Kim Myung-hwan, South Korean Writers in Solidarity with Palestine  

Korea and Palestine lie at the eastern and western ends of Asia, seemingly having little in common. But Korean poets and novelists (and their readers) have every reason to see Palestine’s catastrophe as their own. Despite their economic success and prosperity, South Koreans have been living under an uneasy armistice since the Korean War (1950-1953) much as the Palestinians have under Israeli’s prolonged military occupation albeit to very different degrees of precarity. Remote is the possibility of a planned all-out war in Korea, but an accidental military engagement between the North and South is likely to escalate to a dangerous armed conflict.  

In the late 1970s, South Korean writers and readers protesting against Park Chung Hee’s draconian military rule became interested in Palestinian literature as part of Third World resistance. The works of Mahmoud Darwish (1941-2008), Ghassan Kanafani (1936-1972), and others began to be translated and read by the Korean public. It was a new cultural phenomenon, because a binary view of Israel as “good” and the Arab world as “evil” had prevailed in South Korea due to its alliance with the United States. National division and the devastating history of the Korean War fostered such ultra-right, pro-American ethos in the South. At far-right rallies in Seoul today, participants still frequently wave American and Israeli flags alongside the South Korean flag.

Personally, the most moving piece of literature about the plight of Palestine is Ghassan Kanafani’s short story “Returning to Haifa” (1969). The author, assassinated by a car bomb implanted by the Mossad in 1972, tells the story of a Palestinian couple who, in the chaos of the 1948 War, were driven away from their home without their infant son. Twenty years later, they were finally able to visit their old home thanks to Israel’s temporary opening of the borders after its victory in the 1967 War. Upon their arrival, the couple discover that a Jewish couple had taken up their house along with their lost son, now a soldier of the Israel Defense Forces (IDF). To the readers’ dismay, the young soldier shuns his biological parents, accusing them of having irresponsibly abandoned their child, and his Jewish adoptive mother seems insensitive to the agony of her adopted son’s parents despite being a Holocaust survivor. Up to this point, the Palestinian father had discouraged his second son from joining the armed resistance movement, but as he leaves his old home again, he tells his wife that he hopes their second son had already left to join the resistance. This tragedy of a Palestinian family portrayed by Kanafani is especially poignant for Korean readers because it so closely mirrors the experiences of Koreans who were suddenly displaced from their homes and separated from their families due to the national division and war, never to visit their homes or meet lost family members again.

It was only in 2003 when the United States invaded Iraq that South Korean writers began to collectively show interest in Palestine and take action for peace, partly because they had less experience in building international solidarity with overseas resistance movements. It took some years to actively promote international solidarity for peace and democracy after struggling against the overwhelmingly powerful military rule in South Korea that was finally toppled in 1987. In October 1994, radical young Korean writers organized the Korean Writers’ Solidarity for Vietnam (베트남을 이해하려는 젊은 작가들의 모임) to address war crimes committed by South Korean troops as the main ally of the U.S. military during the Vietnam War. These young writers established strong ties with Vietnamese writers including Bao Ninh, maintaining their connections for decades. Bao Ninh’s novel The Sorrow of War based on his direct seven-year military experience as a regular North Vietnamese soldier was banned for a long time in Vietnam mainly because the novel frankly depicted the sordid reality of war.

Building on such solidarity efforts, in 2003, dozens of activists formed the Korean Anti-War and Peace Team for Iraq (한국이라크반전평화팀) and traveled to Iraq, and the Korean Writers’ Association (한국작가회의, then known as the Writers’ Association for National Literature 민족문학작가회의) decided to send a writer along with the team. Soo Yeon Oh, a young female novelist seized the opportunity to get involved in this peace movement, not only in Iraq but also in Palestine, and worked with Ta’ayush (Living Together), a peace organization comprising both Israelis and Palestinians in the West Bank. During her stay in Palestine, she happened to meet the Palestinian poet Zakaria Mohammad (1950-2023), and invited him to a literary event in South Korea. Since then, a number of Palestinian writers along with Mohammad have visited South Korea at the invitation of Korean writers to build solidarity. I might add that Zakaria Mohammad was once in danger of being killed by both the IDF and Muslim extremists at the same time, just as Bao Ninh was subjected to censorship by the Vietnamese government despite having bravely fought for the liberation of Vietnam.   

