Humiliation
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“Humiliation” is one of a series of six poems I wrote about being a Palestinian living in exile. This poem describes a journey I took to my home in Palestine across the Jordan River after the six day war that started on the 5th of June, 1967. It was a journey of degradation; many Palestinians were subjected to various humiliations by the Israeli occupation forces. Alkhaleel is the name of my hometown; in English is called Hebron. The following is a translation of one of my poems about what we, the Palestinians in exile, go through when the occupying forces of Israel grant us a permit to visit our homes: an experience of being humiliated at checkpoints erected by the Israeli occupiers.
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Morning departed . . . afternoon came…
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but still he quizzed me about my homeland.
.”Where are you from?” he asked
Refusing to acknowledge my hometown’s Arabic name.
I told him: “Alkhaleel”.
I do not barter its shadows.
He disappeared again
into the air-conditioned room.
We all knew
It was a humiliation game:
The occupiers make the rules.
Hours passed…
I was called to be searched.
It seemed
I might be caught
Smuggling a poem!
They passed a metal detector all over my body.
Then the strip-search began.
Their hands groped under my armpits.
I was instructed to take off my headscarf.
They did not even spare
Checking my underwear,
My blood-stained towel!
They strip-searched my little girls,
Then pointed at my baby with a stick,
Their faces wrinkling with disgust.
I was ordered to remove her diaper.
They even searched her milk!
Take off your shoes!””
A soldier shouted at me.
My children clung to my dress.
Frightened and confused,
I took them off.
The hot platform baked my feet;
Probably they would find in my heels
A shooting star.
Fury… Fury… Fury!
They found nothing
but burning feet in silhouette shadows.
They confiscated my identity card.
What were they looking for?
My birth certificate and my family tree
are flowing in my bloodstream.
I stood there half naked,
Angry and ashamed,
My face turning red.
I started to pray:
“From my country’s thyme
And its hilltops’ sage
And from the fluff of its sparrows
May spring fall
To clothe my bare soul.”
Dare not test my patience,
Or test it if you wish…
It does not matter to me at all.
Palestine is my homeland
And always will be.
Acknowledge or deny,
Still I will never crawl.
In Al-Khalil’s mountains
My heart resides.
There I stand tall,
A neighbour of heaven.
I sat there
On one of the foothills,
Combing my hair,
The teeth of my comb
Catching the clouds.
Search me
As many times as you wish.
Erect more army checkpoints.
Build as many roadblocks as you can.
Invent more devious ways
Of creating time delays.
You fail to see:
I belong here.
You can’t uproot me like a tree;
I will keep coming back.
My voice will keep feeding the thunder
Until your foreheads
breed white flags.
