I'm Lebanese (Palestine Stories, Ep. 2)

Snow White

I am Lebanese.

I am half Danish, half Lebanese, and Norwegian by nationality. But people don't exist as halves; they exist as wholly what they are. And I am just as much wholly Lebanese as I am Scandinavian.

All my life, most people around me have approached my “Lebanese half” like it were either a tolerable personal quirk, a disease, or an inconvenient truth we don't mention again once it's said. “Oh, you have some other background other than Norwegian too? Right. Okay, but you're basically Norwegian.”

I am 10, and an extended family member tells me that although I have dark hair and eyes, my pale, rosy complexion can make me easily pass for 100% White.

My Norwegian aunt excitedly likens me to Disney's Snow White, again referring to my pale skin, dark hair, and red lips. She is convinced this is a compliment. This is her way of telling me I am beautiful: “Gorgeous! You are Snow White brought to life!” she exclaims nearly every time I visit.

Not Quite So Araby and Terroristy

I'm in primary school, and family members, adults at church and school say I can pass for many things – some suggest Italian, others Spanish, German, Danish, American. Like I have to pass for anything else. I'm “hard to pin” and that's “a good thing".

"At least you look 100% White. That will help you in life."

In middle school, when I inform Norwegian classmates I am Lebanese, awkward pauses often ensue. It's Norway in the 90s, and asking the average Norwegian to locate Lebanon on a map, much less differentiate between the Middle Eastern countries, is a far reach. I can tell they're mentally scouring the world atlas. Lebanon. Where is that again? 

“Is that like being from Libya?” one classmate asks.

I learn quickly that if I, after saying I'm half Lebanese in Christian circles, add: “You know, like the cedars of Lebanon in The Bible.... It borders Israel to the North” it goes down a lot better.

“Oooooh!” the light of recognition dawns in their eyes. “Yes, of course. It borders Israel.” Israel we know. Israel is good. Well if it's close to Israel, it doesn't feel quite so Araby and terroristy and bomby.

Two Towers, A Birthday, & The Magna Carta

I'm 13. It's a Tuesday. I am living in Watford, England, attending Stanborough Secondary School. We are sent home early from school, and once I get home, I find the television is on. To a backdrop of bright blue sky, smoke is pouring out of a tower in New York city. Then a second tower is hit live as I'm watching, still standing at the entrance to the living room with my backpack on.

I'm listening carefully to the language the newscasters are using. I listen to that language the next day too. And the next. It's a rhetoric that is going to paint my teenage years.

Post 9/11, Islamophobia and anti-Arab hatred skyrockets. It's going to dominate Western public discourse for years to come. In college, I'll have to sit through "friends" excitedly sharing viral videos of Achmed The Dead Terrorist - a bit by a White American comedian featuring Achmed, a ventriloquist puppet, who is a deceased terrorist (from a suicide bomb). He speaks with a horrible "Arabic" accent and his catchphrase is: "Silence! I kill you!"

I will have to witness horrible, racist depictions of Arabs on Western news and entertainment. I will watch people that look like family be hated by the masses, and picked every time for "random" airport searches at Heathrow airport. I will be taken aside by the security team at Gatwick and asked what my "connection" to Lebanon is. I wonder how they know, but I try to look as non-threatening as possible when I explain that I'm just trying to fly home.

The day after the towers were hit, my classmates talk about New York, my teachers talk about it. Our American headmaster holds a special morning assembly remembering the dead. We all stand in silence for 3 minutes.

During break-time, we're sitting outside having lunch in the school yard. It's a beautiful September day. Becky cringes and says “my birthdays are never going to be the same again”. It was her birthday the day before – on September 11th. Christopher loudly exclaims between bites of his cheddar cheese sandwich: “There's going to be a war. Absolutely. The Arabs can't get away with this. They're terrorists.” He glances over at one of our classmates. “No offence,” he adds magnanimously in his direction. The classmate he's addressing is an Indian Hindu.