Last October, shortly after Israel’s genocidal response to the Hamas attacks, Palestinian writer Adania Shibli, whose novella Minor Detail had just been translated into Korean, came to Seoul at the invitation of the annual DMZ Literary Festival. DMZ, or the Demilitarized Zone, designates the 4 km area on either side of the cease-fire line between the North and South, an ironic name given that it is one of the most heavily armed regions in the world. A few days before Shibli’s arrival in Seoul, the LitProm association in Germany that hosts LiBeraturpreis (an annual prize given to female writers from Africa, Asia, Latin America or the Arab world during the Frankfurt International Book Fair) suddenly canceled (“postponed” in their official expression) its award ceremony for her. It was a disappointing decision that drove responsive Korean readers and writers to flock to hear her Seoul talk. As elsewhere in the world, Korean writers are sensitive to crackdowns on freedom of expression, but it is especially galling due to the history of censorship by authoritarian governments, not only under military dictatorships but as recently as 2008-2017, when the conservative government secretly blacklisted writers and artists critical of state policies. At the time of Shibli’s talk, the same repressive measures were being repeated under the Yoon Suk Yeol administration whose election in 2022 was by the narrowest margin (less than 1%) in all of South Korean electoral history. 

Anti-war protests among South Korean civil society have been smaller in scale compared to those in the West, but they have grass-roots potential because Korean writers and readers, on the basis of their own historical experience, deeply understand how urgent peace is and take the Palestinian calamity to be their own. On March 2, 2024, a poetry reading was hosted by a small bookstore in Paju, a city just fifteen miles away from the DMZ. A young Palestinian man, who managed to escape to Egypt and come to South Korea, gave a brief account of his own experience in Gaza to an audience of about twenty people, followed by a poetry reading for peace in Palestine. The event was joined not only by Koreans, but also by migrants from Uzbekistan, a Chinese student studying Korean literature, and others. The tiny bookstore is owned by a cooperative of sixteen members, and its next director is a Japanese woman married to a Korean whose daughters also attended the poetry reading. Events like these are being organized nationwide by writers, bookshop owners, and local activists. They hope that their endeavors will help create a truly diverse and egalitarian society, overcoming indifference and discrimination against refugees and migrant workers in Korea. The South Korean government provides refugee status to only about 2.8% of applicants, far below the average rate of OECD countries. Additionally, South Koreans have another important reason to be deeply wary of war. According to U.S. news reports, South Korea sent hundreds of thousands of artillery rounds to Ukraine via the U.S. military, exceeding the amount provided by all Western European countries combined. 

Israel seems ready to continue killing Palestinians unless they give up their resistance completely. But the history of humanity, filled with horrendous wars and massacres, proves that  ethnic cleansing leaves indelible scars in both the victims and victors. As D. H. Lawrence pointed out in his Studies in Classic American Literature, the United States of America was built on the ethnic cleansing of native Americans, a historical fact that explains the callous U.S. response toward events outside American soil including what is happening in Gaza. Links between worsening domestic social ills and imperialist foreign policies go unrecognized.

International solidarity is vital now. Korean writers and readers will continue to make persistent efforts, however small, to build such solidarity. Solidarity after all is not just about “helping others,” but about reforming ourselves by addressing the key challenges of difference, in the Korean case to overcome national division and achieve peace on the peninsula. In the Middle East where Judaism, Christianity, and Islam were all born, may solidarity build a world capable of embracing differences among these rich literary and spiritual traditions.

KIM Myung-hwan is Professor Emeritus in the Department of English Literature at Seoul National University

Gerald Roche, Rogue Journalists Are Denouncing The Gaza Genocide Because They Want You To Deny The Next One 

As thousands of bodies are blown apart in Gaza and children starve to death in the city’s rubble-strewn streets, numerous groups are exploiting this suffering in order to advance oppressive agendas such as anti-semitism and Islamophobia. One group, in particular, is doing this in a way that not only dishonours the victims of genocide, but also undermines international solidarity and impairs the Left’s ability to respond to future atrocities. 

I’m referring here to what Sri Lankan unionist and writer Rohini Hensman calls ‘pseudo-anti-imperialists’. Whilst presenting themselves as Leftists, they oppose some forms of imperialism while supporting others. Specifically, they oppose the imperialism of the USA and its allies, and in order to hasten the empire’s downfall, they support the imperialism of the USA’s primary adversaries: Russia, China, and Iran. Every opinion that pseudo-anti-imperialists hold, every reaction they have to international events, every movement they build and participate in is subordinated to a nuance-free friend-enemy distinction that splits along clear nation-state lines. 

