Why we are deterred from talking about resistance
Resistance is powerful because it can take many forms.
Why are we discouraged from talking about resistance?
Even among those who support Palestine, it seems easier to frame Palestinians as victims rather than survivors—oppressed rather than fighters. In my view, this mindset is a lingering effect of 9/11 and the subsequent war on terror. Nearly 24 years after 9/11, the ripple effects of that tragic day still shape humanitarian conversations around Muslims and the Middle East.
The events of 9/11 that fueled the war on terror fundamentally shifted global narratives about the Islamic faith and Muslims. These global narratives include framing Islam as a inherently regressive and violent faith and using such framings to dehumanize Muslims, justifying islamophobia. In my opinion, this global narrative, upheld by the same Western countries responsible for destabilizing the Middle East, greatly shapes how we approach resistance. In social justice terms, resistance is a way to participate in political life; it describes ways of thinking accompanied by actions that oppose, question, and denounce all systems of oppression, with the goal being that of a more equitable world.
As a Palestinian, I have observed how the inaccurate narratives surrounding many Muslim-dominant countries such as Palestine have atrophied the possibility for collective change. Even those who advocate for Palestinian sovereignty often tread lightly when it comes to discussing resistance, perhaps out of fear that it will be conflated with aggression or terrorism.
And as a Palestinian, I want you to know that resistance against oppression—and specifically Zionism—takes many forms, and not all of them are armed, violent, and with a death toll. The power of resistance lies not only in force but also in resilience, in everyday acts of defiance, and in the unwavering fight for justice.
Despite the ongoing violence and displacement, Palestinians continue to resist in ways beyond armed struggle. The world often overlooks the silent but powerful forms of defiance: generations of families passing down the keys to homes they were forced to flee, preserving the memory of a stolen homeland; artists turning rubble into murals that tell the story of survival; journalists risking their lives to document the reality of occupation.
In the 1980s, Palestinians saw the Israeli law forbidding artwork composed of the four colours of the Palestinian flag: red, green, black, and white. Palestinian nationalism has always been viewed as a threat to Israeli occupation and apartheid policies. The Palestinian flag is a testament that the Palestinian people are a distinct nationality with their own culture and traditions. The existence of the flag proves the existence of the Palestinian identity, which risks exposure and challenges the legitimacy of the establishment of Israel.
In came my favourite form of resistance: pettiness. Banned from using the Palestinian flag colours—and never mind waving one—Palestinians found a clever and defiant solution: the watermelon. With its green shell, red flesh, and black seeds, the watermelon became an unexpected yet powerful symbol of resistance. Palestinians placed them in front of their porches, held them up in protest, and turned a simple fruit into a statement of existence. This slice of watermelon became more than just fruit; it became a symbol of resilience, a subtle yet forceful reminder that Palestinians do exist, and that their identity cannot be erased. In a time when our very existence was denied, this small act of defiance became a declaration that existence itself is the resistance.
Olive trees are living artifacts of Palestinian history, and the pride my people have for our land. The trees can grow and flourish for thousands of years under the harsh dry conditions of the Middle Eastern climate, representing Palestinian resistance and resilience. The oldest olive trees date back to 4,000 years old, a symbol of Palestinian culture and proof of indigeneity enduring despite countless attempts at dispossession. Unfortunately, with the benefits of olive tree agriculture for Palestinians, the trees have become a target for Israeli authorities’ attacks. Palestinian farmers have repeatedly been attacked by Israeli settlers as they harvest their prized olive groves with more than 1,000 trees burned down or damaged, the United Nations says.
As the Occupation chips at the Palestinian dignity, a thousand olive trees at a time, the Palestinian pride and identity grow even stronger. Olive tree roots can be considered synonymous with Palestinian roots. The removal of these trees is another tactic to erase indigenous Palestinian history from a land that is deeply embedded in every aspect of our existence. The illegal uprooting of thousands of olive trees along with the uprooting of hundreds of thousands of Palestinians from their homeland can guarantee one thing: roots regrow and nature prevails. As Palestinians continue to take pride in and harvest their olive trees, it is a continual act of resistance against the occupation. As Palestinian poet Mahmoud Darwish wrote, “If the olive trees knew the hands that planted them, their oil would become tears.”
By the time this article will be posted, many academic institutions will be in the midst of Israeli Apartheid Week, an extension of the popular Boycott, Divest, and Sanctions (BDS) movement. These worldwide movements highlight the importance of organized resistance, controlling who and what our capital serves, and holding institutions accountable for their complicity in violence against Palestinians.
Resistance, in this case, carries a different meaning than you might anticipate; different than its common propagandized portrayals. It’s in poetry, art, and storytelling. It’s confronting our internalized narratives about other people. It’s in the farmers refusing to leave their olive groves despite settlers burning them down. It’s the students walking through military checkpoints every morning just to get to school. Resistance is in my very existence.
The rebranding of any criticism of Isreal’s treatment of Palestinians and interconnected oppression—capitalism, imperialism, and extremism—as automatically terroristic, violent, antisemitic, or even anti-American, is simply another one of these global narratives used to surpress resistance. These everyday acts of defiance counter the narrative that resistance is solely about conflict, or that it can be achieved through conflict, or must always be accompanied by conflict. Palestinian resilience is a cultural force, a historical memory, and a political struggle deeply intertwined with every aspect of our individual and collective lives.
