When I was a little boy, I used to dream of being reborn outside the hardship
of the Refugee Camp in Gaza, in some other time and place where there were no
soldiers, no military occupation, no concentration camps and no daily grind
— where my father fought for our very survival, and my mother toiled to balance
out the humiliation of life with her enduring love.
When I grew older, and revisited my childhood fantasies, I came to quite a
different conclusion: if I had to, I would do it all over again, I would not
alter my past, however trying, in any way. I would embrace every moment, relive
every tear, every loss, and cherish every triumph, however small.
When we are young, they often fail to tell us that we should not fear pain
and dread hardship; that nothing can be as rewarding to the growth of one’s
identity, sense of purpose in life and the liberation of the human spirit than
the struggle against injustice. True, one should never internalize servitude
or wear victimhood as if a badge; for the mere act of resisting poverty, war
and injustice of any kind is the first and most essential criterion to prepare
one for a more meaningful existence, and a better life.
I say this because I understand what many of you must be going through. My
generation of refugee camp dwellers experienced this in the most violent manifestation
you can ever imagine. These are difficult and challenging years for most of
humanity, but all the more for you, young Muslims, in particular. Between the
racism of American and European politicians and parties, the anti-Muslim sentiment
sweeping much of the world, propagated by selfish individuals with sinister
agendas, playing on people fears and ignorance, and the violence and counter-violence
meted out by groups that refer to themselves as “Muslims”, you find yourself
trapped, confined in a prison of stereotypes, media hate speech and violence;
targeted, labeled and, undeservedly, feared.