"i know you're lying" the Israeli border officer spits at me. 4 hours in and i'm still trapped, got one foot in Jordan and one foot in Settler Colonialism (somehow on the wrong side of both), and her venom finally starts to strike.... am i lying? do i belong in the land she’s guarding? my blood’s running cold but it’s still mixed. Shami, Falasteeni, French and Irish. i want to cry while she stares me down. maybe if i scream loud enough "I’M NOT REALLY ARAB" it'll free me from her glare. Use the imposter’s language and maybe they’ll believe you. her eyes are green, the same as my mom's and i'm reminded that this officer and i could be related somewhere back in history. she still spits at me, this time in Hebrew so i don't understand, and my heart starts to break for her. when did they tell her family that they didn't belong, just like she’s telling me now? when did her relatives give up on life and succumb to that disease she’s spreading to me? when did birthplace become displaced in her ancestors hearts? we're victims of the same power, i think quietly, and as she yells at me with one hand on a semiautomatic i'm tempted to embrace her. it's ok, i want to tell this border guard. You belonged There. your politics lied to you. and now they're killing us both. i want to hold her hand so we can heal each other’s wounds and i don't have to play Fake Arab to survive and her ancestors can live historically, happily, in their European homeland. i want this so much it makes me sick, but she wants me gone. 4 hours later and she deports me away from the place my ancestors reach when they finally come Home.
______
TEXT:
ALIA TAQLEDDIN
UNITED STATES