I don’t know what to say

Written at my loss of words over the horrors being inflicted on the Palestinians by Netanyahu’s Israeli government with the collusion of the USA, the UK and too many Western governments

I am not usually lost for words; after all it’s my job to have something to say. We journalists are supposed to be witnesses to what happens when others are not around; to keep an eye on those who claim to represent us and let the public know when they don’t.

But the state of things today make being dispassionate almost impossible. There’s all the shite flowing into the rivers, while our hard earned cash flows into the pockets of highly paid bosses and all those gloating shareholders.

And then there’s Gaza.

There’s all the pontificating politicians anxious to earn our votes but unwilling to tackle the disaster that is Brexit, or the corruption in their very midst

And then there’s Gaza.

Love Island spells a release for some, while others revel in the fact that Britain’s Got Talent attracts acts from across the globe, and others still, get a vicarious thrill from Race Across the World, as a welcome change from the terrifying pictures from Ukraine, and Sudan, and Papua New Guinea, and Pakistan, and Myanmar, and Iran, and Haiti, and Chad, and Afghanistan.

We don’t know what we can do about any of it.

And then there’s Gaza.

For some of us, old enough to remember, the Israeli armoured vehicles careering through the streets of Hebron, of Jenin, of  Nablus, and Ramallah bring back grainy images of Brutish armoured vehicles ,the Humber Pigs, roaming the streets of West Belfast, Crossmaglen, Derry, Newry and Portadown.

There were bewildered and powerless people there too, set upon by settlers in occupied territory. Plenty fought back, defending their communities; resorting to terrorist acts only when all else failed to achieve just results. But peace did come eventually when the war-weary resorted to talks.

Meanwhile there’s Gaza.

Our chants of ‘Genocide’ and ‘Ceasefire’ echo across the battlefield, falling on the deaf ears of the dead and the diehards determined to wreak vengeance rather than swallow their pride and hatred to build peace and prosperity. Are these the only words we have left? The men we call monsters are playing out a dreadful fantasy, aided by those who refuel their armouries and pander to their misguided malevolence. We need to talk. They need to talk. They also need to look and listen.

To Gaza 

The images of death and destruction there; and voices of despair and desperation have traumatised us all. Like in Lockdown we watch on as the people in power play games with words while around them the victims of the violence pile up like the cadavers in the concentration camps of yore.

But this time it’s Gaza.

People love to blame the media, as if we are flying the planes and driving the tanks, but we don’t drop bombs. We try to tell you about the devastation they cause. The Israelis don’t want us there they have targeted us the ground, they have shut down Al Jazeera’s local operations.

For the most part our bosses don’t want to spend the money it costs to keep foreign correspondents in permanent place. Instead war correspondents are parachuted in from crisis to crisis, and even then stories they are allowed to tell may be tempered by outlets that pay homage to the Zionist agenda.

Too many with mortgages to pay give credence to Edward Said’s damning accusations: 

You do not want to appear too political; you are afraid of seeming controversial; you need the approval of a boss or an authority figure; you want to keep a reputation for being balanced, objective, moderate; your hope is to be asked back, to consult, to be on a board or prestigious committee, and so to remain within the responsible mainstream… 

Meanwhile our screens are awash with with blood, and bullshit

about Gaza.

One day, Inshallah, solutions will be found and we’ll find the words to remember, to remonstrate, and to reconstruct.

I have been privileged to work as a journalist and with journalists rebuilding trust and honesty in post-conflict zones –  in Kosovo, in Macedonia, in Serbia, in South Africa and Sri Lanka.

Even then it was difficult at times to find the right words to find ways to forgive without forgetting, and to rebuild without regretting; to make friends with past enemies; to admit to our own mistakes; to pledge to change; to remember with dignity and respect.

One day, Inshallah, there will be time and space for post-conflict work

in Gaza.

Inshallah.

Mike J

Journalist, trainer, editor; storyteller; amateur historian.

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