In pursuing their realpolitik project of undermining US empire, pseudo-anti-imperialists do not interpret atrocities in terms of suffering or uprisings in terms of liberation. Such events are instead sorted into worthy or unworthy, authentic or fake, in terms of their perceived alignment with US interests. In Syria and Ukraine they side with Russia, and in Xinjiang and Hong Kong they side with China. Regardless of how many people get killed, imprisoned, tortured, or herded into concentration camps, the only thing that matters is opposing the US.

In consistently repeating the same message with every new wave of protest and each new mass atrocity, pseudo-anti-imperialists are like the proverbial stopped clock that tells the right time twice a day. Every so often, they incidentally extend support for the victims of state violence; not out of empathy, or principled solidarity, but simply because supporting those victims advances their agenda.

Watching the genocide in Gaza unfold on social media across the last five months has been like watching a thousand stopped clocks chiming in unison. As major media outlets around the world abandoned their ethics and obligations in order to equivocate about genocide and investigate the ethical complexities of bombing hospitals, these stopped clocks have suddenly become lodestars of public opinion and morality.

Why is this a problem?

If I was in Gaza now, if I was starving, or raising money to escape across the border, or searching for lost family members, or stumbling from one bombed-out refugee camp to another, I would not care who was bringing attention to my plight. So why does it matter who is promoting the Palestinian cause?

It’s a problem because the victims of the next mass atrocity will care when these stopped clocks chime denial and cast the dying as unworthy victims. The people who join the next wave of protests against authoritarianism will care when these stopped clocks decry their movement as a CIA op and rally people to oppose them and undermine their cause. 

Herein lies the problem of these pseudo-anti-imperialist stopped clocks: the solidarity that they build now by defending the Palestinian people will be extracted and later used as a weapon against other victims engaged in struggle with oppression elsewhere. 

I have seen the consequences of this firsthand, when I was living on the northern Tibetan Plateau in what is today China. When the largest Tibetan protests in modern history broke out in 2008, and later when over 150 people set fire to their own bodies in protest against the government, one of the most precious and desperately-sought resources in this struggle was international solidarity. But rather than supporting Tibetans, pseudo-anti-imperialists decried their struggle as a ‘color revolution’ sponsored by the CIA, leaving many Tibetans feeling a profound sense of betrayal, and also placing some at risk of real harm. From Bosnia to Syria, Hong Kong, Iran, and Xinjiang, this experience has been repeated across decades, with victims of state violence and people struggling for liberation being abandoned by pseudo-anti-imperialists and deprived of the solidarity they need to advance their causes and protect them from further violence.

Like these people, Palestinians need all the solidarity they can get right now. But so will the people engaged in the next struggle against state violence, and the next one, and in every struggle still to come. Therefore, we need to work now to build movements that will consistently support diverse struggles against oppression around the world. Doing so requires us to identify and confront pseudo-anti-imperialists, preventing them from turning our solidarity into a weapon against the weak and vulnerable in the next struggle. How can we do that?

The more amateurish pseudo-anti-imperialists can be easily spotted from the hammer and sickle icons in their social media handles, or by the presence of a mango emoji or the ‘anti-imperialist’ moniker in their bio. The larger, more influential pseudo-anti-imperialists tend to eschew such clear signaling, preferring to describe themselves as ‘rogue journalists,’ ‘truth tellers’ or some other label that makes them sound like a QAnon prophet that accidentally wandered away from Gab. More troubling still are the institutions that peddle pseudo-anti-imperialism under the name of feminism, progressivism, peace, or generic Leftism.

Because pseudo-anti-imperialists successfully veil their politics in Leftist garb in order to parasitize our internationalism and weaponize our solidarity, we also need to turn to their rhetoric and track record to successfully identify them.

One tell in their texts is a preference for clarity over insight. Because they roam from one conflict to another, pseudo-anti-imperialists almost always lack the skills (such as knowledge of relevant languages) or contextual background to help us understand what is happening and why. So instead of providing information, they restate things we already know, but with additional moral force, sometimes aided by extra punctuation. Genocide is wrong. They. Tortured. UN. Staff. When you read viral posts about Gaza, ask yourself whether they provide new information or merely affirm existing sentiment; if the latter, then you may be reading the work of a pseudo-anti-imperialist. 

