In The Face Of Colonial Violence, Indigenous People Find Strength And Solidarity
In the lead up to January 26, and as another Palestinian family is displaced by colonial forces, solidarity and allyship are more important than ever.
I always joke that, as Palestinians, we learn to march before we learn to walk; we’re born into protest and inherit a commitment to Palestinian liberation.
We are told stories of resistance by our parents and grandparents, and there is an unspoken understanding of the legacy that we are expected to continue. I can’t remember the exact moment in which I realised that I was part of an ongoing fight for justice; I don’t think there ever was a specific moment because I don’t remember ever not knowing that this was the reality of being Palestinian.
#SaveSheikhJarrah
In May 2021, #SaveSheikhJarrah went viral, mobilising a global rebirth of the Palestinian liberation movement in what became known as the Unity Intifada. In the month that followed, we saw Palestinian resistance gather momentum across the world, resulting in a global shift in the conversation on Palestine.
This week, on January 17, we saw footage of occupation forces invading the home of the Salhiyah family in Sheikh Jarrah, attempting to forcibly expel them, sparking a re-emergence of #SaveSheikhJarrah on social media.
The Salhiyah family, like many other families, had been forced from their homes by occupation forces during the 1948 Nakba, in which more than 700,000 Palestinians were expelled from their homes and over 400 villages erased. The Salhiyah family had been living in Sheikh Jarrah ever since, with the ongoing threat of the Nakba still looming over them.
In response to the occupation forces invading their homes, the Salhiyah family resisted; like any family would and like every Palestinian family has. Muna Al-Kurd, also from Sheikh Jarrah, attempted to livestream these events to her 1.6 million followers but was blocked by Instagram. The persistence of Palestinians meant that footage went viral nevertheless, demanding that the world bear witness.
On our screens, we watched the family sit atop their house with a gas tank and an oud, singing songs of resistance and stating that they would rather burn themselves and their house down than leave it. One family member was quoted saying: “We will not flee again. We have nowhere else to go. You expelled us once already in 1948. We either die in our home or we live. We are not leaving”. This quote has become symbolic of the strength of Palestinian resistance and steadfastness in the face of over 73 years of settler-colonial violence, media silence, and the complicity of the international community.
At 3am on January 19, occupation forces barricaded the area and by 6am, the Salhiyah family was arrested and their home bull-dozed. The image of family photographs on a fridge door atop the rubble of their home is one that hasn’t left my mind all morning. It’s been added to a bank of collective images that exist in the minds of every Palestinian.
The Interconnectedness Of Blak And Palestinian Struggles
For me, one of the most revolutionary aspects of the Unity Intifada was the praxis of transnational solidarity that it catalysed, including with Indigenous struggles against settler colonialism around the world. On the Australian colony, we built on and expanded the historical legacy of Blak-Palestinian solidarity and, since the Unity Intifada, rarely a day goes by where I am not reminded of the interconnectedness of our struggles in the face of brutal and relentless settler-colonial violence.
In September 2021, six Palestinian prisoners liberated themselves from Gilboa Prison in occupied Palestine. At the same time, the coronial inquest into the death of a 29-year-old Wiradjuri, Kokatha, and Wirangu man Wayne Fella was coming to a close. At once, I was reminded of the colonial legacy and ongoing violence of the prison industrial complex in exerting power, domination, and control over Indigenous populations, and the failure of ‘justice’ systems that were created by those who continue funding, perpetrating, and benefiting from violence against our communities.
Rarely a day goes by where I am not reminded of the interconnectedness of our struggles in the face of brutal and relentless settler-colonial violence.
And in October 2021, footage of a Palestinian mother being ripped from her son’s gravestone as Jerusalem’s al-Yusifiya cemetery was bulldozed to make room for the ‘City of David National Park’ went viral. That same month I learned that 1.5 metres below the famous Queen Victoria Market, lie Indigenous graves that were built over to make room for the market in 1922. Through my rage at Israel’s settler-colonial project, I learned of Australia’s attempts to erase Indigenous bodies and stories on this continent. I was embarrassed that I had not learned this information earlier; a reminder that no settler is immune to the propaganda of the settler state.
In December 2021, there began a wave of Israeli violence to ethnically cleanse the Naqab, attempting to demolish six Palestinian Bedouin villages to seize their land and transfer it to the Jewish National Fund (JNF), which aims to acquire as much Palestinian land as possible. As part of these ethnic cleansing attempts, we have witnessed footage of occupation forces storming Palestinian homes, destroying Palestinian land, and conducting mass arrests.
The JNF have a long history of environmental destruction and witnessing them dissemate Palestinian land in the Naqab over the past month has reminded me of the destruction of the sacred Djab Wurrung trees by the Victorian Government in October 2020 to make room for a highway. Over 40 people from the Naqab have been arrested so far, and Israel’s arrest rampage is ongoing with the most recent arrests having occurred on January 18th.
The Urgency Of Ongoing Solidarity With Indigenous People
These recent examples are by no means exhaustive. But I do hope that these reflections illustrate the notion that settler colonialism and violence aren’t one-off events that start or end with the demolition of homes in Sheikh Jarrah or, for example, the destruction of land in Djab Wurrung. It is a violent system that is interwoven into the fabric of settler colonies with the single goal of eliminating the native population.
In the face of such constant, relentless, and unforgiving violence — and as Invasion Day approaches — it is important to remember that your solidarity with Indigenous people needs to be stronger, louder, and more constant than the systems we are resisting against. There are spaces and examples that emerged in 2021 that display this solidarity in practice.
The newly launched The Sunday Paper, as described by Professor Chelsea Watego, “displays the rich tradition of Blak-Palestinian solidarity on this continent and is uncompromising in its love”. Other examples include the withdrawal of Native Hawaiian slam poet Jamaica Heolimeleikalani Osorio’s film from Melbourne Queer Film Festival as part of the boycott campaign, and the withdrawal of a number of First Nations artists as part of the Boycott Sydney Festival campaign.
Your solidarity with Indigenous people needs to go beyond merely likes and hashtags during times of publicly exposed crises and selective media attention. Your solidarity must be embedded into your everyday life, practices, and relationships; only then will it overpower and outrun the systems it seeks to abolish.
Jeanine Hourani is a queer Palestinian activist, organiser, and storyteller. She is the director of Road to Refuge, an organisation that aims to change the narrative around refugees and people seeking asylum.