This last year has been very unusual in that a genocide is taking place in full view of our eyes, and that it has not even been stopped 365 days later, but rather, expanded— in a reckless and diabolical manner by an occupying force and the U.S’s billions shoring up the entity of Israel. Some might even call it Usrael.
Whatever we choose to say or not say, the fact remains that the world itself is in a critical juncture one year into what some analysts predict is a “war without end”. The language of survivable nuclear strikes has re-entered the lexicon of terror.
But nonetheless, more and more people are having their eyes opened to the danger of a unipolar world led by U.S. imperialism and the profit motive. The dollar may be on it’s way down. The seperation of synagogue from expansionist settler state may be on it’s way for Israel, as Jews around the world attempt to distance themselves from the Zionist death project. The next few months will be crucial.
Below I share some art and poetry that resonates with our times. Starting with a poem by Germany’s Bertolt Brecht and including a recent interview with Gazan poet Mosab Abu Toha.
“When Evil-Doing Comes Like Falling Rain” Bertolt Brecht Translated by John Willett
Like one who brings an important letter to the counter after office hours: the counter is already closed.
Like one who seeks to warn the city of an impending flood, but speaks another language. They do not understand him.
Like a beggar who knocks for the fifth time at the door where he has four times been given something: the fifth time he is hungry.
Like one whose blood flows from a wound and who awaits the doctor: his blood goes on flowing.
So do we come forward and report that evil has been done us.
The first time it was reported that our friends were being butchered there was a cry of horror. Then a hundred were butchered. But when a thousand were butchered and there was no end to the butchery, a blanket of silence spread.
When evil-doing comes like falling rain, nobody calls out ‘stop!’
When crimes begin to pile up they become invisible. When sufferings become unendurable the cries are no longer heard. The cries, too, fall like rain in summer.
Excerpt From “Do Not Reconcile” by Amal Dunqul
Do not reconcile
until existence returns to its moving cycle
the stars to orbit
the birds to their song
the sands to their grain
and the martyr to his awaiting daughter.
Everything was destroyed in a fleeting moment:
youth, the joy of family, the sounds of horses, getting to know a guest,
the humming of the heart upon seeing sprouts in the garden,
the prayer for seasonal rain,
the elusion of the heart when it sees the bird of death flying over deathly duels.
Everything was destroyed upon a licentious whim
and the one who assassinated me was not a god
such that he could kill me with his will
he was not more noble than I
such that he could kill me with his knife
he was not more clever than me
such that he could kill me through deceit.
Do not reconcile
for reconciliation is nothing but a treaty
between two equals
(by the honor of their hearts)
otherwise it cannot be true
the one who assassinated me
was just a thief
who stole my land right in front of my eyes
as the silence was sarcastically laughing!
The Deluge and the Tree by Fadwa Tuqan
When the hurricane swirled and spread its deluge of dark evil
onto the good green land ‘They’ gloated.
The western skies reverberated with joyous accounts: ‘The Tree has fallen ! The great trunk is smashed!
The hurricane leaves no life in the Tree!
’ Had the Tree really fallen? Never!
Not with our red streams flowing forever, not while the wine of our thorn limbs fed the thirsty roots,
Arab roots alive
tunneling deep, deep, into the land!
When the Tree rises up,
the branches shall flourish green and fresh in the sun
the laughter of the Tree shall leaf
beneath the sun and birds shall return
Undoubtedly, the birds shall return.
The birds shall return.
Ear to the Ground 