The writer’s tour guide, Fade, stands in front of the mural he painted at the Al-Awda Children’s Center. (PHOTO K. SHAMEY)
AS AN ACTIVIST committed to the liberation of Palestine, it was important for me to return as a volunteer during this especially fraught time. I traveled there this past Fall during a short break from the school where I teach, hoping to assist with the olive harvest and deliver donations to the Tulkarm refugee camp. Like all journeys to Palestine, my time there stirred a complex mix of emotions, and I left feeling both optimism and despair about the current situation. What follows are some of my reflections on what I witnessed during my time in Palestine.
When visiting the Al-Awda Center for Children in the West Bank town of Tulkarm, I could see and feel echoes of Nazi Germany, the Jim Crow South and apartheid South Africa unfolding in real time. Everything we were taught in school about history—and about what humanity must never allow to happen again—is occurring once more, with the tacit permission of the international community.
As I toured the center, I felt deeply inspired by the collective efforts of local Palestinians to create a space for art, education and performance for Tulkarm’s youth. Fade, our guide, explained that the Israeli Occupation Forces (IOF) had recently raided the center. The evidence was everywhere: machines destroyed and the Star of David spray-painted across the walls. I was visiting with two anti-Zionist Jewish activist friends, who shared how painful it was to see a symbol so sacred to them being used in a way that echoed the swastika. The intention of the IOF was unmistakable—to destroy any effort to empower Palestinians through education, creativity or community.
After the tour, Fade brought us to the center’s rooftop overlooking the Tulkarm refugee camp. We were immediately instructed to crouch down and not point as the IOF was entering the camp with their tanks and bulldozers. One by one, I witnessed the destruction of Palestinian homes and heard rapid fire gunshots. Fade explained that the Israeli army routinely enters the camps and fires at people, their homes and in some cases, their pets, just for sport. The IOF often battles resistance groups in Tulkarm, and clearly uses this as an excuse to inflict more cruelty and collective punishment on all civilians living in the city. Last year, the U.N. reported that 19,000 residents of Tulkarm have been displaced as a result Israeli assaults.
Israeli forces spray-painted the Star of David throughout a children’s performance room in the Al-Awda Center for Children during a Fall 2025 raid on the Tulkarm refugee camp in the West Bank. (PHOTO K. SHAMEY)
These kinds of brazen attacks don’t stop with the Israeli army. Jewish settlers from the U.S., Canada and Europe have been terrorizing Palestinian farmers across the West Bank by setting fire to their olive trees and property. I was able to work with the farmers by picking and collecting olives for the harvest. In many cases, these farmers require a protective presence due to rampant—and unchecked—settler violence, which the IOF typically ignores or actively supports. It is maddening to witness this constant destruction upfront and to know that the international community, particularly the U.S., allows this to happen.
On my way to the airport, Sadiq, my driver, explained that a colleague of his would pick me up before the next checkpoint to complete my journey. He told me that he was unwilling to pass because, the previous week, an IOF guard had assaulted him at a checkpoint by punching him. When I asked Sadiq how he responded, he said that he did “nothing—because if I resist, they will put me in jail.” I asked what would happen if I protested against an IOF guard in a similar situation. Sadiq replied that it would only make things worse for him and advised me to stay quiet. This unsettling truth made me reflect on people throughout history who have remained unwittingly silent in the face of injustice toward others. The thought of silently witnessing such abuse feels unfathomable; yet, when one considers the immense consequences victims often face, the choice of silence—though painful—becomes tragically understandable.
It is difficult not to feel cynical about the world we live in when you see history repeating itself and watch the world allow such atrocities to continue. Upon arriving at the Ben Gurion Airport in Tel Aviv, a young blonde Israeli officer questioned me closely about the Arabic origin of my last name before sending me to an area for “extra security” alongside other Arab travelers. I was scrutinized and subjected to humiliating tactics clearly designed to make Arab people feel so uncomfortable that they will not return to Palestine.
I, however, refuse to be deterred. These tactics only strengthen my resolve to keep returning, because bearing witness and telling these stories is vital. I draw inspiration from the incredible strength and faith of the Palestinian people, who continue to resist and create amidst relentless destruction. For them, I must keep bearing witness, keep reporting and keep acting—because throughout history’s darkest times, there have always been those who refused to stay silent, who continued to fight against injustice. Remaining aligned with such people and focused on the change that can still be achieved, helps me to find hope in this moment and not lose myself in the struggle.