Hello, I am Palestinian.
And since honesty is rare in my politics, let me confess a few things.
In 1937 the Peel Commission offered a partition. In 1947 the UN offered me a state alongside Israel, with borders, independence and recognition. My leaders said no. They promised war would drive the Jews into the sea. Instead I lost the war and they called it a catastrophe, not because a state was refused, but because I refused one.
Arab states could have integrated me after 1948. They could have given me passports, rights and a future. Instead they kept me in camps for generations under UNRWA’s unique hereditary refugee status, so I would stay a permanent weapon against Israel. They built palaces for themselves and left me in limbo. They called me brother while denying me what they gave every other refugee population: a normal life.
In 1967, after another lost war, I could have built a state in the West Bank and Gaza. My answer was the Three Noes: no peace, no recognition, no negotiations. Fifty years later I still have no state. Rejection does not pay the rent.
Oslo in the 1990s gave me autonomy, weapons for the police and billions in aid. My leaders stole much of the money, armed militias and launched the Second Intifada. Suicide bombings instead of schools. Rockets instead of factories. In 2000 at Camp David and again with the Clinton Parameters, and in 2008 with Olmert’s offer of roughly 94–97 per cent of the West Bank plus land swaps, I walked away. The pattern was the same: better the dream of everything than the reality of a state.
In 2005 Israel left Gaza completely. No settlers, no soldiers. I had the chance to turn it into a Mediterranean Singapore. I voted for Hamas. They turned it into something closer to Mogadishu by the sea. Billions in aid went into tunnels, rockets and palaces for the leadership while my people ate canned food in the dark. Egypt and Jordan made peace and kept it. Other Arab states later signed the Abraham Accords. I stayed with rejection.
Democracy? I have not had real elections in nearly twenty years. Hamas kills dissenters in Gaza. Fatah imprisons them in the West Bank. My leaders cancel votes because they are too busy fighting each other for power.
In schools and on television, clerics and textbooks teach children to hate Jews, erase Israel from maps and glorify “martyrs” who blow up buses. I raise the next generation on songs of blood and fire instead of books and science. I trade hope for holy war and then wonder why the neighbour does not trust me.
I keep saying I want to build a state. Right next door is Israel: a democracy, a tech powerhouse, farms in the desert, cities from dust. No oil, no infinite wealth, just the decision to build. I could have learned, copied or collaborated. Instead I chose envy and rage, and the slogan “from the river to the sea.”
My leaders steal billions? Israel’s fault. Hamas fires rockets from hospitals? Israel’s fault. I glorify death over life? Israel’s fault. Responsibility has never been my strong suit.
I am Palestinian. I could have built a nation, many times. I chose rejection, corruption and endless war. I could have lived in peace with Israel, but I chose the shadow of its destruction.
So yes, I am a victim. Too often I am a victim of my own leaders, my own institutions and my own refusal to let go of hate.
And that, dear reader, is the tragedy nobody wants to admit.
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