When I learned about the Nakba as a young organizer, something that struck me so deeply then and always even now, is some of the imagery.
Specifically, images like this:
Palestinians being driven from their homes and land, carrying all they could bring with them. Bundles of their belongings on their heads and back. Crossing miles across so many terrains, leaving their worlds behind. Their homes, belongings, memories, neighborhoods, everything.
On their own, there are thousands of histories and conversations within these images. And when I think of them as a Korean, these images bring up stories from my mother and the history of Koreans fleeing during the War on Korea. Specifically, images like this:
[Korean photographs from 1950 by Carl Mydans for TIME Magazine]
The Nakba and the War on Korea are two very different events, including their circumstances and contexts. But there are some similarities too.
The Nakba never ended, and Korea is still at war. For both, Empire distorted and destroyed the world’s understanding of land and its people. So much so that our people have spent decades re-educating the world on what is truly happening. While the Nakba started in 1948 and the War on Korea started in 1950, the seeds for them were planted by Empire many years before that.
For me, the stories and consequences of my mother’s history are ever present in my life. Her history of suffering becomes my history. And because of this, there is a strand that ties me to the pain in the hearts of my Palestinian friends who are fighting to be free today, I see that generational pain when I hear them speak of parents and grandparents, lost land, families, homes, and histories.
We have that shared anger and grief, but also a shared love. An unbreakable love and fight for liberation. We are all fighting to be free. Free free Palestine forever.
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