A month later. We're sitting in Mrs. Fox's history class. Although we've been going through feudal history and the Magna Carta, she spends a double period talking about The Holocaust. We won't be getting into modern history for a while, but she felt that, “considering all that's going on”, it's important to remind ourselves of our history. She's referring to the events of the day before - October 7th - when, following a massive campaign of fabricated lies, the US invaded Afghanistan. They're going to terrorise Afghanistan for the next two decades. 200,000 Afghani civilians will die. The lying will continue, and as a result, the US will murder 1 million Iraqi civilians.

Mrs. Judy Fox is a White, British woman. She is also Jewish by religious conversion. Why she connected The Holocaust to 9/11 and the invasion of Afghanistan, and why she thought that this history would “ground us in why we're doing all this”, is something I won't understand for years. In fact, I still don't.

Soon it's November. Maryam is sitting across from me in geography class. She's being teased by some of the boys in class because she can't eat. It's Ramadan and she's a Muslim. At lunch they wave their packets of crisps tauntingly in front of her. They ask why she's “showing her legs” in her skirt (school uniform).

“Shouldn't you be under a sheet or something? You know? Like the other Arabs?”

What's In A Name

I'm 15, and standing in line at the post office in a little town in Hallingdal, Norway. I'm about to have a new passport picture taken, and fill in forms for a name change. It has been decided for me that I should change my surname from my Lebanese name to my Danish side's name. Because: “Life is going to be a lot harder if you don't appear White. You'll get turned down for jobs. You won't even get interviews. You won't get picked for things in the future if they see Kamal on paper. You'll get your foot in the door if you have Kendel instead.”

My Lebanese name is buried in my middle names like a sin. I never minded the name. I was willing to do things the harder way. But racists and self-hating adults have made the decision for me.

A Lebanese & Israeli Walk Into A Bar

It's 2007. I'm 18 and starting college; I'll be studying for a BA in theology.

In the chaos of other arriving freshmen at Newbold College's girl's dorm, I am informed that I'll be sharing room with another first year student. The dean of women pulls me aside and whispers in a confidential tone: “She's Israeli. We thought it might be a good idea to put you two together to demonstrate the power of Christian love. I know you can handle it.” It's the first time I've even seen the dean, let alone talked to her. She winks at me like we're old friends and returns to allocating rooms.

Of course, I think. Why would it be a problem?

But what's on my mind is not whether having an Israeli roommate will bother me, but if me being Lebanese will bother her.

Before entering room 8, I half-decide to avoid or talk as little about my Lebanese side as possible. My motive for this decision is that I don't want to make her feel uncomfortable. Like my very existence would be a danger to her. I don't want her to think I hate her. I don't want her to fear me. My thinking has been conditioned to work this way. I push the door open...

My roommate's name is Masha. She's come to England from Ashdod in occupied Palestine. Her father is Russian. She calls the land she lives in “Israel”. It will be years before I know better than to call it that.

During introductions, when she asks where I'm from, I reply that I'm from Norway, but really I'm half Lebanese, half Danish. Her face stiffens. It's difficult to read. “Oh...” she says slowly. I feel like sinking into the floor. After a long pause she erupts into laughter: “I'll just say you're Norwegian! You basically are, right? You haven't lived in Lebanon or anything, right?” I shake my head. Apparently that means we're cool now.

For the next year we exist in the same space, watch tv shows together, work on essays, entertain guests. I become the automatic listening ear as I often do, spending hours listening to her talk about her family, how she misses Israel, her upbringing, her life events. She does other girls' hair, she is garrulous, and emotive.

When we're alone, Masha often, out of nowhere, will try to start arguments with me. I am reading Kierkegaard at my desk and she suddenly says: “You know Lebanon started it...”

I am brushing my teeth and she says: “Israel really is surrounded by enemies. The Arabs want us all dead. It is very difficult. Very difficult. We are persecuted all over the world. We are the biggest victims in history, you know.”

The Holocaust is a common topic after evening showers. She lies in the bunkbed below me and talks about checkpoints and fearing for their safety and how hard it is to be Israeli. I remember the Israeli checkpoints I saw in Southern Lebanon when visiting. The soldiers carrying AK-47s and the Lebanese having to have passport checks in their own country. But I've been taught to believe it's complicated. And I try to respect the complexity.

