An Excerpt From a Book I Never Finished
As the Arab world witnessed the suffering of their Palestinian neighbors, the eminent danger that enshrouded all of them became more and more apparent, and they collectively rose against Israeli forces in support of their Palestinian brothers and sisters.
November 1947 their lives changed forever with the UN partition of Palestine into what soon became the Jewish state of Israel. A state birthed as a solution for the genocide of jews in Europe. The provision of a promised land to a group which had suffered, and how could anyone argue against such a kindness? A kindness at the expense of others who called this land home for centuries, a kindness necessary, because of a cruelty, unnecessarily, committed by the same people playing the role of the hero. A kindness requiring the displacement of people. They were the saviours, and now, it wasn’t their problem anymore.
Who could blame them for the destruction?
They simply birthed it.
They, the civilized west, had nothing to do with the problems of brothers who choose to fight each other, and deny each other, instead of simply live in peace. They, the civilized, were, and remain, far above the barbaric acts of those uneducated and uncivilized people, inhabiting lands which don’t concern them anymore.
Brother against brother, sister against sister. Two groups of peoples, stemming from one, divided against one another; why would they concern themselves with, such nonsense, far beneath them?
To blame the forest for the fire is to get away with murder.
They come around, take all they need, and leave with cigarette butts still lighted all around. Sing, around bonfires, surrounded by trees. Collecting all which they can use, and leaving the forest bare, gone like they came, right on time, their only trace the destruction, but never will they take the blame.
It becomes clear, then, that, the success of a war crime, depends on leaving, soon enough, that, the consequential fire ignites after the absence of the war criminal; securing them with their air tight, lip sealed, alibi. Thus, the victims of the same crime, become the enemies of one another, the scapegoat continues to be scapegoated.
Still,
The boy who cried wolf, is believed. Grown into a mighty emperor, he is, continuously revered, and all for his brilliant new clothes. All the while, those, who fall, are lucky if a kings man takes pity on them. While, of course, Red Riding Hood knew better, still, never had the choice but to trust the wolf. Hard to believe, but, cruelty is far too easy to conceal.
No matter, don’t you fear, through it all, the truth has been revealed, always hard to conceal, hard to believe it’s something it could never be, for it shines different than the best hidden greed. Despite the thinly drawn line between mania and love, love can never be confused, it shines and consumes, it remains permanently clear, if only you look, if only you identify the fear. Above all the verifiable cliches, don’t you see?
Love conquers all