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Dear friend, I know you’re in pain. Our powerlessness in the face of the violence that is being inflicted on the people of Gaza is taking the hope away from you. You feel guilty, I know you do because I sometimes do too. Guilty of our privilege, and ashamed of how useless we remain in the face of such horror. I know you’ve also seen that video of the child’s hand appearing from under the rubble, helping the rescuers in their impossible task. Did they manage to take the child out of there? How many more children’s bodies do we need to see before we all wake up. But I know you’re up. You and I, my dearest friend, we are wide awake. Our nights are filled with nightmares and in the morning, I know that you wonder “what is the point of this life?” It does feel like that, I know. That’s why I am writing you this letter, my dear friend. I want you to know that we must hold on to hope. We all have a role to play. Each one of us, in our own way. Some of our friends are activists, they’re in the streets every day, driven by their anger and rage, they do the work some of us cannot do for a variety of reasons. Let’s cherish them and be there for them. Some of us get organised behind the scenes, bringing people together, healing their wounds in silence or around a meal. We also have some organising poetry readings, others reflecting and writing or making art. Raising money, sending SIM cards, posting endlessly CEASE FIRE on social media. Amidst all this violence we need to keep collecting and archiving knowledge, we need to create discourse, and yes, sometimes we may have difficult conversations and disagree on how we get where we want to go. There’s no time for nuance, some will say. They’re right in their own way. How do you nuance a genocide, is a question that haunts me too. In those moments I turn to writers and thinkers who came before us, who saw similar horror, in the same and in different geographies. I reread Nazim Hikmet’s poem Hiroshima Child*: I come and stand at every door
But none can hear my silent tread
I knock and yet remain unseen
For I am dead for I am dead Hikmet could have written that same poem today. That thought freezes my hope, but then, I read the last stanza of the poem: All that I need is that for peace
You fight today you fight today
So that the children of this world
Can live and grow and laugh and play So, you’re right, my friend. We have reason to be in pain as we haven’t reached that peace yet. But the existence of this poem is a way to tell us not to despair. Do not lose hope, my friend. Let’s use our privilege to hold space for solidarity and action, for poetry and beauty because the people of Palestine deserve better than being portrayed as they are by the media and many governments. We are healthy, no bombs fall on our heads, we have money in our pocket, we have access to the internet, to culture, we have passports that allow us to travel, we know many languages. My friend, look at all the tools we have. And above all, we have the heart and will, the mental strength to keep supporting one another in fighting. We believe in freedom for all, and we know our friends in Palestine and Israel are going to need to heal from this. It will take time, and we are going to need poetry, and music, and words, and discourse, and many tools to hold each other’s hearts. Above all, my dear friend. We owe it to the people who don’t have the privilege of hope to keep it for us and for them. Let’s keep showing up in any way we know how to. I know you’ve hosted a friend in your home, you have brought solace to their soul. I know you’ve organised a poetry reading, and you have fundraised money to support non-profit organisations. I know you were holding vigil at Central Station again last night. I know you lit a candle and prayed. Even if you’re not posting it all on social media, I do know your heart, and I do see all that you do. I cherish you and am here for you. We have no power to stop bombs, our power lies in other places and we need each other to magnify the reverberations of our actions, no matter their size and visibility. With love and hope, Your friend, Canan. *The poem is all over the internet in translation and there is no mention of a translator, unfortunately
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