke emotion out of the viewer, and does the important role of humanizing the â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;otherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;. It provides a healing process for the artist, and may do so for the viewer as well. It connects the stories of those living on the spectrum of oppression. Art brings the issue to life and forces the viewer to confront it. oday, the type of viewer can range from a gallery attendee to a Twitter follower. Our stories are being released one post at a time, with every 140 characters the neglected words of our teachers are finally being told. We, as PalestinianAmericans, are individually painting our own narrative because we are tired of being spoken for. We exist; and we face underlying issues of nationalistic identity while simultaneously carrying multidimensional internal conflicts. The last hand raised, there I was before a panel of distinguished Palestinian artists speaking on the importance of the role of preserving history through art within the Palestinian diaspora. My shaky yet firm voice eloquently asked this question, as if I asked it every day of my twenty-three years of living: aIn a time where every conflict worldwide is becoming noticed, we as PalestinianAmericans, as the greater diaspora of displacement, as victims of emotional warfare, as the bastards of injustice, are

not defined by our catastrophes; rather, we are defined by what we make of them. hese significant conclusions could not be found without that one dumbfounding question. Therefore, I testify that the art of asking questions, and the questioning of the arts, are crucial, whether in front of a panel of prolific artists, in a dialogue between one another, or within oneself. This internal inquisition can allow for otherwise unreachable depths in unexposed matter; and the discovery can lead to a world of expression that can further affirm a strong existence. With each Palestinian, artist or not, is a level of resilience waiting to be questioned, recognized, challenged, and embraced.

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Fear

I have been dealing with Islamophobia my entire life; prior to moving to the U.S....it all started after 9/11, and I think at one point it'll destroy me. I wasn't safe in my own country from Israeli soldiers, and I wasn't safe in the neighborhoods

I have been dealing with Islamophobia my entire life; prior to moving to the U.S....it all started after 9/11, and I think at one point it’ll destroy me. I wasn’t safe in my own country from Israeli soldiers, and I wasn’t safe in the neighborhoods we moved to when my family immigrated to America. I don’t feel safe in America. My cousins in Canada don’t feel safe. I cling to my faith so much on days like this and I love being a Muslim, but the Islamophobia has a way of really ripping my soul apart. And the worst part is thinking about my Muslim friends & family members and how magnificent they are, then realizing how many people hate them. When I say I’m tired - I mean it. America was supposed to be a safe haven NOT a place where I have to hold my breath for fear of being attacked. I’m tired of praying that some random act of violence isn’t committed by a “Muslim”. I’m tired of apologizing. I’m tired of wondering if my black friends will be killed by cops, or if my muslim family will be killed by a nationalist or a vigilante. I just would love to feel safe. Fully and absolutely safe. Safe in a way I don’t have to worry about myself, my loved ones, innocent people…

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The Truth And i

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BY SAMER AlHATO

Ibecame an activist to pursue the truth while trying my hardest to educate people of my oppressions as a Palestinian and as an American Muslim.

I’m finishing up my certificate in Middle Eastern Studies and bachelors in Chemistry, but sometimes I can’t help but fear that I won’t get a great job like many of my non-Muslim peers. There have been many recent events, from Ahmed Mohamed’s arrest to the “Global Rally for Humanity” demonstrations, to presidential candidates that look like an oompa loompa profiting in the polls from saying racist things about Muslims. They only fuel my country’s hatred of me.

Islamophobia is real. It’s been around for hundreds of years. We’ve been stereotyped by the British Empire for hundreds of years. Islamophobia isn’t a new thing. People have been working as early as the 800s. For those of you who don’t know, The Islamic civilization gave rise to many centers of culture and science and produced notable scientists, astronomers, mathematicians (Al Jabr, invented Algebra), doctors, nurses and philosophers (al-Ghazali) during the Golden age of Islam. Technology flourished; there was investment in economic infrastructure, such as irrigation systems and canals; and the importance of reading the Qur’an produced a comparatively high level of literacy in our society. However - later in the 18th and 19th century, the Muslim world fell to the European GreatPowers. After the Ottomans lost during World War One, the empire was split up into many different countries. That made it easier for white folks in Britain and America to “divide and conquer”. Palestine was no exception. Before WW1, Britain promised Palestine to the Jews. Like, literally offered a country to them. The Balfour Declaration promised the Jews a homeland. So then came World War 2. The world sympathized with Ashkenazi Jews, and Britain gave up on trying to take over Palestine (we’ve been rebels since day one). Britain basically threw the Palestinian conflict at the newly created United Nations. What did our mostly white am-

bassadors think? Give Palestine the the Jews. They split our country up, and war ensued. Anyways, enough of this historical ranting. Y’all can google the rest. Back to me.

