Wordlessness and Grief
What I'm doing when I don't know what to do
“killing the flowers will not delay spring” / al-yarmouk palestinian refugee camp in damascus, syria
little palestine; diary of a siege (2021) dir. abdallah al-khatib
First, some brief, utilitarian announcements and news:
THIS WEEKEND: I’m presenting at the Trauma-Informed Tattoo Conference in Albany with Nitasha George of In Our Own Voices, organized by Jane Romm of Plain Jane Tattoo. Event details and registration at the link.
Tattoo appointments are available in December along with a few scattered openings for the rest of this month, and I still have some ceramic pieces left via my webstore.
Photo from our drive to DC over the weekend, where while stuck in standstill traffic, everyone began to unfurl their flags from windows and sunroofs.
Like most people I know, I’m moving through a fog lately. My sink is full of dirty dishes, my room is full of clothing that has to be put away. My fridge is full of produce in varying stages of limpness, the unused remnants of a farm box I ordered after realizing I hadn’t eaten a vegetable in weeks (I’m eating candy instead). If you’ve seen me in person, you’ve without a doubt seen me in the same clothing worn several days in a row.
I was speaking with someone yesterday about what came up for us emotionally when attending protests calling for a ceasefire in Gaza, and I’ve realized that I feel at a loss for words in a larger sense, in an output sense. There are so many writers, thinkers, artists, and activists who have produced urgent, moving, beautiful sentences in response to the current crisis, and I simply have not been able to do the same. I take all of it in and sit scrutinizing this Slow Factory chart, trying to place myself in one or more of the roles it advises are critical to collective liberation. While artwork deadlines loom, I struggle to find the energy or inspiration to produce creative work or full, intentional sentences. No creative output feels like it matters as we watch an ongoing, devastating ethnic cleansing and genocide happen before our eyes.
Some of you may have been following the McCarthyite firing and blacklisting of those who have been publicly pro-Palestine, a backlash that has been highly visible in the art world. Artists have called for a boycott of Artforum after its firing of editor David Velasco over the publishing of an open letter calling for ceasefire, the 92nd Street Y paused its literary programming and saw staff resignations in protest after a talk by Viet Thanh Nguyen was canceled, and El Museo removed a Dia de Los Muertos altar installation by artists Odalys Burgoa and Roy Baizan over its inclusion of a Palestinian flag. Collectors formed a covert WhatsApp group, scheming to return and tank the value of work by artists who signed open letters in support of Palestine, in an effort to sabotage their careers.
The initial impact of this environment is certainly paranoia-inducing, finding me assuming with every delayed email from an event or commitment that it will be canceled. On the other side of that feeling, though, is a clarity that my convictions are stronger than my attachment to being a “professional artist” in the ways that are dictated by censorship, silence, and control by those with money and power. The art world is notoriously funded by blood money. A friend of mine once said that all money has ties to violence, the only difference is whether it’s fast violence or slow violence. The Sackler family used their art investments to launder their role as drivers and profiteers in the opioid epidemic. Warren Kanders, former board member of the Whitney Museum, still sells the tear gas used at the US-Mexico border and against protestors.
In a virtual teach-in yesterday, pro-Palestinian Jewish chef and organizer Ora Wise made the point that your principles aren’t your principles until you’ve sacrificed something for them. In the most recent Carefree Black Girl newsletter, Zeba Blay writes:
There is nothing to be afraid of. Or, rather, whatever fear you may have — of repercussions and consequences, losing opportunities or losing friends — pales in comparison to the fear of cowering in the darkness, hungry and thirsty, the sound of bombs in the distance getting closer, and closer, and closer. There is no fear like the fear of imminent death, loss, destruction. And there is no job, no affiliation, no amount of institutional validation, clout or coin that is more important in this moment that asserting publicly and vehemently that what is happening in Gaza must stop. Again, there is nothing to be afraid of. These institutions that we place so much power in are just a collection of people who are themselves afraid — terrified to relinquish their unevolved idea of individual power for the actuality of collective power, which is, in a word, freedom. -Zeba Blay, Carefree Black Girl
It can take time to find our role in the ecosystem of social change, and those roles can be multiple and changing, but we must act urgently in the meanwhile, doing whatever we can to stop the genocide against Palestinians. I’ve spent nearly every day of the past month attending protests, teach-ins, and reading and listening to anything I can about the history of Palestine and its struggle for liberation from occupation. I’ve been studying more deeply not only the Palestinian struggle and the history of anti-Zionist Jewish movements, but drawing also on my own lineages to learn from Irish anticolonial history, the Israel-funded genocide of Mayan people in Guatemala, and the history of deep solidarity with Palestine from the Zapatistas. I have gained new and entwined knowledge from Angela Davis on why Palestine is an abolitionist issue, from Jasbir Puar on the use of “debility” to control populations, and from Andrew Ross on how water access is a colonialist tool of coercion and death. As I learn, sitting with and pushing through deep grief, I call my representatives, I go to protests. As we settle into our most aligned callings, we must, at the same time, keep. showing. up.
