When a Decision Becomes an Open Wound: Execution, Memory, and the Act of Writing
Execution is not new to us… but the Knesset’s approval dragged everything back to the surface.
Last year, I recorded a video about the decision to impose the death penalty on Palestinians, and I commented on the response of Mahmoud Abbas, who emerged to say that “the Israeli mindset is becoming fascist.”
That statement has followed me ever since. Not because it was shocking, but because it was empty—detached from any real meaning, as if spoken by someone living outside the political reality of his own people.
But what pushed me to write now, specifically, is that the Knesset has officially approved the decision.
With that vote, we entered a new stage—one that forces us to revisit what has passed and what is coming.
The moment the decision was ratified, everything I had postponed erupted at once: anger, memory, and a need to break the silence.
I realised that the videos I deleted, the posts I hesitated to share, and the thoughts I kept delaying… all needed to be written clearly and without hesitation.
I return to this subject today to clarify one thing: what happened is not a new trajectory. It is a blunt declaration of the continuation of a long-standing system of violence, despite the official narrative trying to frame it as a sudden shift.
1. Execution Is Not New to Us
The shock surrounding the “death penalty” suggests that Palestinians have not been killed before.
As if we were never targeted by bullets, never bombed, never starved, never tortured.
As if this were not a policy embedded in the very beginning of the colonial project, but a “dangerous development” that appeared overnight.
This kind of discourse erases the true context of violence.
It turns a long history of systematic killing into a “breaking news story,” when in reality it is a policy that simply renews its methods.
But we are not breaking news.
We are a people who have lived every form of execution long before it was written into any law.
2. Zionism and Fascism: Born of the Same Root
When Abbas speaks of an “incline toward fascism,” he ignores that Zionism emerged from the same European environment that produced fascism.
Both are projects built on exclusion, supremacy, violence as a political tool, and the reshaping of land and people according to a single colonial imagination.
Separating the two is not political analysis—it is an unearned absolution.
3. The Illusion of the Two‑State Solution
Speaking of the two‑state solution, today it is not a solution at all—it is an attempt to resuscitate a political illusion that serves only the official narrative, while the reality is that the roots of the problem run far deeper than any superficial proposal.
Israel is not a “normal state” drifting toward fascism.
It is an occupying power from the very first moment, built on the negation of our existence.
Pretending there is a “realistic solution” is a deliberate refusal to acknowledge reality, history, geography, and blood.
A Necessary Reminder: 1937 Before 1948
The first massacre against Palestinians did not happen in 1948.
It happened in 1937, during the Great Palestinian Revolt.
Before the establishment of the so‑called state, and before all the excuses used today to justify violence.
This date is not a footnote.
It proves that violence was not an exception, nor a reaction—it was the foundation itself.
Why Do I Delete Videos Sometimes?
Sometimes I don’t publish my videos simply because I don’t have the time to edit them.
Sometimes the media blackout makes me feel that my voice won’t reach people the way it should, no matter how hard I try.
And exhaustion weighs on memory—and Palestinian memory is not just storytelling; it is a daily burden.
Still, the voice that gets deleted always returns stronger.
Conclusion: Between Anger and Writing
This article is not a response to Abbas.
It is not merely a reaction or an analysis—it is an attempt to reclaim responsibility over the narrative, and a refusal to allow memory to be erased or violence to be justified under the guise of political shifts.
I write because I refuse to let our history be reduced to hollow statements.
I write because I know the truth does not die—even when we delay saying it.
And I write because the Palestinian voice, no matter how much they try to silence it, always finds its way back.
This article… is my way of returning.