From a hillside in Brooklyn

I read in the Guardian today ('Israel rushes to withdraw troops', January 19th, 2009) that one house in Gaza, which had been used as an Israeli base during their invasion, had the words 'Arabs need to die' and 'Arabs: 1948-2009' scrawled on the walls. And I read during the invasion that some Israelis would go sit on the hills surrounding Northern Gaza to watch, even some to cheer on. If it was Ariel Sharon that was the Butcher of Beirut, his successor Olmert, with Livni and Barak, have become the Butcher(s) of Gaza.

My girlfriend and I sat in our apartment, like many around the world, and watched in horror as the Israeli campaign unfolded. I wondered, as we checked the news with great fervor, if it must not break her heart to see such things in Palestine in 2009, as her father was of the many Palestinians expelled during the Nakba. 1948-2009, history repeats itself and grows crueler with every day. But there was no expulsion this time, there was nowhere to go. Just more killing. Me, I'm a foreigner there, at least as I liked to tell myself during my time in Palestine and even now. I have my emotions, my morality, my knowledge, what else do I have? I ask myself this question every day, I know in part to protect myself.

Like those Israelis sitting on the hills, I too have watched the slaughter from a distance, albeit for different reasons and with different reactions. But as their government is carrying it out behind Gaza's walls, my government has armed their government to the teeth and stood by with quiet approval. I paid for a piece of those guns, those missiles, those fighter jets, those helicopters, that white phosphorous. Willingly or not, I'm less of a foreigner to the conflict than I like to believe.

I know, I know, people will say it's just privileged guilt. No, it's rage, sorrow and shame.

Ian Maley, American
Brooklyn, NY