Grief Across Borders

the failures of our governments and the fight for liberation

I have so much grief in my heart. Not for myself, no. Grief for the children in Palestine who will never grow up to be who they want; grief for the mothers and fathers who have to suffer such losses that should not be experienced so soon or in this way. Grief for the brothers and sisters who have to carry their siblings in bags and backpacks just so they can keep a piece of them. Grief for the grandfathers and grandmothers who lose their beloveds without having a chance to teach them their ancestral history; without having a chance to return home. Grief for the poets and writers and academics that will never put pen to paper again, or even for the first time. Grief for the babies that never even got the chance to understand who or where they are; they were condemned from the very moment they were born.

The only difference between me and a child in Palestine is where I was born.

I have grief for the children in Lebanon, whose lives are thrown away because the world dismisses them as terrorists because a genocidal leader told them this “fact” with no real evidence; for the little girl whose face was marred from an exploding pager that was meant for her father. Grief for the 500 lives that were murdered in just one day because of the greed of another.

The only difference between me and a child in Lebanon is where I was born.

I hold grief in my heart for the Congolese people who are exploited day and night for a few pounds of cobalt; for the girls who are forced to become mothers when they are still children themselves. Grief for the families who have lost loved ones to the collapsed mines and trigger-happy soldiers. Grief for the sons who feel the need to provide for their family by working tirelessly through hunger, sickness, injuries, and the toxins that exposed cobalt emits. Grief for the Congolese who work and die to put that phone in your grasp, for the electric vehicle you drive, for the vape you are addicted to; for the technology they do not get a glimpse of. I am reminded every day of the privilege I hold in the palm of my hand.

The only difference between me and a child in Congo is where I was born.

Is this grief? Can I mourn people who I have never met before?

I feel grief for Marcellus Williams’ son who had to witness his unjust execution for a crime he did not commit. A crime in which DNA evidence proved he was not the perpetrator. I have grief for the people that the so-called justice system has failed; for the innocents who died in similar circumstances; for the rape victims that had to be subjected to ridicule and harassment from the judge, jury, police, and/or general public for braving the court system, etc. etc.

The only between me and the victims of the justice system is… nothing. That could happen to me, it could happen to you, it could happen to any of us.

Maybe my birthplace is what differentiates me from a child in Palestine, Lebanon, the Congo, etc., but our struggles are not so separate. No one is free until all of us are free; all liberation is interconnected. If you think because the bombing and genocide are happening on the other side of the world that it does not concern you, you are incorrect.

I feel like this grief encapsulates my whole being; never going away, just forgotten until I see another post of a lost life that could’ve been prevented if the colonial powers lifted a finger. They have shown us that they won’t. Money, greed, and power are the foundations of these entities. If they are not gaining anything from taking action, then they don’t see the point.

Maybe that is extremely pessimistic, but has it not been the reality of the past 76 years, even further back from that? World leaders will speak about ceasefires then turn around and send more weapons. America and Canada are praised for having democracy and a just system, yet this month 9 Indigenous people were killed in the span of 21 days by local police and the RCMP; “We the people” yet Marcellus Williams was lynched by the state of Missouri despite the millions who spoke up against it.

But we should not lose hope. If you looked at my other post, Mindful Consumption, I mentioned how long the movement was to abolish South African apartheid. The Palestinian movement has been going on for a long time, but this past year the tides have shifted. More and more people have been speaking up and bringing awareness to the genocide. Israel’s economy is failing. Many countries have stopped giving arms to Israel or have just completely cut them off.

I didn’t want this post to just be about my lachrymose musings, it doesn’t really get anyone anywhere. If you feel the same there are ways to get involved. Go to protests, share Palestinian, Sudanese, Congolese, etc., voices and information, email/call your political representatives, and more. Channel those feelings into ways to take actions. There’s probably so much more you can do that I haven’t mentioned, but of course it always depends on where you’re located and what’s going on around you. If you are Canadian specifically, CJPME is a great organization that gives continuous updates on issues that you can send letters about, sign petitions, and even a “Media Accountability Project” you can be a part of — free and super low maintenance.

This went from my emotional ramblings to advice on how to protest lol, hope you guys like the range. Ever since hearing of the execution of Marcellus Williams I’ve felt so much anger, frustration, and sadness. I wasn’t sure how to put my feelings into words. I use, or want to use, writing as an emotional outlet as well as a constructive and political one (I am a polisci major at the end of the day), as well as to potentially educate others and offer new perspectives.

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Art for the cover of this post: themosquesketcher on Instagram.

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