VOICES OF RESILIENCE: NAVIGATING IDENTITY, CENSORSHIP, AND HOPE. AN INTERVIEW WITH FARAH

Skribent: Andrea Simonsen

Bachelorstudent i sosialantropologi ved

Universitetet i Bergen

 

Medvirkende: Kristine Brustad

Bachelorstudent i sosialantropologi ved

Universitetet i Bergen

  

For her own and her family’s safety, the interview object is anonymous.

Navigating Boundaries

In the virtual realm of Google Meet, from the sunny quietude of Bergen to the bustling energy of a Middle Eastern metropolis we meet Farah– each one of us sitting in our student apartments with a whole world between us. Wrapped in a sweater proudly featuring the delineated contours of Palestine, she wears her homeland as a symbol of identity and belonging. Farah is 21 years old and has spent most of her life in the Jerusalem, where she grew up. Although she explains that growing up in Palestine means having ties to various parts of the country, as the ongoing displacement of people leads to frequent moves between cities and the continuous formation of new connections throughout the nation. At the age of 16, she received a scholarship to attend an international high school in Europe, where she lived and studied from 2019 to 2021, sharing her daily life with students from multiple parts of the world. Currently she is pursuing a degree in computer engineering.

Throughout our conversation, Farah’s words carry the weight of censorship, and she admits, “I can’t say everything because it’s over Google Meet,” highlighting the constraints she faces even in virtual spaces. In her acknowledgment of the limitations imposed by the platform, Farah´s inability to fully express herself shows the broader restrictions placed on Palestinian voices– serving as a

Our conversation reveals the profound impact of her Palestinian identity on her life and worldview, despite the censorship and conflict that frame her existence.

poignant reminder of the ongoing challenges faced in having their narratives heard and understood. Despite this, Farah remains steadfast in using her voice–weaving together tales of perseverance, pride, and the relentless pursuit of acknowledgment in a world rife with censorship and discord. Our conversation reveals the profound impact of her Palestinian identity on her life and worldview, despite the censorship and conflict that frame her existence. Through her resilience and determination, she embodies the spirit of resistance and hope in the face of adversity, standing as a testament to the strength and resilience of the Palestinian people.

Inherited Resolve

From birth, Farah has been immersed in a world where political awareness is not acquired, but inherited.

“In Palestine, there’s a saying: "We are brestfed politics"

The Apartheid Wall that separates the West Bank from Occupied Palestine, (officially known as the Israeli West Bank barrier), built in 2003– the same year as her birth, stands as a powerful emblem to both the physical obstacles and metaphorical challenges of Palestinian identity. At the same time Farah explains how being Palestinian for her transcends mere nationality; it embodies a rich tapestry of history, culture, and resilience. She describes the positive aspects of Palestinian identity, highlighting the warmth and hospitality of her people. Palestinians are known for their strong sense of community and solidarity, where individuals support each other in times of need and celebrate together in times of joy. Farah finds immense pride in her heritage, recognizing the resilience and perseverance of her people. Yet, this pride in her heritage is juxtaposed with the pain of perpetual struggle and the burden of self-explanation, depending on her geographical whereabouts.

The essence of being Palestinian

What does it mean to you to be Palestinian?

“It means everything to me to be a Palestinian. Sometimes it feels like my whole identity. Sometimes when I introduce myself I’d say hi, I’m Palestinian and yeah my name is Farah. It tells so much about my background. Even my skills and resilience. If I want something I’ll go and get it! So it definitely holds a lot of pride, but also so much pain. It depends a lot on where you are in the world but it also means having to explain yourself a lot. Opposing the actions of Israel is not anti-semitic, it’s a stance rooted in moral principles. Today, Jews and people of all faiths unite against the oppression of the Palestinian people. Taking a stand against Israel means opposing genocide, apartheid, forced displacement, colonization, deprivation of human rights and collective punishments. It is about demanding justice, equality and dignity for all people, regardless of their religion or nationality. The fight for the liberation of Palestine is intersectional. It is a humanitarian issue, a feminist issue, an environmental one and even a queer one.”

Farah recounts being a witness to the harsh realities of occupation, where the constant reverberations of bombs and gunfire served as the unsettling background score of her formative years—a constant reminder of the precariousness of life. She vividly describes moments like navigating through checkpoints–where arbitrary searches and interrogations are routine. These experiences underscore the daily struggles endured by Palestinians living under occupation, each checkpoint representing a barrier to freedom and a testament to the oppressive environment.

