Day 9: Don’t Celebrate My Heritage While Killing My People by Deanna Othman

Unfortunately, this has not been the first Arab American Heritage Month we have passed while witnessing the murder of our people being live-streamed before our very eyes. I cannot reflect on the meaning of this month in the context of anything other than this genocide.

While this month is meant to celebrate the contributions, resilience, and cultural richness of Arab Americans, it begins under the weight of unimaginable grief. As our community attempts to honor our history and heritage, we are simultaneously grappling with the horrific reality of watching our people in Gaza be starved, bombed, and brutalized with weapons paid for by our own tax dollars. The pride we try to feel this month is tainted by survivor’s guilt and outrage.

Our hope for a better future has slowly dwindled, much like the supplies of much-needed food, medication and aid entering the Gaza Strip. As our people began to feel the hunger and disease creep upon them once again, although for many, it never ceased, the food on our tables began to seem less and less appealing, as we continue to live in excess and luxury, a tasteless existence in comparison to our brothers and sisters.

This morning, like many mornings before, we awoke to images of shredded children, their bodies torn apart by American-financed weapons. Tiny toes in blood-stained pajamas. Headless corpses. Burning journalists. We awoke to more orphans, frozen in grief, staring blankly at walls after learning their entire families have been wiped out.

We frantically check on loved ones and colleagues there on relief trips. Our WhatsApp groups are filled with check-ins, prayers, and condolences. We refresh Instagram pages, hoping for signs of life.

And here in our country — the financier of this carnage — our president not only enables these atrocities abroad but wages a campaign of intimidation and violence against those who speak out. Mahmoud Khalil, a Columbia graduate, was taken from his home by ICE as his pregnant wife watched in horror. Rumesya Ozturk, a doctoral student from Turkey arrested by ICE in Massachusetts in broad daylight–surrounding her, seizing her by the wrists, and swiftly escorting her into a nearby SUV as she screamed.

These are not isolated incidents. They are part of a pattern meant to punish Palestinians and their allies into silence.

The cases of Mahmoud and Rumeysa illustrate to our community that indeed, achievement and intellect and service mean nothing in the face of vile anti-Palestinian racism. But we have learned this lesson from our Black brothers and sisters, who have taught us that status, wealth, and education do not shield us from the violence of racism.

To be Palestinian is to feel worthless in the eyes of the world. We feel sadness and rage, and are told we are unwarranted in our emotions. We witness our vilification in the media and in the mouths of politicians, and for so long we thought, if we explain enough, if we provide enough facts, if we speak eloquently and behave accordingly, perhaps someone will listen. But we have witnessed this is certainly not the case. You can not fight racism with logic. You can not extinguish hate with facts.

And yet, we continue. We protest, we organize, we advocate — from Washington to Springfield, demanding justice, demanding humanity. Even as our hearts break, we rise, again and again. Our heritage compels us to. And while this all may seem fruitless in the face of the brutal violence that continues to unfold, our faith teaches us that it is not in our hands to guide or to repair the world on our own, but it is our duty to try.

Arab American Heritage Month is not just a time for cultural showcases and food festivals. It is a time to see us fully — not just as contributors to American society, but as people whose lives, histories, and pain deserve recognition. A time to honor our elders who immigrated seeking refuge from a brutal occupier, and our youth, who are now growing up in an era where to say “Free Palestine” is a revolutionary act.

And so persevere, giving of our time through acts of service and standing for justice, and by sharing our wealth, providing for those in need in our backyards, and abroad.

God looks to us to see how we will respond when tested. All human beings face trials of various sorts in this world: whether it be health, wealth, relationships, or even safety. The people of Gaza have shown us that when we are tested, we can either increase in faith, submitting to the will of God and doing our part to persevere, or, God forbid, trials can break us, and cause us to turn away from Him. The people of Gaza have shown us they understand the only true refuge is with God, and we continue to draw strength from their resolve. But they are human and we owe them every ounce of strength we have to attempt to end their suffering.

Our community is hurting. And everyone in this community deserves to feel seen, loved and supported. Remember this in your dealings with your Muslim and Palestinian colleagues and students. Whether it’s a young student who has been bullied for their Palestinian heritage or a colleague who has lost family members in the current genocide, Palestinians are looking to you to acknowledge their pain and to validate their emotions. But it’s not only this. We need you to stand with us to stand for justice.

While it is encouraging to see Arab culture made more mainstream in the United States, celebrated in various ways and acknowledged through different institutions, it is still disheartening that while we have been acknowledged as Arab Americans, our identity as Palestinian Americans is still seen as taboo and even threatening to many. The disparity between how we view ourselves, versus how those in positions of power view us have crushing, and often lethal, effects on the both young and old.

It is not enough to celebrate hummus and Arabic calligraphy. We ask you to stand with us — not just in our joy, but in our struggle. This Arab American Heritage Month, let our pride be radical. Let our voices be loud. Let our solidarity be unshakable.

We are here. We are grieving. And we continue to fight.