Robert Fantina
My long solidarity with Palestine and Palestinians is well-known. I have written two books and countless articles on this topic, and have spoken publicly about it for years. During that time, I connected through social media with many people in Palestine, and established friendships with a few, who I never actually met in person.
This article is about one of those, Mahmoud. He was in his late twenties, married and the father of three young children. As I was taking Arabic instruction, he and I would often talk; he spoke no English, so between my limited but growing knowledge of Arabic, and occasional assistance from Google Translate, we got to know each other well. He loved playing soccer; outside of his family, that was his life.
Over the years, prior to October of 2023, I occasionally helped Mahmoud. One time, I saw online that he was selling his bicycle, and I asked him why. He said he was short on his rent, so I ‘bought’ his bicycle. I sent him the $60.00 he was asking for it, telling him that I would use it when I eventually visited Gaza.
Once the genocide began, I provided him with more assistance. I was able to send him money on several occasions, and he purchased a tent, generator and recharger early on. However, he was only able to keep them for a short time; the next evacuation order came, and he and his family had to grab what they could carry and run to relative safety, leaving many necessities behind. This was repeated many times; he and his family had to flee their makeshift tents at least 20 times in twenty months.
My personal resources being far from unlimited, in the spring I hosted a piano concert in my home, performed by a friend who is a concert pianist. With twenty-five people crowded into my living room and dining room, we raised sufficient funds for me to help Mahmoud and a few other families. A second such concert, this time to be held in a venue that holds 400 people, is scheduled for July 26. Mahmoud was hopeful that I would raise enough money for him to be able to purchase a tent.
This morning, July 19, on Facebook, I received a very terse message: “Do you know Mahmoud? He died.” I responded, sending a picture of Mahmoud, and asking if that was the same person. I hoped there was some mistake. I also immediately sent a message to Mahmoud, asking that he contact me as soon as possible.
A few hours later, it was confirmed that my friend had been killed at a ‘food distribution’ site, aka Israel- and U.S. – sponsored killing field. The mutual friend who contacted me with the information asked if I wanted to see a picture of his bloody body. I do, eventually, but I told him not today; I just couldn’t bear it.
Every week, for the last 92 weeks, there has been a Grief Walk in Kitchener, Ontario, the town I live in. It started when the genocide began, and we walk silently, carrying signs, expressing our grief over the loss of Palestinian children. I have missed very few of these walks during that time. Today, the grief was and is more intense and personal. Mahmoud was not a child, of course, but he was someone I knew personally, a friend whose family I also knew. He was not just a name, or a faceless and unknown individual, but someone I had grown to love as a brother over the years we knew each other.
I consider myself to be a person of empathy; I can feel deeply for the suffering of others, even those I don’t know personally. But I did know Mahmoud personally, and I am grieving deeply for this loss. But who am I? At least 60,000 Palestinians have been slaughtered in this genocide – some estimates put that number much higher – and each of those people had multiple loved ones who – like me – are grieving for them. Mahmoud’s family now is without a young man with the energy and strength to walk up to 30 kilometres a day looking for food; I can’t imagine how they will manage. My grief isn’t unique, but it is shared now in a more personal way that it was before.
I will always remember Mahmoud: his strength, courage, resilience and determination. I told him more than once that he was an inspiration and example to me. He is truly a martyr, and while there may be glory in that in Islam and Christianity, it does nothing to lessen to pain of those left behind.
My sadness today is deep, but not overwhelming; I simply won’t let it be. I must still prepare for the concert next week, still march on Saturday mornings, still write, speak out and act in any way possible for global adherence to international law, respect for human rights and the liberation of Palestine. I have advocated for Palestine for years because it is the right thing to do. I have done it for people I know there, and people I have never met. And now I do it, too, in memory of my dear friend Mahmoud.
* Robert Fantina’s latest book is Propaganda, Lies and False Flags: How the U.S. Justifies its Wars.