I'm confused by Masha's combativeness, her readiness to broach this topic. Where I am willing to step lightly to not insult, she barrels in like I've personally wronged her. I wonder if she's trying to justify something, or goad me, or if it's just something that's simply on her mind a lot. Either way, I attempt to listen and show compassion. I nod empathetically. I try to understand her perspective. After all, I've been taught by my Western education that Israelis and Jews truly are the biggest victims in history. There is still so much I don't know about the Israeli colonial project.

Guess Who's Coming To Shabbat Dinner?

Before the end of the first semester, Masha introduces me to a Jewish Adventist family who live in the family housing complex. She takes me to their flat one Friday night to experience the opening of Shabbat. We walk the long, straight path from the girl's dorm to family housing; it's dark, the stars are out, I'm looking forward to the evening. Especially to hearing Hebrew being spoken fluently.

Mr. Shalom David swings open the door and welcomes us warmly. He is studying theology too. His young family populate the small flat, and the table is decked with challah bread, matzo ball soup, falafel, hummus, and tabbouleh. I know this food well. As we sit for dinner, Shalom and Paula David say the Friday evening recitations. Paula covers her eyes before the candles. They do the Shabbat Kiddush, passing a silver goblet of grape juice from the eldest to the youngest to drink from.

Baruch ata Adonai, Eloheinu Melech ha-olam...

I haven't learned Hebrew yet, but I know those words. Shalom breaks the bread and passes it around. It smells wonderful, and tastes sweet.

Caught up in the enjoyment of the evening, I forget myself for a moment and say: “This food is lovely. It reminds me of the Lebanese food I grew up with. I actually didn't know they had tabbouleh in Israel too.” Mr. and Mrs. David stare at me. With one fell swoop I have become a parasite at the table, an enemy.

“You are from Lebanon?” Shalom asks.

“I...” I am taken aback by the shift in atmosphere. Did I overstep?

“I am half Lebanese,” I say.

“She is Norwegian,” Masha hurries to explain, as though apologising for me.

“Tabbouleh is from Israel," Shalom states resolutely. "It is an Israeli dish. So is this hummus, the falafel, the olives...” Shalom points to the dishes like they're evidence in a court case. “It is all Israeli,” he says. There's a sharpness to his voice.

I know very well that these dishes are Middle Eastern. I know they are not originally “Israeli”. But I don't want to argue. I am a guest in their home. I don't want to make trouble.

I look across the table at his son, Ken, who is wearing his Shabbat best – a crisp white shirt and black waistcoat. He is looking suspiciously at me. I smile to try putting him at ease. He shrugs and goes back to his soup.

When we walk back to the girls' dorm, Masha is monologuing about mandatory service in the Israeli army. She is talking about how all men and women have a duty to protect their homeland – the land God promised to them – that they are persecuted in their own homeland, and that they're brave, righteous warriors.

Masha continues to attend Shabbat dinner with the Davids nearly every Friday. I am not invited back again.

Nitsan David

Abigail David

Shalom David preaching at Adve

The Davids

Years late, the David family move “back to Israel”, where Shalom currently pastors in the Adventist church. Some of them currently live in Ma'ale Adummim, in the West Bank of occupied Palestine. The children are all grown up now.

On Facebook, Paula has shared a picture (2021) of an Israeli soldier reading from the Torah. Her caption reads: “This is Israeli Army , praying to the only true God , the God of Israel”. Another of her pictures, from 2020, features a female Israeli occupational soldier with a machine gun, posing for a picture with Muslim women in Jerusalem. The picture's caption reads: “The real Israel that you never hear about: Muslim Women taking pictures with Israeli Border Police. This is the beauti of our Israel. Share as much as u can.” She has many more posts extolling the virtues of the Israeli army in this way.

