The last year has upended the lives of Palestinian Americans, who have watched in anguish from afar as Israel’s destructive bombing campaign in response to the 7 October attacks has killed more than 40,000 people in the Gaza Strip. They are organizing against the war; they are wrestling with guilt and grief; they feel betrayed by the US for supporting the deadly bombing campaign.
The Guardian spoke with five Palestinian Americans about the ways their lives have changed over the last year. Their words have been edited and condensed.
‘I took part in the encampment at Columbia University. I’ve lost and gained friends’
Dunnia Eljamal, 24, New York, recent graduate
There’s this guilt that is eating a lot of us alive. I met a girl from Gaza at a camp in the West Bank a few years ago. In the last year, Israeli attacks killed her grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles. It’s been more than a month since I’ve heard from her. She is my age.
I was born and raised in New York, although I’ve spent many summers in the West Bank. I didn’t return this summer but my mother did. She sent me videos of what was left of a wonderful fruit market in Ramallah after Israeli soldiers burned it down.
I grew up in a white community in upstate New York and stayed close with some high school friends. I educated them on Palestine and sent them Snapchat videos from my trips back home. After October, one of these friends told me that she was going to remain neutral. She said she was sorry and hoped my family was safe. But that was really triggering. I’ve cut off a lot of people who are still oblivious to what’s happening. This is no longer the time to say that you’re neutral. I’ve lost friends but I also gained some through my activism.
I took part in the encampment at Columbia University. (I graduated in the spring with my MA.) When we were told to get off the lawn or risk suspension, many panicked and left. We weren’t sure if the NYPD would return. But a few Palestinian American students stayed – and a bigger group encircled us to provide protection. Many weren’t Muslim, Palestinian or Arab. That moment is engraved in my mind. I feel emotional, thinking about this support. Earlier, some people didn’t even know what Palestine was. Now, it’s everywhere.
Maybe the last year really is leading to change. Unfortunately, a lot of people have been murdered for this change to occur.
‘I pray so hard for the Palestinian people. I have faith that they will overcome’
Leila Giries, 84, Downey, California
Every time I see images of families fleeing one part of Gaza to another, I remember the Nakba. The feeling of seeing my parents bewildered, as a child, never left me. I’m 84 years old now and I can’t forget my mother’s tears. I was eight when Israel took over my town of Ein Karem. The world decided to give our land to somebody else to establish a country. We didn’t matter.
My family arrived in California in the 1950s. My father made a good life for us. If it wasn’t for that divine providence, I would still be there and maybe I would be dead by now. I do love the United States – and I’m happy here, but it’s not an honest broker. Our people in Gaza and the West Bank are being killed and dying of starvation. Yet our tax money is going against them. We’re supplying Israel with everything. That upsets me the most. Our administration will not lift a finger to stop it.
I can’t protest in person because I have a back problem. But I’ve written letters and signed petitions. I’m always watching the news – usually Al Jazeera, Democracy Now or Arab channels. But news outlets like CNN and Fox News make me angry with their biased coverage. I scream at the television sometimes. Usually, I just turn it off. I avoid getting into fights on social media. I get upset and then my blood pressure spikes. So for the sake of my health, I don’t.
I have always been religious. We are Catholic. At night, I pray so hard before going to bed. The Palestinian people are resilient. I have faith that they will overcome.
‘It feels like I’m waiting for my sister to die’
Dr Emad Shehada, 48, Michigan, pulmonologist
It feels like I’m waiting for my sister to die. She’s stuck in Gaza with her husband and two young daughters. Last month, she told me over WhatsApp that she wishes Israel would drop a nuclear bomb on the city and get it over with. They can’t take it any more.
I’ve lost 20 relatives since Israel’s attacks on Gaza. I feel helpless, sitting in metro Detroit. We used to be able to send money. Now, there’s no way to get cash in.
As a physician, it feels as though my sister is a terminally ill patient and I’m scrambling to find a cure. Everyone is telling me: there’s nothing you can do. I’m starting to think that she may be right: maybe it is better for them to die than to live this way.