Additionally, she remembers when Ahmad Manasra, the now 22 year old Palestinian that was arrested at the age of 13 in 2015 accused of murder. “He was on his way back from school.” We had to leave school early that day due to the incident and I kept thinking that this unjust situation could have happened to me or any of my classmates as we were also about to leave school through that street. I often think of him, and how much my life has changed since then. I graduated middle school, high school and I am now pursuing a degree in engineering and meanwhile he has been behind bars and his mental and physical health have deteriorated. “I hope Ahmad Manasara gets freed soon.”

Farah fears are deeply rooted in her childhood confusion and the collective trauma experienced by her people. While she wasn’t directly exposed to the bombings in Gaza, the constant news of attacks caused confusion. She vividly recalls how the sound of a fire alarm could trigger memories of bombs she saw on TV, the sound being similar to the siren alarm you would hear before the bombs came. This led her to associate any loud noise, even a passing plane, with imminent danger. This confusion was compounded by the realization that, although she was physically safe, her fellow countrymen were suffering. The complexity of her emotions extends to her need for white noise to sleep. The sound, reminiscent of airplanes and helicopters that hovered over her city during times of conflict, paradoxically provides a sense of familiarity and safety, making her feel at home despite the chaos it represents.

This confusion was compounded by the realization that, although she was physically safe, her fellow countrymen were suffering.

This highlights the profound and lasting impact of living in a conflict zone, where even moments of rest are intertwined with the echoes of distant but deeply felt violence. These experiences, though harrowing, forged a profound awareness and empathy, connecting her to others enduring similar struggles. This heightened awareness not only fostered solidarity within her community but also enabled Farah to form meaningful connections with friends who have experienced injustice. Because for her it is important to remember that “nobody’s free until everybody’s free”. At the high school in Europe, Farah found common ground with a friend from Québec, bonding over their shared experiences of living in places marked by injustice. Despite the different contexts, both share a history of being taken over by larger powers—Palestine by Israel, and Québec by British Canada after the French defeat in 1763 during the Seven Years’ War.

These connections transcended geographic boundaries, uniting Farah with others who understood the complexities of life of oppression. It’s a reality where the innocence of childhood is intertwined with the harshness of political strife, shaping Farah perspective and resilience as she navigates her path forward.

Navigating identity abroad

Have you experienced any differences between your experiences living in Palestine, the Middle East and Europe?

Living in Europe Farah explains being introduced to new challenges and that “I always felt like I needed to explain myself and my strong opinions on the Palestinian struggle for liberation”. I always felt the need to explain that choosing not to have a dialogue with a person who supports and benefits from my (and other people’s) oppression is not “uncivilized and hateful” but rather a valid stance against complicity and injustice”.

Furthermore she explains facing questions about her choices and about her homeland, such as someone once asking if Palestinians had fridges. In response, she jokingly asked if they thought Palestinians rode camels to school, to which the person earnestly affirmed that they did. But this extended beyond mere questions; it reflected a deeper orientalist view which dehumanizes the Palestinians by viewing them as less human or living in primitive conditions. “People often seem to think that Palestinians aren’t like them, that we don’t have the same dreams, fears, or everyday lives,” she says. “They don’t realize that Palestinians are just like you and me, with families, hopes, and dreams.”

Global Recognition and Media Representation

How do you feel acknowledged and heard globally?

“For my own safety, I avoid making specific accusations or sharing my full thoughts, even in private conversations,” she explains. “ You never know—they are always making new laws and rules.” Social media, she notes, is a double-edged sword; while it provides a platform to share stories and raise awareness, it also comes with significant risks. In this way is censorship an omnipresent force shaping how Farah expresses herself publicly and privately

“I prefer to repost content rather than share my own opinions. It always feels like a trap like someone is after you, I never actually say what I feel fully”

She specifies that when you repost you only redistribute what other people mean, feel and think and even though she may share their opinions and views she is not the influencer, but the one influenced. Therefore it comes with less danger and consequences. Farah does not have a citizenship and therefore it is risky for her to speak freely, because they can detain her or get her deported. At the same time, she knows that if she stepped wrong, they can still arrest her and she may not get her residency renewed – which means she will not be able to go back home. This crucial renewal she needs to complete back home in Palestine this summer.