We can also look to a commentator’s track record of commentary to identify pseudo-anti-imperialists. Xinjiang and Hong Kong provide two useful litmus tests, as does Ukraine. Pseudo-anti-imperialists have consistently taken the side of the aggressor and oppressor in each of these situations, and their feeds are full of snarling cynicism that casts human suffering as simply artificial media opportunities that generate consent for US aggression. 

If their loud denialism in these contexts gives away pseudo-anti-imperialists, so too does their consistent silence about events which they cannot parse in terms of US interests, or which simply do not generate enough public attention for them to parasitize. When ISIS carried out a genocide against the Yazidi people, killing around 5,000 people and displacing many thousands more, pseudo-anti-imperialists said nothing. During the Rohingya genocide that displaced three quarters of a million people and killed tens of thousands from 2016 onwards, pseudo-anti-imperialists said nothing. When the Indonesian state engaged in disproportionate retaliation against Papuan militants in 2018, killing dozens and driving thousands into camps, pseudo-anti-imperialists said nothing. And from 2020 to 2022, when thousands of people were being bombed, shot, starved, or displaced and rounded up into camps in Tigray, pseudo-anti-imperialists said nothing. 

This sort of track record of repeated denial and silence not only helps us identify pseudo-anti-imperialists, it also shows us that they simply cannot be trusted to consistently stand up for and defend victims of state violence. Their project is not based on a principled commitment to liberation. They are not comrades or allies, they are reactionaries who defend authoritarian states and aim to generate impunity for their violence. Pseudo-anti-imperialists should not be included in any internationalist Left efforts to resist imperialism and domination.

As the genocide in Gaza grinds on, instead of helping these bad-faith commentators build their fanbase by exploiting human suffering, we should work to undermine their power, and raise up the voices of Palestinians and anti-genocide Israelis. We can rely on such people for real insights into what is happening in Gaza. And just as importantly, we can also rely on them for real solidarity in the future, when inevitably, the next genocide begins unfurling, or when people once again rise up against oppression to demand their freedom. Because chances are, when this happens again, the pseudo-anti-imperialist stopped clocks will be chiming to drown out the cries of the afflicted.    

Gerald Roche is Associate Professor of Politics at La Trobe University


Toshikuni Doi, Gaza Residents Are “Double Victims” of Both Israeli Forces and Hamas

February 27,  2024

I spent 30 days on the ground during the Gaza offensive in the summer of 2014. About 2,100 Gaza residents were killed and hundreds of thousands were displaced. But the scale of the Israeli attack on Gaza this time has been completely different from the previous four attacks on Gaza, both in scale and length: at the end of February 2024, the death toll is far more than 10 times that of the 2014 attack on Gaza, and more than a million people have lost their homes.

What has further afflicted the Palestinians is that the Israeli blockade has cut off food, water, fuel, medicine, and other necessities of life, pushing the population to the brink of starvation. M, a journalist in Gaza with whom I have been in regular contact, said, “A family of five eats one meal a day, and they don’t even have flour, their staple food. They drink water by boiling irrigation water. Vegetables are scarce, expensive, and hard to come by. They are making do with expired canned goods and beans that they can barely get their hands on.”

In the winter during the rainy season, there is neither sufficient warm clothing nor heating when it is very cold. Living in tents is especially hard on children. Influenza and other infectious diseases are spreading among the children. In addition, children are forced to drink unclean water and suffer from abdominal infections.

Mental trauma

Even more serious is the psychological damage to the children caused by the prolonged Israeli military assault and the harsh living conditions.

M, who has three children under the age of five, reported to me, “The children cry and scream in the middle of the night. They wake up in the middle of the night screaming and yelling as if they are having nightmares. They need psychological treatment.”

It’s not just children. M says that adults are also exposed to the sound of shelling every night and are constantly tormented by the fear that their homes might be shelled. Many Palestinian residents are preoccupied with ‘survival.’ This is why the residents M meets on the streets and in stores, especially the younger generation, all say, “I will leave Gaza when the fighting is over. The social infrastructure and economy of Gaza have been almost completely destroyed.” M predicts that it will take at least two to three decades to rebuild it, unlike in the past. “I don’t see a future for Gaza. Gaza is finished!” M said to me.