I remember my first time I experienced racism. I was in 8th grade and a few white kids assuming I was Arab (I told them I was from Palestine but I highly doubt they even knew where that was. It sounded foreign to them, so I was probably just another Arab terrorist) began to pick on me. I told the teacher but she just told them to stop. Obviously they didn’t. And obviously the teacher didn’t care, or realize how much this traumatized me. I am a child of a Muslim woman who proudly wears her hijab. I don’t know how many times she’s faced racism, but I remember one time a woman told her to “go back to where you came from”. A white proverb. Not very original either. I can only imagine the stares she’s gotten throughout her life, immigrating to America, whenever she spoke our mother tongue.

about it almost everyday. Our news is no longer covering our issues (all of us, as people of color). It’s no longer helping our fellow Americans understand us, our struggle. It’s just showing them the violence within our community. I had to teach myself to try harder to impress those above me, put on a fake smile, be somewhat more “appealing” just so people can get past my ethnicity. I’ve come to surprise people with my “perfect English” and my response to the question, “Where are you from?” The answer: “Chicago.” Clearly, the answer never satisfies. My favorite thing is when Americans find out I can fluently speak English without an accent. “Wow, when you switch back and forth between Arabic and English with no accent!” Wow, I can speak two languages fluently. Didn’t know my kind had the capacity to do something like that.

This past year I’ve started attending Saint Xavier University. I was excited, to start college, but mostly to meet new people. I’ve suffered a lot in middle school and high school, so naturally I expected to enjoy the college environment. Intelligent people age learning and doing great things. Jesus Christ was I wrong. Ok, well not completely. The amount of ignorant people I’ve ran into was astounding: *insert GIF of Beyonce counting on her fingers*. My favorite racist in hiding was a certain RPAL. An RPAL is a position my university offers to those with a high GPA, and in turn they get paid to help residents with their work, offer support - so on and so forth. One day I was sitting down on, being cute like I always am, and I was doing my homework. He proceeds to begin watching Fox News.

Oh, good ol’ Fox News. Obviously they started fear mongering right away as usual. “ISIS!!!!” ISIS this, ISIS that…So this good old RPAL was like “How come Muslims don’t condemn ISIS. Why isn’t there a ‘Muslims against ISIS’ group?” I think God was feeling really generous that day because he really blessed me with the strength and patience to not get up and beat some ass.

What I did instead was get up and get my friend John. “John, he’s at it again” You know, we basically got accustomed to his sexism and racism at this point. But I couldn’t let him get away with it. So John goes to the RPAL and asks him “Why isn’t there a ‘Catholics against child molestation’ group?” Shots fired. Now of course, I’m not a proponent of replying to a stereotype with another stereotype - but he had that one coming. John continued to educate our already “educated” RPAL. “Did you know that every single country in the Arab League has denounced ISIS? Did you know that every single nation in the Arab League condemned the 9/11 attacks?” And so on. This is when I learned a very important lesson.

I remember in 8th grade, to this day, when a popular white boy named Pat looked straight at me and said “Dude your nose is huge”, and it still hurts. That’s when my insecurities began. That’s when I realized, being a Palestinian refugee, an immigrant, means I’ll never be apart of the Patrick’s or the Michael’s or the Becky’s friend group. I just wasn’t their aesthetic. I didn’t have the cool clothes they would buy from the mall. I wore Walmart, they wore Aeropostale (yuck). I was heavily bullied. I was their prey. God knows what their parents must have told them about “my kind”. “Thank you for calling, my name is Sam, how can I help you?” I would tell customers on the phone, because I knew they couldn’t pronounce Samer. Sa-mur. As a man who’s been championing the freedom for Palestinians, I’ve received a lot of criticism. Ever since I chose to become aware about my people’s oppression I began to realize how much mainstream media blurs it. They speak