Farah struggles with censorship underscores a broader reality where suppression of free speech also stifles empathy and human connection. She recounts her professor’s lack of understanding and empathy when she missed an exam due to the turmoil in Palestine. The professor’s indifferent response to her worries further exemplifies this disconnect from reality and the pervasive lack of compassion. These instances reveal how censorship not only suppresses information but also perpetuates a culture of indifference and insensitivity– hindering genuine understanding and solidarity.

Despite these challenges, Farah remains hopeful. She criticizes companies like Meta for their roles in enforcing censorship, often driven by their own agendas and deals with governments. “I hope we can stop being censored. I think these companies do their best to censor us. They have their own agendas and agreements with governments,” she says. Farah advocates for the creation of truly free platforms, though she acknowledges the difficulty of this task. “We should make platforms that are free, but that is hard as people won’t start using a new platform easily, so it is easier that we stop the current platforms from censoring us. I hope we can get freedom and justice. We can break algorithms and not get ourselves censored.”

Believing in the power of social media engagement, Farah notes that despite attempts to censor pro-Palestinian content, young people continue to show support. She highlights how a TikTok worker was questioned about why the platform appeared so pro-Palestinian, emphasizing that teenagers are increasingly supportive of the Palestinian cause. “What people don’t get is that posting and engagement does help,” she asserts.

She admires the bravery of students now protesting despite the risks, understanding that not everyone has the privilege to speak freely. “The students are so brave for protesting even though they can lose their spot and get arrested. I don’t know that if I was in their shoes I would do the same,” she says, acknowledging the immense courage it takes to stand up for justice. These students risk their lives, careers, and futures, yet they stand firm, highlighting the urgent need for a liberated Palestine. “I dream of a day when censorship ends and Palestinians are truly free. Social media can make a difference. It’s encouraging to see students protesting, risking their futures for justice.” Farah’s experiences and reflections underscore the critical importance of fighting censorship and advocating for a world where everyone can freely express their beliefs and experiences.

Dreams of Liberation

What are your hopes and visions for the future in Palestine?

No state should be built on religion or ethnicity.” Palestine should exist for Christians, Jews, and Muslims alike. It’s a human issue,

When asked about her hopes for the future, Farah expresses a belief in the potential for change. Reflecting on the shift witnessed in recent years regarding the visibility of Palestinian voices globally, she emphasizes the power of social media and online platforms in amplifying marginalized narratives. While acknowledging progress in breaking through the veil of censorship that has long shrouded Palestinian stories, she remains cautiously optimistic–noting that recognition on a state level is still lacking. Congruently, she remains steadfast in her belief that change is possible, drawing parallels with the Palestinian experience of censorship and control over the narrative. Despite the challenges, she remains hopeful that increasing awareness and understanding, particularly among the younger generation, will pave the way for a future where Palestinian voices are not only heard but also valued and respected on a global scale.

During the Nakba, Farah’s grandparents were among the many Palestinians who experienced forced displacement and loss, leaving their home and belongings behind as they fled from another city during the 1948 Arab-Israeli war. Despite the displacement, they managed to preserve the key to their old house– a powerful symbol of their right to return and their enduring connection to their homeland. This key remains prominently displayed on their wall to this day. Farah’s grandfather always told her, “You are going to be the generation that sees Palestine go free.” This belief instilled in Farah a deep sense of hope and determination. She reflects, “Our hope is incredible. Things have started to change, and it’s been a long time now”.

Farah envisions a liberated Palestine, where she can wear her grandmother’s traditional thobe– with its intricate tatreez embroidery, unique patterns, and vibrant colors which serve as symbol for the wearer’s heritage and specific regional origin within Palestine. This serves as a reminder of the relentless efforts to erode Palestinian identity and the enduring struggle to preserve their cultural heritage amidst adversity.

In the Veil’s Shadow: Unveiling the Hidden Truths

In Farah’s journey, we find a striking tale of resilience and defiance. Her use of white noise as a shield against the chaos of conflict mirrors the broader struggle for expression faced by Palestinians under censorship. While she seeks refuge in the familiar hum, Palestinians often grapple with being silenced by external forces, their narratives stifled in the clamor of oppression. Yet, amidst these challenges, Farah’s narrative emerges as a strike hope, a testament to the spirit of a people fighting to reclaim their voices amidst oppression. Through her story, we’re invited to delve into the complexities of Palestinian identity, intricately interwoven with the quest for acknowledgment and justice. As her journey unfolds, it reminds us to listen, to empathize, and to stand alongside those whose stories that have been obscured by the veil of censorship.