Day 19: To My Dearest Gaza, the Land of Honor — A Reflection for Arab American Heritage Month by Mona Mustafa

My Dearest Gaza, the Land of Honor — A Reflection for Arab American Heritage Month

For the past few Aprils, as an Arab American, I have felt a sense of pride that comes naturally with recognition — pride in the years of advocacy, organizing, and perseverance that my community poured into being seen. Representation. It was supposed to mean something. But with each year that passes I begin to feel the hollowness of what feels like surface-level recognition. How can we be celebrated while our sisters and brothers endure genocide? How can I speak of heritage without honoring the lives that have been so mercilessly taken from us; The lives whose blood soaks the soil of my homeland?

This month and every month, it is our duty to honor who we are and to acknowledge that as the death toll rises with every passing minute the loved ones we continue to lose so mercilessly are not mere numbers. My Dearest Gaza, our moral compass- I wish the world could know, every loss you suffer is a loss for humanity in its entirety.

My Dearest Gaza, I wish the world could know,

You are the land of courage, where dignity defies every bomb, where hope is rebellion. And yet, as I sit now, writing from the safety of my home, my heart aches. I cannot disconnect my identity from yours, my brothers and sisters. As a Palestinian-American whose roots are in the West Bank, I grew up through Gaza’s 17 year siege and was forced to feel the pain of intentional isolation. For all of my life I’ve yearned to witness your shores, I’ve imagined being able to reach you and take in the scents of your sweet and salty air. I’ve imagined the taste of your freshly picked strawberries and I’ve dreamt of the magnificence of your great universities, libraries, medical centers and mosques. I’ve heard of your freedom marches, your choir songs, your athletes, your artists, your dreamers, your teachers, engineers, and doctors, your resistance and resilience. You are a land of greatness where courage is born and bred,The land of brilliance where hope itself is a form rebellion. Even through the pain, as you’ve bled and continue to bleed, you reveal to this cruel world in all its greed that you are the land of humanity.

For every night and day as the bombs of the oppressor rain down on you, you proclaim loudly that your lord is all you need. My love for you deepens everytime I witness your undying strength, as I die inside merely looking at the images of your suffering on my screen, what I would give to take your place, keep you safe, watch you thrive and fly. Gaza, within you are souls I have come to love and lose. For 560 days I’ve done nothing but watch. Wide-eyed, worried, waiting-which of my brothers, sisters, sons, daughters, mothers, fathers, grandparents, aunts and uncles will go next? What more will this cruel world allow? They deprive you of every necessity, yet they are the ones who starve in their evil while you teach us the true value of life. To name each of your stars and describe the impact they’ve left on me would dry all of the ink in this world. Books will be written about each and every one of your heroes and heroines whose lives have been taken in the most unimaginable, inhumane ways. The names live on in our hearts and their stories will forever be the lifeblood of our diaspora;

You are the land of TEACHERS.

Refaat Al-Areer, you are the mentor and teacher who taught us all the power of words. We had to watch you anticipate the direct targeting you would face days later, the enemy knew of your power, your pen. You shared with the world what it meant to love our homeland amid the terror of occupation and have faith in the justice of our cause. Your poems taught us the meaning of hope and the flying of kites will forever remind us of your beauty, for you and all those we’ve lost with you are angels in every sky.

You are the land of ARTISTS.

Mahasen Al-Khateeb, you found your solace and resilience through your art, you colored the grayness of occupation and siege with the bright colors of your fascinating mind, through the screen you were like a sister to me, a friend. Your paintings and designs spoke volumes about Gaza and its incredible people. Losing you showed me how the terror of occupation kills all life, as it kills all art, all love, and all peace.

You are the land of JOURNALISTS.

Hossam Shabat, With your vows of integrity you held tight to your camera even as death followed you through its lens. You did the impossible to show the world the truth, you allowed us to bear witness as you gave a voice to our people who the world tried to silence. Even though you knew it put a target on your back , you persisted until your final breath. Your name now joins the long list of truth tellers whose voice will live on forever.

You are the land of FAITH.

Shabaan, you were a memorizer of the holy book, a powerful voice that rang into the skies, the day we lost you was one that I lost hope for humanity, the victim of a vicious flame so bright it will burn eternally in our memory, a flame that will enrage a generation. 19-years-old with your whole life ahead of you, the world does not know what it lost in you.

You are the land of DOCTORS.

Humaam Allouh, a noble doctor like my brother, your words echo in my mind everyday, you are the definition of sacrifice even though you, like many others had the means to evacuate and get yourself to safety, you were self-less, ‘You think I went to medical school so I think only about my life?’ you yelled to the selfish world just days before the horrid day you were killed in the rubble alongside your father. Noble men of Gaza, none can stand beside you

You are the land of CHILDREN.

Hind and Reem, In your eyes, I saw my own children's. You are the souls of our souls. Your fearful last moments echo in our ears everyday, we will never let this world forget your names or forget the cruelty that it brought upon you. As the world counts your bodies , the Halls of western institutions now ring loudly with your beautiful names. 17,400, a number beyond imagination. The pain of your loss does not feel real, “Kaboos” as Julia Boutros sings, this is all a nightmare indeed.

Imagine the words that can be written about each and every one of the 51,065 precious souls. Birds of paradise, men women, children whose names are eternal lights, not mere numbers, in the darkness of this genocide.

Dearest Gaza, in all of your beauty and all of your pain, you are the land of our heritage. Every name and story I hear of your brave women and men, brings me closer and closer to your shores. As soon as I can, I will be there with your heroes and heroines, my beautiful siblings, to pick up the broken pieces that remain. I will hold your hand as we move forward together into full freedom and liberation.

Your sister in the Diaspora,

Mona Mustafa

*Death Toll Statistics according to Al-Jazeera https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2025/3/18/gaza-tracker