One of the David's sons has an Israeli flag in his profile picture. Their son, Nitsan, has a similar picture from 2021 that says: “I stand with Israel forever.” Nitsan previously worked as a computer technician at the IDF. Their daughter, Abigail, has the same in her profile picture. Her sister, Noa, too. Noa appears to be wearing an Israeli military uniform in a picture from January.

I have grown up knowing a lot about the Israeli occupation of Lebanese territories, their bombing campaigns of Lebanon, invasion attempts, and decades of aggression. I've heard the stories from those who experienced it firsthand in the 60s, 70s, 80s, 90, 2000s. I watched in 2006 as Israeli warships bombed Lebanon, implemented a complete naval blockade, attacked Beirut's airport, the IDF launched a ground invasion into Southern Lebanon, severely damaging Lebanese civil infrastructure, and displaced approximately one million Lebanese, only for Wikipedia to cite this Israeli aggression and invasion attempt as the “2006 Lebanon War”. But even then, I didn't understand the full nature or history of the Israeli colonial project.

My West Wing Love Affair

During my early twenties I watch and rewatch one of my absolute favourite tv-series: “The West Wing”. The intellectual genius of this show is like little else I've watched, and for years I rewatch the episodes of season 6 in which the fictional US President Bartlett invites Israeli and Palestinian leaders to Camp David to “negotiate peace”.

The US president is presented as the benevolent, diplomatic, Peace-Lover, who, in his loveable and charming idealism, attempts something everyone else have given up on. The two opposing sides - which are treated as equally responsible in this "conflict" - are presented as squabbling children who simply haven't learned how to share, have dug their heels in for too long. If only they could see past their differences and realise how similar they actually are, then they might find some common ground! Let bygones be bygones! Let's move to a better future! Revenge isn't the way!

It wasn't the first time The West Wing's writers broached the topic. They also released a special 9/11 episode called “Ishmael and Isaac”. The episode seemed, to ignorant minds (myself included), like a masterclass in Middle East diplomacy. The fairest solution seemed like the two-state solution. Sharing. Getting along. Only, the narrative these West Wing episodes presented are completely false. They're founded on complete fallacies. They deal with a reality that doesn't exist. It's built entirely on lies.

Centrism in the face of overwhelming, one-sided injustice is not the right path; it is the enabling of the oppressor.

The West Wing handling of the Israeli occupation of Palestine is mercifully cut short by the Chief of Staff having a heart attack. Eventually, the story concludes with that the US sends thousands of "US peacekeeping" troops to "oversee" that the peace is held in Jerusalem.

I loved these episodes for many years. They presented ideals I have and still hold to – peacemaking, diplomacy, creative problem-solving, communicating across cultural barriers, humanitarian efforts. I still have these values; I fight for them daily. But I also know better now than to tolerate the way this show presented the Palestinian oppression or the Israeli occupation. I know the truth now.

Time to Learn & Unlearn

On October 7th 2023, my journey into learning the truth about Palestine began in earnest. It pains me deeply to say that I didn't know the reality of the Israeli occupation, Zionism, the Palestinian genocide, or of Gaza concentration camp until then. I was blind and ignorant. I was deeply influenced by Western propaganda, its incessant romanticising of Israel, and completely ignorant of the horrific reality. It would take the unbelievably tireless, wise, responsible, courageous, thankless work of hundreds of writers, Al Jazeera reporters, online content creators, teachers, influencers, and courageous Palestinians to enlighten me.

I listened, I read, I watched, I digested, I learned, I unlearned, I questioned. I had a lifetime of propaganda to shed and the experience was chilling. And freeing.

I see now.

I see new truths, not only about Palestine, but about Lebanon, Yemen, Syria, Libya, Iraq, Iran, the Democratic Republic of Congo, Sápmi. About the long and brutal existence of Western colonialism. I understand better White Supremacy, racism, Islamophobia, neo-colonialism. I inhale books on Zionism and the West's presence in the region. I understand now. It was like pulling a thread and suddenly the whole thing is unravelling to reveal behind it the true face of history.