Rage against Hamas

Needless to say, the people of Gaza harbor immense hatred and anger toward Israel, which has murdered more than 30,000 of them, destroyed their infrastructure, starved them with its blockade, and shattered their dreams for the future.

But Israel is not the only target of residents’ anger, according to M. “Anger against Hamas, which triggered the Israeli attack on Gaza, is increasing daily among Gazans as the Israeli army’s unprecedented assault and genocide continues, and there is a growing chorus of voices on the streets and social networking sites vehemently condemning the Hamas leadership.”

At the beginning of the Hamas attack on October 7, 2023, “there were certainly some residents who supported the Hamas attack, saying that it ‘punished’ Israel for what it had done to the Palestinians in Gaza, the West Bank, and Jerusalem,” M said. However, many residents reportedly did not have enough information about what atrocities Hamas had actually committed inside Israel.

On February 8, M told us in a video message.

“People are calling [Yahya] Shinwar [Hamas’ chief executive in the Gaza Strip] a ‘son of the devil,’ a ‘crazy adventurist,’ and other such epithets. Shinwar has brought about this utterly senseless catastrophe. People have no idea what the purpose of the October 7 attack was, and they ask: What did you [Hamas] accomplish with this attack? The liberation of Palestine through armed struggle? That is impossible. What is the purpose of that madness!”

Another factor contributing to the anger of Gaza residents against Hamas is Hamas’ refusal to release the hostages and agree to a ceasefire, even though the people have suffered tremendous damage and are exhausted from the attacks. Meanwhile, the Gaza residents are being killed one by one and suffering from starvation.

Israeli reaction

Meanwhile, in Israel, there have been daily demonstrations shouting, “The Netanyahu government must make the release of the hostages its top priority!” However, in the face of the horrific situation in Gaza, where 30,000 Gaza residents have been killed by Israeli troops and more than 2 million people are suffering from starvation, almost no one is saying, “Stop the attack!” Most Israelis think that “the terrorist group Hamas, which has massacred some 1,300 Israelis, must be destroyed. The Gaza residents who support Hamas are equally guilty, and they should be held responsible.”

But many Gaza residents, angered by Hamas and its actions, have been destroyed, starved, and ruthlessly murdered in Israeli military attacks. The 2.2 million Gazans are “double victims” of both the Israeli military and Hamas.

Toshikuni Doi is an independent journalist and filmmaker


Neferti Tadiar, On Feminism and Palestine 

Editor’s Note: This is the text of a talk that Neferti Tadiar delivered as part of a round-table discussion at Columbia University. Tadiar’s most recent book, Remaindered Life (Duke 2022), won the John Hope Franklin Prize for the best book published in 2022 at the American Studies Association. She is a Barnard College Professor in the Department of Women’s, Gender, and Sexuality Studies and, among her many activisms, is one of the co-founders of the Faculty and Staff for Justice in Palestine on her campus.

On Feminism and Palestine 
A Faculty Roundtable 
4 December 2023, 6:00-7:30 p.m.
Joseph D. Jamail Lecture Hall Pulitzer Hall,
Columbia Graduate School of Journalism

Thank you so much to my colleagues, Sarah Haley, Lila Abu-Lughod, and Jack Halberstam, for organizing this roundtable and for continuing to support and hold space for those of us whose feminist commitments have led us to solidarity with the Palestinian people.

There are many feminisms, and I do not aim to speak on contemporary and historical, dominant versions of feminism that call for imperial wars in the name of protecting women. There is a considerable body of scholarly and activist work that has critiqued these forms of imperial feminisms, as well as what my colleague Elizabeth Bernstein calls carceral feminism, and their call for and mobilization of the racist, sexist forms of collective punishment implemented by the modern sovereign state, the inheritor and agent of Western European and Anglo-American colonial power.

Today, I want instead to speak specifically on what my own decolonizing Filipina feminist perspective and scholarly work bring to an understanding of the global importance of the Palestinian struggle for our collective liberatory futures – indeed, for most peoples, for the very possibility of a future at all.

