“We have launched a new initiative called 'Letters for Palestinian Childhoods'.
The idea is to draw on our knowledge of childhood to counter the dehumanising narratives about Palestinians, showing solidarity by attending to the names, stories, experiences, dreams, and struggles of Palestinian children and the conditions which are so violently shaping their lives.
We have some letters already collected and some wonderful artists have already contributed original images.
Letters and images will be shared with children in Palestine on social media and through personal contacts (Arabic translations are forthcoming), and can be used in our ongoing efforts to raise awareness including via the media and for efforts to call on our governments to do everything they can to ensure a ceasefire and an end to the Western-backed Israeli occupation and apartheid.
We are inviting submissions of letters and images for Letters for Palestinian Childhoods.Please send text and/or image submissions to me (r.rosen@ucl.ac.uk) if you would like to contribute.”
Open the link in the first line above to sign the statement.Here is an example of one of the letters:
To the unknown boy in a Gaza hospital
One of the first images I saw coming out of the Gaza bombings was of you. I saw parts of the clip twice but could not watch the entire video. I assume you are about 8-9 years old. You were wounded and trembling. A man was holding you. I am not sure if that was your father, a doctor, or somebody else. I did not pay attention to the details. It did not seem to matter at the time. It was the look in your eyes which got my attention. You looked terrified, in shock, confused. This was the kind of pain one cannot put in words, the kind of pain which asks the silent questions that no one can answer. You could not speak, just trembled uncontrollably and looking at no one and nowhere. I do not know what happened to you. I hope you are ok.
Your image keeps coming back in my head. Fifty years ago, when I was your age, I had to experience a tiny little fraction of what you are going through now. I still vividly remember the Turkish planes flying over our house dropping their bombs. Our ordeal only lasted for a few hours. We were lucky. We managed to escape the bombing and go to a safer place. All my family members were ok in the end. That day is still in my head, as if it happened today. My experience pales in comparison to what you are going through now. I cannot even begin to imagine what it feels like to be constantly bombarded, not to know if you will be alive tomorrow, if you and your family will make it for another day.
Nobody will ever be able to explain to you why you had to go through this. They will try but you will never really feel content with any answer. It will always seem insufficient. They might commemorate what you are going through now in the distant future, they might even apologize. But it will always be insufficient, too little, too late.
And you will always be asking: How could they do this to us? How could they?
I do not have a way to check on you. I do not even know your name but I hope you and your family are ok.
In solidarity,
Spyros
Spyros Spyrou, European University Cyprus