I know I'm not the only one who has been on this journey. How many other Westerners have gone through a huge awakening this past year, and joined in the resistance against White Supremacy, Western Colonialism and Imperialism.

Them Likes & Hearts

On October 10th 2023, my old roommate, Masha, added an Israeli flag to her Facebook profile picture. A tidal wave of likes, hearts, hugs, heartfelt outpourings of support, condolences, and solidarity poured into her comment sections. Oh no! Your country is under attack! Terrorism! So scary! Stay strong! Those poor hostages! Bring the hostages home! What a barbaric act!

The messages poured in from people we both went to college with. From people we both know. Including, from my former Newboldean dean of women, and Maya, one of my Norwegian class mates who I both attended high school and Newbold with, and who currently pastors in Norway. And although the truth about the Hannibal Directive would come out months later, and all the claims of the Israelis murdering their own people would be confirmed to be true, and even though those people were attending a rave next to a concentration camp, none of those facts mattered. Because none of this was ever about facts - it was about affirming what many already feel to be true. Israel is never the villain. Israel good. Arabs bad.

During that same October, the Israelis step up their slaughter of the prisoners in Gaza concentration camp with the genocidal intent of completely eradicating the population. Israeli snipers on rooftops shoot toddlers in the head, Israeli tanks drive over women giving birth, Palestinian children are systematically sexually abused in Israeli torture cells, Palestinian men and women are raped to death, hospitals are invaded and patients buried alive, and a population of millions is gleefully starved. At the same time, the Israeli occupation begins dropping white phosphorous on civilians in Lebanon. White phosphorus - the chemical weapon banned under international law for its vicious and unbelievable cruelty.

The Israelis burn Lebanese land and crops, destroying villages, farms, triggering famine in the region due to that year's food supply (crops) being burned. Lebanese schools and places of worship (monasteries, mosques, and churches) are targeted and bombed. Lebanese school children are murdered in their classrooms. The dropping of white phosphorous and bombing of Lebanese civilians doesn't happen once. It happens continuously since October 7th until the present day.

Israel drops white phosphorous

Blowing Up The Peace Negotiator

The Lebanese government shows remarkable restraint, considering their country is being aggressively attacked, bombed, national borders crossed, and civilians murdered. I watch as Western news sources throw around the word “Hezbollah” like they did “The Houthis”. Like these words are synonymous with everything the White West has learned to fear and hate about the Middle East. Terrorists. Backwards. Muslims. Aggressors. Threats. Women Haters.

Meanwhile, the Houthis are quite literally Yemen's government – their ruling party. Just like Hezbollah are Lebanon's governing political party. Like Republicans and Democrats in the US. Or the Labour part in the UK. And I can tell that some of these have inflicted actual terrorism on a global scale and it's not Hezbollah or The Houthis. And still I listen as the West paints them as fringe, extremist guerilla war-tribes – barbarians in the desert, thirsty for White baby's blood and camel's milk.

In its restraint, Lebanon appoints an official to work with the Israelis to negotiate peace. The Israelis murder the negotiator. And his family.

They blow up in his apartment in Beirut. Western news regurgitates the Israeli lie that they “took out a threat” by killing him. Lebanon doesn't want war. Israel does; after all, they did kill the negotiator.

If Hitler Shared His Plans

In September 2023, before October 7th happens, Israeli prime minister, Benjamin Netanyahu, (originally Benzion Mileikowsky from Poland) addresses the 78th session of the United Nations General Assembly.

In front of the entire UN, he stands behind the podium with a map in his hand. It's a map of the Middle East. It is titled “The New Middle East”. He clearly states his intent and that of the Israeli occupation: to occupy Palestine, Jordan, Syria, Lebanon, Iran, Iraq, Egypt, Yemen, parts of Saudi Arabia, Sudan...

He labels the map with the red marker in his hand. He calls this empire “Greater Israel”.

A leader of a colonial, imperial project has announced before the UN the Zionist plans to conquer and colonise. Genocidal, ethnic cleansing intent. And it's not the plan of a single madman; it's the long-hatched plans of all Zionists.

