Aneesa Ahad
Last winter, most of us became familiar with the heart-rending poem by Refaat Alareer, If I Must Die. It is a poem of love and of witness. It has been an inspiration for global art and activism, and especially for groups like Whatcom Families for Justice in Palestine.
Last winter, most of us became familiar with the heart-rending poem by Refaat Alareer, If I Must Die. It is a poem of love and of witness. It has been an inspiration for global art and activism, and especially for groups like Whatcom Families for Justice in Palestine.
On May 12, WFJP held a kite flying event to acknowledge the mothers of Gaza and their losses. If I Must Die was the inspiration for actions and conversations that day as the group struggled to connect personally with the horrors in Gaza and with their community of support as they bear witness to how our government, how we contribute to this genocide.
If you are not familiar with the poem or with Refaat Alareer, please take a moment and check out this December 2023 interview with his friend, scholar and policy analyst Jehad Abusalim, on Democracy NOW! The rest of my post will make more sense if you do.
Despite how beautifully Democracy NOW! covered the story behind the poem and the last days of Refaat Alareer, it did not mention the length of time that the poem lived before Alareer died.
If I Must Die was written around 2011, first published in 2014, and popularized in our community in 2023. That means that this person, a son, a partner, a father…wrote their eulogy and then waited for over a decade for it to be read in memoriam. For them, the poem was personal.
The attacks, dehumanization, and abuses of the Palestinian people have been happening for our entire lives. We could have been touched by this poem and doing what we are doing today when it was first written. Or the day after. Or the year after. If we were protesting then, would this poem be so painful now? Would this poem even have been written?
Protestors gather in memory of Refaat Alareer and call for an end to Israeli occupation Photo by Andy Soloman/UCG/Universal Images Group via Getty Images
Many of us have been in the fight for Palestine for a long time. We have discussed it, had actions protesting abuses, written to our politicians demanding accountability and more. Some of us have provided physical presence and support in Gaza and surrounding areas. A few of us have lost a daughter, a friend, or a colleague in direct action against the IDF. But if we had done more, (sooner, louder, faster) could we have prevented THIS current phase of genocide against the Palestinian people? What could we have done to make this more personal, to make this not happen?
My daughter and I have this conversation again and again. It is a topic of concern, anger, and frustration with every high school aged activist that I speak with. Maybe they will do what we started out to do but did not accomplish. Maybe they will make it personal enough that it will end and a true recovery and reconciliation can begin. Maybe they will be the tipping point that changes the focus to universal human rights, and simple humanity.
Right now, we can take a minute and make sure that we are taking this personally. I wrote a poem (not the usual form of protest for me) to share at the kite flying event mentioned above. Before I read it, I asked for everyone gathered to take a minute and look at their child, at their partner, at their friend. To look at them and breathe knowing that you breathe the same air and share this same moment. Pause and breathe. Make it personal.
My daughter and I have this conversation again and again. It is a topic of concern, anger, and frustration with every high school aged activist that I speak with. Maybe they will do what we started out to do but did not accomplish. Maybe they will make it personal enough that it will end and a true recovery and reconciliation can begin. Maybe they will be the tipping point that changes the focus to universal human rights, and simple humanity.
Right now, we can take a minute and make sure that we are taking this personally. I wrote a poem (not the usual form of protest for me) to share at the kite flying event mentioned above. Before I read it, I asked for everyone gathered to take a minute and look at their child, at their partner, at their friend. To look at them and breathe knowing that you breathe the same air and share this same moment. Pause and breathe. Make it personal.
7 Millon Breaths
I wrote something yesterday
When I could no longer stand
The sound of blasts
Footsteps
And silence
I wrote something last month
Because it never stops
The wondering
When and if
it is my time to be martyred
I wrote something last year
It is in my collection
Of poems that I might share
Someday
When this is over
It has been three years
Since I wrote this for him
But today I read it
For you, my family and friends
Who no longer wonder
It has been a decade
But only the hair on my head
And the height that you have grown
And the tears that we have dropped
Show any change
It has been more time
Always more nights passing
But less bombs never drop
Or fewer raids
And lost children
Every moment is the same
Each time you draw a breath
I hope
That I will still be here
When you exhale
Every moment is the same
I hold you close, love you more
And live to the fullest
Until the time comes
For me to be martyred
It waited for
7 million breaths
Except for the ones
That I held in fear for you
I wrote something yesterday
When I could no longer stand
The sound of blasts
Footsteps
And silence
I wrote something last month
Because it never stops
The wondering
When and if
it is my time to be martyred
I wrote something last year
It is in my collection
Of poems that I might share
Someday
When this is over
It has been three years
Since I wrote this for him
But today I read it
For you, my family and friends
Who no longer wonder
It has been a decade
But only the hair on my head
And the height that you have grown
And the tears that we have dropped
Show any change
It has been more time
Always more nights passing
But less bombs never drop
Or fewer raids
And lost children
Every moment is the same
Each time you draw a breath
I hope
That I will still be here
When you exhale
Every moment is the same
I hold you close, love you more
And live to the fullest
Until the time comes
For me to be martyred
It waited for
7 million breaths
Except for the ones
That I held in fear for you
This is what I imagine Refaat Alareer felt after writing that poem over 13 years ago…nearly 5000 days, over 100,000 hours, over 6 million minutes, and approximately 7 million breaths.
The author of this post, Aneesa Ahad, is employed as the Alternatives to Military Service Coordinator for WPJC in Bellingham, Washington. She is also dedicated to promoting peace, justice, and equity through local volunteering and serving as the Member Contact and Coordinator forVeterans For Peace, Chapter 111.