In 1947, the United Nations offered me a state—more than 50% of the land, international recognition, and a future. I said no. I chose war instead. Five Arab armies invaded the newborn state of Israel, aiming to strangle it in its cradle. I lost. Hundreds of thousands of my people became refugees—not because Israel expelled all of them, but because Arab leaders told them to flee, promising victory within days.
I am Palestine. I have never chosen coexistence. Only resistance.
In 1967, I joined forces with Egypt, Jordan, and Syria again. Another war. Another loss. East Jerusalem, the West Bank, Gaza—all fell under Israeli control not because they were taken from me, but because they were taken from Jordan and Egypt, who occupied them for 19 years—and never gave me a state.
I am Palestine. I could have had peace. Many times. But I always said no.
In 2000, at Camp David, Israel offered me nearly all of the West Bank and Gaza, with East Jerusalem as my capital. I walked away. I chose the Second Intifada instead. My people strapped explosives to their bodies and boarded buses, walked into cafes, malls, Passover seders. I called them martyrs. The world called them terrorists.
I am Palestine. I glorify death. I raise children to hate.
My textbooks teach that Israel doesn’t exist. My media tells stories of heroes who stab Jews in the street. I name schools and parks after suicide bombers. I pay salaries to murderers in prison. The more Jews they kill, the more I pay.
I am Palestine. I elected Hamas.
Not once, by mistake. But knowingly. In 2006, I voted in a terror group whose charter calls for the extermination of Jews and the destruction of Israel. Since then, rockets have flown from Gaza, thousands of them, aimed at kindergartens and homes. Every ceasefire is just a pause to rearm.
I am Palestine. I speak of occupation, but never of responsibility.
I blame Israel for everything—yet I never build anything of my own. Billions in aid from the world, yet no hospitals, no infrastructure, no future. Just tunnels for terror, textbooks for hate, and leaders who grow rich while my people suffer.
I am Palestine. I demand rights I never gave to others.
Between 1948 and 1967, not once did I call for a Palestinian state in the West Bank or Gaza. Jordan ruled one, Egypt the other. I said nothing. I only wanted the whole thing—from the river to the sea. Still do.
I am Palestine. I hold the keys to homes I fled—but never to peace.
I reject compromise. I reject Israel’s right to exist. And yet, I demand return—of land, of homes, of everything. Not to live beside the Jews, but to replace them.
I am Palestine. And I cry for justice—but worship those who murder.
I build monuments to “resistance.” I dance in the streets when Jews are killed. I film my children with toy guns, teaching them that martyrdom is glory. Then I weep before cameras, asking the world why there is no peace.
I am Palestine. And until I choose life over death, truth over lies, and peace over hate—I will never be free.