Benjamin Netanyahu is allowed to walk out of that room a free, unchallenged man. Not only that, he is met with thunderous applause. Of course he is. The Israeli occupation is a White, colonial project. It represents Western interests and the power of White colonial rule in the Middle East.

But this is as absurd as if Hitler stood up in the UN and announced the Nazi's plans to invade Poland and annex Europe before 1939.

Today I watch as the Israeli occupation bombs Lebanon. 500 civilians were murdered yesterday morning. Thousands of pagers and electronic devices rigged with explosive were detonated by the Israelis in Lebanon last week – hundreds of terrorist attacks on Lebanese soil. Western countries have gone to war for less. World wars have started over less.

The Israelis are still trying to provoke an all-out war with Lebanon so that the US will have no choice but to militarily join Israeli's horrific empire-building. Israel knows they can't win against Lebanon alone, but with the US and Western funding of weapons, soldiers, and money, they can.

As of today, the Israelis have driven hundreds of tanks to the Lebanese border. They are poised for invasion. They have dropped leaflets all over Lebanon telling the populace to flee and leave. Their officials have been stating in the plainest language that they will turn Lebanon “into Gaza”. That they will flatten Lebanon, murder its civilians, and take the land for their own. Again, genocidal intent without hesitation or attempts to conceal it.

I watch as the country of my people is burning. I see the places I have been to now surrounded by ruins and rising clouds of ash and debris, littered with bodies. Baalek, Beirut, Sidon, the Bekaa Valley... I watch as hundreds of thousands are displaced, fleeing North to escape. I watch as the US sends Israel more bombs. I watch as white phosphorous eats through the chests of toddlers, and chokes crying schoolchildren. My country is being invaded, terrorised, its people slaughtered.

De-centering White Feelings

How do I explain these feeling to others? As I ask the question, my brain starts working the problem...

To the Norwegians I could say: "How would you feel if 500 people were murdered in Bergen this morning? What if a foreign country planted thousands of bombs in your schools and offices and they all went off - in your barnehager and in the milk aisle at Kiwi? What if you sent Jan Egeland to broker piece with an aggressor and they shot him and his family dead. What if the whole of Oslo had white phosphorous rained down on them, and children were screaming and burning on Karl Johan's gate? What if the whole of Vestlandet was on fire?

To the British I would say: "If a single bomb went off in London, would you be talking about anything else? If Germany or France or Iran dropped a single bomb on you, would you not go to war? What if a Russian agent released a chemical attack on an underground train? What if another country bombed a nursery school in Derby?

But then I stop.

Why must others always reframe their suffering to appeal to the dead consciences of White people? Why must the feelings and imaginations of White people be centred and catered to? Why must it always be this equating to their world and what they care about and what they find relatable? Why must we make you understand. Why is Norway and England and France and Austria and the US the standard?

Is this not White Supremacy - this centering of White reality as being reality itself - while all others are nothing more than derivative?

And so I stop working the problem. I try to stop catering. I am so tired of trying to appeal to others' conscience. Others dilapidated empathy. It lies under the ruins of unchecked racism and dehumanising and self-righteousness. It's so ugly, so lazy, so unchecked it makes me nauseas. I am watching the death of the souls of so many people I know in realtime. I wonder if they know what's happened to them. I wonder if they know they're already dead inside.

All's Silent On The Western Front

I am Lebanese.

I am half Danish, half Lebanese, and Norwegian by nationality. But people don't exist as halves, do they. They exist as wholly what they are. And I am just as much wholly Lebanese as I am Scandinavian.

And even if I wasn't, they would still be my brothers and sisters. And I would still care as much as if they were my own. My own children. My own family. My own people.

I walk around with dread in my stomach and lament in my fists. I worry about family. I think about their safety. The Palestinians are being murdered. The Lebanese are being murdered. They are my people. They are people. They are one and together.

And for one year, for a whole year, I have not received a single message.

Not one.

Israel has been dropping bombs and illegal chemical weapons on Lebanon for a year, stand poised to invade, and I have not received a single word from anybody I know. Not one person.