I identify as an independent but generally vote Democratic. America’s continued funding of Israel’s military has really changed my belief in the Democratic party. They have slogans about protecting minorities. This may be true for Black, Hispanic and gay Americans but when it comes to Muslim and Palestinian Americans, we’re considered third-tier citizens. I’ve decided not to vote for them unless there is a major change in policy.
I met Michigan’s governor and wrote to lawmakers. I would have preferred not hearing back, compared to the responses I got. They made it seem like there’s nothing America can do about it – and that all they care about is protecting Israel.
It’s been more than 40 years since I was in Palestine. My wife is Palestinian but was born in Syria. My kids didn’t know much about their Palestinian roots. Only my oldest has met my sister. But we’ve been talking about it more now. It’s difficult to explain 100 years of the Palestinian dilemma to teenagers. They’re asking questions about our original village and texting their cousins.
My parents live with me. They have aged a decade over the last year. They’re depressed. I have to drag them outside, or they’re always watching the news and crying.
‘I was asked to be an uncommitted delegate at the Democratic convention. At this point I’m willing to do anything for Palestine’
Sabrene Odeh, 29, Seattle, Washington, anti-trafficking advocate and community activist
Pro-Israeli protesters knocked my father to the ground and spit on us, on 8 October. We were at a demonstration in Kirkland, Washington, calling for an end to Israeli bombardment, apartheid and 76 years of violent occupation. I kept thinking to myself, after that day: we’re all we have. We have to protect each other.
In the last year, I’ve been a walking shell of a woman; I haven’t been able to engage with my family or friends in the same way. I carry this immense guilt that I’m not doing more.
I was born and raised in Seattle. All four of my grandparents were displaced during the Nakba in 1948. In June, I was asked to be an uncommitted delegate at the Democratic national convention. I don’t really believe in the political system in the US but at this point I’m willing to do anything to advocate for Palestine.
I grew up telling people I was Palestinian, not Palestinian American. My entire life, I’ve felt that we don’t belong here. I saw the way my grandparents were treated when they spoke broken English. People saw us differently, so I was hyper-aware that we were viewed as less than from a young age. But I’ve started saying I am Palestinian American now because of how the western world has tried to discard us.
We saw this with the young woman who was fatally shot by Israeli forces. Ayşenur Ezgi Eygi had Turkish and American citizenship; she was from Seattle. But there was so much emphasis on her being Turkish, over American, by the government and western media. When it’s convenient for you, we’re no longer American, right? And when it’s convenient for you, we’re American. Now I use American as kind of a screw you to the system, to the people at the top, to say: I grew up here and I deserve to have a voice just like anyone else does.
‘I sued the US government for facilitating a genocide against my people’
Wael Buhaissy, 56, California, electrical engineer and activist
I don’t have much faith in a court’s ability to deliver justice for ordinary people – especially when it comes to challenging American foreign policy. But last year, I sued the American government for facilitating a genocide that killed my relatives. It was my way of making sure I’m applying pressure from every angle.
I’m generally a shy person. But joining this legal case felt like an opportunity. It wasn’t an easy decision, going public with my identity. But these months have changed me. They made me bolder.
I was born and raised in Kuwait, to parents who were made refugees in 1948; they are from a city formerly known as Majdal Asqalan in pre-1948 Palestine and now known as Ashkelon, in Israel. I moved to the US almost four decades ago.
I felt anxious before giving testimony, in January, about how Israeli attacks killed my cousins and their children. Hours earlier, fellow members from my dabke dance troupe performed outside the Oakland courthouse, where journalists gathered. Eventually, I appealed directly to the judge. I looked him in the eyes and said he could make a difference here. While he dismissed the case on jurisdictional grounds, he acknowledged that a genocide was plausible.
I usually find out about killed relatives through obituaries posted on social media. Every day, I wake up and expect that I’m going to see images of dead bodies and shredded children on my phone. Often, I scroll away. But other times, I tell myself to keep looking because people in Gaza do not have that choice. As for the mainstream news, they’re on team Israel. We barely see any Palestinians featured and news anchors routinely adopt Israeli talking points.