Educated white people aren’t going to save me, or my community. Unfortunately so many white Americans are privileged - privileged to the point

where no matter how intelligent they are, they’ll never be empathetic to our struggle. Because they’ll never experienced it. I’ve been fighting to be a proud Palestinian for some time now, and the amount of criticism I’ve received on social media and in the real world hurts. I don’t think non-Palestinians will ever understand how dangerous it is to be a proud Palestinian in the United States of America.

Recently, a black friend and I got into an argument about Israel and Palestine. She said as a christian, she refuses to refer to it as anything but Israel. I was speechless, angry, disappointed that a black woman couldn’t understand where I was coming from. Above all - I was hurt. Where did my stubbornness go? Where did my fire and passion to educate others go? I knew a day would come where being Palestinian would cost me to lose friends, I knew that this very incident would probably happen, but why was I filled with all this sorrow?

I know why. Because it was finally happening, because it was actually real. That day, I discovered that I have to pay the price for choosing to express myself. I have to pay the price for following a belief. Have to pay the price for having a “big nose”. I have to pay the price for being Palestinian, for being Muslim, for looking “Arab”, because that does not equal a true “American” identity. I look around and see so many different ethnicities, religions and races, and I begin ask myself, “What does being American even mean anymore? We’re all so different. Is there seriously just ONE look? Is it because I’m perceived as that most different that I’m not allowed to be an American citizen?”

Spoiler alert. I’m American. I’m a proud American too. I’ve lived here for most of my life, too. Before anything - I am an American citizen. I’m going to get to vote soon, I pay my taxes like my parents, I’m obsessed with music from here, and as a Chicagoan I refuse to be compared to New York City. Our rent is WAY cheaper and they got nothing on our pizza. I’m not just Palestinian. And I’m not just American. Don’t label me as just one. Both my nationalities define me. Don’t undermine my achievements as an American just because I’m Palestinian, and just because I’m Palestinian doesn’t mean I’m any less American than Bob from Arizona.

After arguing with my black friend, I packed up my bag and left to the chapel on campus. There is a Sister there - Sister Carol. An elderly woman, she has given me many nicknames. My favorite is Romano (no not the cheese, the city). I explained to Sister Carol how I’ve been struggling lately to vocalize my viewpoints on Palestine, and that’s become so hard to argue with others. I told her that my heart has been hurting for a long time now. I’m tired of the burden that comes with be-

ing proudly Palestinian. She told me, like all the prophets before me, I have to endure ridicule. I didn’t understand what she meant. Carol told me to think of myself as a modern day prophet. Now, I’m not crazy religious but hearing that from a sister truly meant a lot. Palestine would be in her prayers, she promised me. It’s times like this when I self reflect on the oppressed groups that came before me, how they fought back and eventually won. It would seem that for Palestinians, this is the one exception where history wouldn’t repeat itself.

I am constantly reminding myself that I am apart of a generation that has a duty. It is our duty to fix this mess. Racists cannot silence me on social media or in real life. If the Internet mimics real life, then there is no doubt that real life can mimic the internet. If I allow myself to be silenced or censored online, it can happen in real life too. If an online society of people can censor how I want to look, what stops them from doing so in real life? This is already happening, we experience this every day. It happens when Israeli soldiers torture us, undress us, rape us, try to physically abuse us. It happens when Americans call us ugly, tell us to change the way we look, tells us we are not perfect, tell us to go back to where we came from, this cannot continue to be our reality. To all the younger people of Palestine, do not let this discourage you, do not let anyone tell you what you should look like, tell you how to be, tell you that you are not worth anything. Even if society tries to silence us, we keep on going, keep moving forward, keep creating revolutionary work, and keep this discourse alive.

I am the next generation of Palestine, and I won’t let you silence me.

We are the next generation of Palestine, and they cannot silence us.

I am the next generation of Palestine, and I won’t let you silence me.

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Art by @LipstickYoda

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