CHENNAI : It is now almost five months into the ongoing genocide in Palestine (which did not begin last October, but had its origins in the first Nakba or dispossession of 1948, when the country’s territories were arrogated into the new nation-state of Israel). In parts of the world that have a clear political stake, such as the United States, calls for a ceasefire can be amplified by directly contacting elected representatives. Protest there has begun intensifying: a few days ago, a 25-year old US Air Force soldier named Aaron Bushnell self-immolated as a statement about no longer wanting to be complicit in the genocide.
In other parts of the world, the ‘B’ in the Boycott Divest and Sanctions (BDS) movement, which discourages consumption from major brands that fund the Israeli state directly or indirectly, is one of the few modes of meaningful action. When Indians began boycotting the Maldives en masse recently, reminiscent of anti-China boycotts and bans dating to a few years ago (memorably: people throwing China-manufactured TVs presumably bought with hard-earned incomes from balconies to prove a point), I wondered what such passion could mean, if it was directed toward ending suffering rather than tending to the ego. Imagine if the genocide of Palestinians, happening right now and with daily evidence, mattered to more of us.
India, on an official level, used to have a pro-Palestinian stance. This is no longer the case. Solidarities of any kind that go against the grain, including solidarity for Palestinians at present, are not just harder to form, but also come with higher risks.
Mostly, it feels like, we scroll.
Every day, unspeakable images, videos and statistics appear on my phone — each about actual people, sometimes about the climate damage caused by war. There are fundraisers and facts. Also: a constant stream of beautiful artwork involving watermelon slices — a symbol of Palestinian resistance, pleading or powerful quotes, and reading recommendations.
As a reader and a writer, I ask myself sometimes: what can literature do? There is always an answer. Israel has destroyed at least 14 libraries, including the Central Archives of Gaza and others with invaluable documents, and all universities and many publishing houses have shut. As Esmat Elhalaby, an academic who specialises in transnational history, posted on social media: “Simultaneously: the Israeli military turns whole libraries to ash while Palestinians in Gaza are forced to burn their own books to warm their bodies or cook their food.”
There’s an argument to be made that literature matters particularly in the face of futility. What does it mean to read writers from Palestine and its diaspora, whether in English or Arabic, in translation or otherwise, while a genocide of Palestinians takes place? On one level, it means nothing, changes nothing. On another, perhaps more esoteric level, it unites our mindspaces with those in present need, and possibly spurs individual action on the tangible level. There is another level, and that is the level of witnessing. If we cannot bear even to look at the devastation as it happens, we can grieve and rage through reading fiction from the people to whom it is happening. The truth resides there too.
Sharanya Manivannan
@she_of_the_sea
The columnist is a writer and illustrator