Get active in person if you’re able. Joining marches, actions, and in-person learning sustains our collective energy and keeps the urgency visible. If you’re in New York, you can keep up with upcoming rallies through Within Our Lifetime. Share what is happening– it is a direct ask from people on the ground in Gaza that we continue to show the world what is being done.
CALL CALL CALL. Flood your representatives and the White House comment lines with calls demanding they support a ceasefire and stop funding the Israeli military. I’ve been using the 5 Calls app which makes it incredibly easy and quick.
I am so heartened by 300,000 people showing up to DC to demand a ceasefire, by Indigenous activists blocking boats delivering weapons to Israel, by Israelis condemning their government’s disregard for the human lives of Palestinians as well as of their own hostages. Ceasefire now and aid to Gaza is the most urgent call, but beyond ceasefire, we call for a liberated Palestine– lift the sanctions, lift the blockade, end the occupation. VIVA VIVA PALESTINA.
Felix Gonzalez-Torres, Forbidden Colors, 1988
Teach-Ins:
Gaza Teach-in with the Palestinian Youth Movement with the People’s Forum NYC
Abolition and the Liberation of Palestine with Critical Resistance and Haymarket Books
But We Must Speak: On Palestine and the Mandates of Conscience with Palestine Festival of Literature
Palestine Solidarity Teach-In at the New School
Media:
Radio alHara’s Learning Palestine stream
NTS has a whole roster of Palestinian hosts and episodes. I’ve been listening to the Palestinian Sound Archive.
Amplify Palestine’s BDS Mixtape
PULLING THREADS W/ MI-EL: ON WHITE SUPREMACIST IMPERIALISM, PALESTINIAN LIBERATION AND THE BISIMWA FAMILY TREE
Reading:
Fariha Roisin – Dispatch Three, Israel: The Checks and Balances
GENOCIDE: WHEN DOES STATE VIOLENCE PASS THE THRESHOLD? By Zoe Samudzi for The Funambulist
What Does “From the River to the Sea” Really Mean? By Yousef Munayyer for Jewish Currents
Doomsday Diaries by Sarah Aziza
Everything Neema Githere has been sharing on Substack
News: From Jewish Currents, Democracy Now, This is Palestine podcast, and Al-Jazeera
MUTUAL AID:
On the topic of cross-movement solidarity, one of the initiatives I’m honored to support monthly is Moonpence Farm and Serenus Herbs’ herb bank, a project providing free herbal medicine to Black and Indigenous folks. Herbal support is indispensable at times like this especially, when our nervous systems and bodies are frayed and inflamed, and Stephanie is doing important work in making this resource available. I highly, highly recommend becoming a monthly member! If the herb bank’s tiers are out of reach, you can also sign up for a monthly redistribution to support Stephanie directly. I’ve used Serenus’ formulas myself and especially love the rose + tulsi grounding potion.
To end, these questions from Zeba Blay:
What do we owe each other, really?
Is genocide ever up for debate?
What do you unequivocally stand for?
What do you unequivocally stand against?
Who are you?
Who are you, really?
Are you actually who you say you are?
When no one is watching?
If your sense of comfort or safety comes at the expense of someone else’s, are you truly comfortable? Are you truly safe?
What gifts can you bring to revolution?
What function does fear play in your life?
What are you afraid of?
Is your fear bigger than your faith?
Are you committed to life (not simply your own, or the lives of people you love, but to life as a whole, as an entity in and of itself)?