No condolences. No “how are you doing?”. Not one expression of concern, not one word of solidarity or support. I have lived in many places and have acquaintances from all over the world. Not one has reached out. They know I am Lebanese. No one has asked how it feels to see your country being attacked, your people slaughtered, threatened with genocide and displacement. Not one half-hearted, forced, stumbling platitude has darkened my doorway.

But what I have received is comment after comment about me being anti-semitic. And rude. And polarising. And difficult. And war-mongering. And hateful.

As I advocate for Palestine, as I post about Gaza, I have been called anti-semitic by people I know more times than I care to remember. By people who clearly don't even know what semitic means. So, let's have a quick lesson shall we?

“Semitic people or Semites is an obsolete term for an ethnic, cultural or racial group associated with people of the Middle East, including Arabs, Jews, Akkadians, and Phoenicians.”

The Lebanese are Phoenicians and Arabs.

“Nat, you are being anti-semitic.”

I want to scream: “I am a semite, you ignorant, hateful idiot! I am a semite!”

The silence of everyone you know really makes you see how empty their claims of being neutral or on “both sides” of the Palestinian genocide is. Those who claim they just want peace, and ceasefire, and care so much about human lives and the “humanitarian side of things” show their true colours. I'm sure many of those people really believe their own delusion. They really believe this untrue thing about themself. And it helps them sleep fine at night. It's so much easier to believe the delusion than to face the alternative, isn't it.

With friends likes these, who needs enemies.

But here we come to the crux of it: none of this is about me.

I am safe and well in a country far from Lebanon or Palestine. I don't have to suffer what they have to suffer. The point is them. Pay attention to them. Fight for them. The point is what's happening to them. And the reason I shared all this about my personal experiences is to shine a spotlight on them. On the systemic racism that permeates Western education, thinking, and culture. On the lies and propaganda we've all been fed from the beginning. On the callousness that lies behind all that Western “Christian” love, peace, and virtue-signalling. I am trying to lift up some of the heartbreak Palestinian and Lebanese people living in the West have to feel and navigate as they watch on screens what's happening to their people, and the disregard, racism, and carefully-camouflaged indifference they have to navigate among their church, friends, workplace.

The bitter truth is, many of you who are reading this article right now wouldn't be reading it if it wasn't because you are nosy. You want gossip. You want my personal stories.

You want to probe and be voyeurs and you want some juicy something about me or my feelings or my personal life.

You are vultures.

And that's why I shared those personal stories. That's why I led this article with the "I's". I don't owe you them. You are not entitled to my life. But if I could use those stories as a way to get my foot in the door - so you'd perhaps listen and learn about Palestine and Lebanon and the evil Israeli occupation and importance of decolonising our minds - then I was willing to pay that price.

Last night I tearily lay in bed with my husband and I whispered: “I'm just as much Lebanese as I am Norwegian.”

“Yes, you are,” he said and pulled me into a hug.

This was my way of expressing pain in that moment. A response to years of unseen devaluing, minimising, mourning. And it was seen, held, and affirmed by someone who gets it.

The mourning I and others have to carry around every day is so heavy. And yet it's nothing compared to the soul-crushing anguish of those Palestinians and Lebanese who are living this.

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This is Episode 2 of a series of blogs called "Palestine Stories".

I will be publishing more such stories. Their purpose is to share how the fight for Palestinian freedom is playing out in real, everyday ways. To show how it affects relationships, professional and personal engagements, the shocking and surprising revelations the path to liberation brings.

It is disturbingly easy to view racists, Islamophobes, and Zionists as these faceless, distant monsters. We picture Neo-Nazis and gruff bikers and domestic terrorists and insanity.

But they are very much all around us. They are often nice, polite, neat, civilised, tax-paying, tattooless people. And they wear the faces of our friends, family, teachers, pastors, and leaders. Only once we shatter the mythologising of their existence, and understand the slippery slopes which led them to hold the horrible beliefs they do, can we identify dangerous patterns in our own beliefs, and start to challenge them internally and externally.

Stay tuned for more.