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Under international law, the lives of any doctors in war zones are protected.
Despite international law, the Israeli government has killed at least two doctors I know of. The first one deserves his own story. This is the story of the second one; Rouzan Al-Najjar, who died at age 21.
When the nightmares wake me late at night, I light a lamp and start to write. One stroke for every death I've seen. One more for the ones I'm yet to see. I'm glad I think, that I studied calligraphy. For each stroke to me, is a different story. One curve, one swirl and then I'm done. A picture is formed, the nightmares gone.
When morning wakes me, warm and bright, I pull on my coat and shake off the night. My eyes are red, they can't stay up. But I shake my head and force them up. Rouzan, I chant to my tired self, take a stance and take up arms. Look, at your back is your quiver of books. Look, at your hand is your bow of tools. Scalpel, bandage, disinfectant and gloves. A smile of defiance that everyone loves.
When the fields meet me, my throat is tight. My friends smile and say it will be alright. I cup my hands and to God I pray, that no one will get injured today. Before me, the great march of return begins. The chanting gets louder as more trickle in. Soon enough, we are three thousand strong, shouting demanding, for our return home.
We can't live here, we scream to a fence. Deprived of a life, dispossessed of defence. Our youth have no work, our children untaught. And all of us punished, for wars we have not fought. 'Well,' we say, 'we are fighting now.' For our silence is still met with fire and woe. Open our borders and leave us alone. Give back our rights, and our families' homes.
When the gassing begins, it's time for our fight. We enter the fields, with our hands upright. Doctor, doctor, we shout to the crowd. We are doctors, helping our own. We have no weapons, that's not ours to wield. Our swords is our knowledge, our profession our shield. Shouts and screams are our daily song. But we grit our teeth, for the day is long. At least it's gas, we say as we work. For in gas lays danger, but in bullets death lurks. As if insulted, the bullets starts to fall.
When the bullets begin, I refuse to take flight. I have to stay, to lessen our plight. The shouts and screams turn to groans. As more and more start to fall. A torn muscle here, a round wound so deep. And faces in pain, that make me want to weep. But I take a breath, and hold the tears in. As long as I stay strong, the enemy will never win. Besides, I'm a doctor, nobility protects my tracks. They have to stand and watch, as I bring our voices back.
We wipe tears brought about by gas. We bandage wounds, restore what is to what once was. Journalists, doctors, protesters unarmed. We come in peace, for you took away our arms. What do you have to be afraid of, from mere shouts. Of people that you have oppressed, and of people you locked out. What do you have to be afraid of, when the world is your stage. That helps you spread your lies, and discounts our rage. What do you have to be afraid of, from an unemployed man's daughter, whose highest badge of education is a nursing diploma?
To my right, a man falls, his arms spread wide. 'I'm a doctor,' I shout, as I rush to his side. I staunch the blood, I bandage his core. My coat flaps around, a sign to be ignored. Just like that, in my heart, a bullet bores.
The world is black, the world is red. 'Rouzan, Rouzan,' the shouts rattle in my head. Is it all over, is this the end? God gave me only, twenty one years to spend. I think of the man I was supposed to marry. Our engagement is now, a tragic love story.
Too soon, it comes, the throes of death. 'Rouzan,' someone cries, as I take my last breath. I'm a fallen star, I'm a dying light. And my own blood has been added, to my coat so white.
Infographic of what Palestinians suffered during the great march of return.
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Rouzan Al-Najjar's death as investigated by the New York Times. In a channel that has more than 3M subscribers, this video posted two years ago, hasn't even clocked 500,000 views.
AN
Hey you. Yes, you. Thanks for reading!
I hope this helped you educate yourself on the situation a bit. If it did, please don't hesitate to vote and comment.
And, if you want to help spread the word, consider posting this to the social media links you see on the side. That is those tiny little facebook, Pinterest, tumblr and twitter links.
Lastly, if you'd like to learn even more about this situation, please check out
- Mohammed El Kurd and Muna El Kurd on Twitter and instagram respectively
- B'Tselem.
- Breaking The Silence.
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