The critical feminist perspectives I draw on have developed out of the radical tradition of Third World feminism, which has always taken up questions of gender, sexuality, and power in the context of vastly unequal geopolitical relations, transnational and national structures of colonial and neocolonial subordination, capitalist exploitation, and imperial masculinist, militarist violence. In concert with their radical Black and Indigenous feminist sisters, radical third world feminists understand that the conditions of oppression and violence that women in our communities face daily and intimately are inseparable from the continuing afterlife and consequence of histories of imperialism, colonialism, and slavery. We see that the very delimited, normative, binary ways that women (as well as men) are defined and made use of, our gendered and sexual bodies and lives regulated and controlled, our pleasures and possibilities curtailed and foreclosed, are the products and instruments of these continuing histories.

This is not, however, a politics of blame – of moral categories of innocence and culpability, of timeless victims and perpetrators. Third world feminists also understand that the historically oppressed and colonized can come to adopt the very same social, political, and economic logics and techniques of their oppressors and colonizers, becoming themselves exemplary agents of the orders of dispossession and genocidal violence that their own peoples were subjected to, and that they now displace onto others, including the most marginalized and unprotected among their own. We recognize this in the contemporary global system of postcolonial states, military, police, landowners, and corporations undertaking continuing projects of colonial devastation which they are both perpetrators and beneficiaries of.

In his partnership meeting with former Philippine President Rodrigo Duterte in 2018, Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu recalled that “the Philippines was the only Asian country that voted for the establishment of the State of Israel in the UN resolution in 1947.” As a neocolony of the U.S. the Philippines has provided auxiliary forces, including sexual labor, for all U.S. wars of security and counterinsurgency, including against its own peoples, from the Cold War to the present, serving as a pivotal military base for U.S. security wars in the Asia-Pacific and its connective sea channels to West Asia, where Israel similarly functions as a crucial anchor and key operative piece of global security architecture. Among the bilateral agreements that Duterte and Netanyahu came to was IDF training of the Armed Forces of the Philippines in counterterrorism techniques and the Philippines’ purchase of missiles, radars, and drones, in exchange for reduced brokerage fees for the now around 30,000 Filipinx caregivers in Israel, the largest ethnic group of caregivers in Israel, since they were brought in to replace expulsed Palestinian labor after the second intifada. Duterte, we should not forget, oversaw a cleansing operation of his own, which he favorably compared to the task of Hitler, killing around 30,000 poor Filipino slum dwellers in his 6-year war on drugs. Today, under Duterte’s successor, the son of the dictator Marcos, the Philippines is the third largest buyer of Israeli weapons, and trade between Israel and the Philippines grew 70% in 2022, an integral part of Netanyahu’s “Pivot to Asia” policy.

Feminism allows us to see these dead exchanges of care and arms as a reproductive issue: the trading of the life worth expending of many for the life deserving of care of some. Like Israel, the state project of the Philippines is the enabling condition of and participant in the global urban capitalist economy, the logistics of its supply chains, and its entire gendered reproductive machinery (the global service economy). One of the biggest suppliers of export labor for the global reproductive domestic, care work, and service industries today, the Philippines is a huge supplier of racialized, gendered forms of serviceable life offered up to the world to maintain and facilitate the valued life of their employers ­– those global citizens deemed human, that status of colonial supremacy, protected belonging, and freedom (defined as exemption from enslavement, servitude, and punishment), which defines the very life-form of value animating contemporary global capitalism. But their serviceable life is only a temporary redemption from the pool of disposable life that its own state’s participation in imperial wars of dispossession creates.

Feminism allows us to see then this ongoing catastrophic devastation inflicted on the Palestinian people as an intensification of a repeated logic of imperial, settler colonial dispossession required for the preservation and expanded reproduction of this monstrously iniquitous global order of life. It is a capitalist geopolitical order that the genocidal U.S.-Israel war and its support by institutions deeply invested in its settler colonial project and this very same global order, is an attempt to morally vindicate and practically secure, against a growing decolonization movement emerging all over the world.

I want to end my remarks, however, by adding that as feminists, we see that zones of war are also zones of living. Feminism urges us to see the broader connections of our cooperative survival and life-making, the expanse of relations and activities and capacities that sustain ourselves and our communities. We are compelled to trace our relations to others not already defined as our own, to find how deeply bound our lives are to each other, and to seek commitment and belonging in insurgent yearning for another life that we might share. We are moved to notice and tend to the world-making life-making of the dispossessed – the life that the poet Rafeef Ziadah says Palestinians wake up every morning to teach the rest of the world – as the grounds of an abolitionist, demilitarizing, decolonizing feminist project of radical planetary transformation. In this way, freeing Palestine frees us all.