my tale for you, Dr. Alareer
If I must die,
you must live
to tell my story
to sell my things
to buy a piece of cloth
and some strings,
(make it white with a long tail)
so that a child, somewhere in Gaza
while looking heaven in the eye
awaiting his dad who left in a blaze—
and bid no one farewell
not even to his flesh
not even to himself—
sees the kite, my kite you made, flying up above
and thinks for a moment an angel is there
bringing back love
If I must die
let it bring hope
let it be a tale
—Dr. Refaat Alareer (1979-2023)
I met you on October 10th through your interview on Democracy Now. It was one of, if not, the first interview I watched after Oct. 7th. I remember hearing you speak with such clarity, and you dodged the “do you condemn Hamas” question effortlessly. I first met you as Dr. Refaat Alareer, the academic. I met you again on Twitter, as Refaat in Gaza. You were also one of the first people I followed. You were the voice I listened to the most. I read your tweets every day. You were much more abrasive on Twitter. I thought you were two different people until November when I saw a clip of you on the Electronic Intifada Podcast from October 9th. I remember seeing you speak with tears in your eyes as bombs dropped in the background. I don’t know if I opened Twitter again and saw a tweet of yours, or if it just clicked at that moment, but I realized that Dr. Refaat Alareer and Refaat in Gaza were both you. The man I learned from, the man whose poems I shared, the man whose tweets gave me hope—they were all you.
I’ll never forget the poem you wrote in response to Rupi Kaur’s statement of solidarity. It made me so happy that I sent it to all of my friends.
I remember seeing your tweet “We are back, bitch @Israel” after Palestinians brought back Gaza’s telecommunications. I posted it on my Instagram story.
I remember the photo of bread highlighting Gaza’s heart. I screenshotted it and put it in my favorites folder.
Even with all the moments of light you had given the world, they did not override my worry. On December 7th, it was announced that you were assassinated by Israel. I didn’t know I could cry so hard.
Some tweets ago, you celebrated the tens of thousands of downloads of Light in Gaza: Writing Born of Fire from Haymarket Books. You asked us to read it and tell you what we thought. I downloaded it, and I really really wanted to respond. I wanted it to be thoughtful. As an American, I didn’t want to overstep. The more childish part of me also wanted to impress you with my detailed English major analysis. By the time I had gotten to writing, it was too late.
I wish I could have told you how it felt like I was meant to read it. You wouldn’t know this, but I recently announced myself as a storyteller. I know “announced” is very formal, but it felt that big to me. In a cover letter I wrote for an internship, I fully, or at least I think, fully transitioned into the English literature girl I was meant to be. I had already switched majors and applied for jobs, but I had not called myself a writer, and I would not dare to call myself a storyteller. I hold that word—storyteller—with so much reverence that I could not call myself that. But over the last few years, especially the last two, I have found myself inching toward that title. In that cover letter, I finally claimed it. A few months later, I read Light In Gaza: Writing Born of Fire. I wish I could have told you that it was brilliant in every sense of the word. I wish I could have told you how seen I felt when I read the line “telling stories was my way of resisting.” I wish I could have told you that it is a work that defines the writer I want to be, and will guide me moving forward.
Funnily enough, you guided me through your tweets as well. My American sensibilities struggled at first with your abrasiveness. Your lack of adherence to respectability politics was something I was not used to. However, It was through you that I learned how to reject it all. It was through you that I learned I had the right to reject it. It was after your murder that I realized I probably got my readings from you as well. When I told my friend, he dismissed me a little bit, saying that the same articles get circulated on Twitter. But when I look at your page, I see my random bookmarks. I bookmark things I want to learn more about. The articles you shared were articles I saved. I also bookmarked the tweets that debunked propaganda or explained what to look out for. As I scrolled through everything I saved, I could only think of when I read Edward Said’s Orientalism. It was recommended to me in high school, but I got it after October 7th. His words felt so familiar to me, and it took me a bit to figure out why. It didn’t feel “novel” in the way that I thought it would because I had already been introduced to his works through the writers he inspired. He shaped my thinking before I knew who he was. Just as I learned from Edward Said without realizing it, I learned from you.
Dr. Alareer, can you see the world from heaven? Did you see the outpouring of love that came out for you? Did you see the articles published, the tweets written, and the tears shed from loved ones and strangers? Your poem “If I Must Die” has been translated over 250 times, regional dialects included, in honor of you and your life’s work. “If I Must Die” is all over NYC right now. One of our direct actions is writing your wonderful words everywhere we can. I wrote it on stickers, but that's tiny in comparison to the person who immortalized your artistry on the Brooklyn Bridge. Did you see your vigil at Washington Square Park? They read your poems and gave out expo markers because you said those were the most dangerous things in your house. If I could still tweet to you, I’d overstep and tell you that you were wrong—the most dangerous thing in your house was you. You were the man who taught Gaza English. The first-hand testimonies that blew through Israeli propaganda, that radicalized generations of people to stand up for Palestine were because of you. For countless people, you were our window to Gaza, and you educated us through your life’s work. It is not an understatement to say that the media front of the Palestine resistance would not have been possible without you. Even in death, your legacy lives on. In the words of my favorite tribute to you, you are “forever alive, forever, forever.”
In “Gaza Asks: When Shall This Pass,” you asked us readers a question: “Reader, as you peruse these chapters, what can or will you do, knowing that what you do can save lives and can change the course of history? Reader, will you make this matter?”
I wish I could tell you my answer. I have written your poem on stickers and posted them around the city. I put one at Union Square, and I’m very proud of it. I will write more. I will protest for as long as I have to, rain or shine. I’ve called and emailed my representatives, even though it feels like I am speaking to a wall. I’ve posted so much, and I will continue to. I’ve read and read and read, and I’ve been collecting all the resources I've learned from to share them with people. The scariest thing I’ve done was talking to people, specifically family and friends. But, I will do it again, no matter how I feel about it. Everyone needs to know about Palestine and what they can do to help. The most important thing I want to do is write. I will write about Palestine, the Congo, Sudan, Puerto Rico, and all nations fighting against colonialism. I already started, and I want to learn more. One of your students posted your creative writing lectures on Twitter, and I plan to watch them over Christmas break. I’ve already watched one of your classes and I loved it. I can’t help but think about whether you would like me as a student or not. According to your students, you were a tough grader, and I don’t do well with tough graders. I think we would mutually frustrate each other, but I would always feel grateful to have had you as a teacher.
I wish I could say thank you Dr. Alareer, and tell you that you are my model for resistance. You are loved, and you will be missed.
And to the 18,800+ martyrs, I’m sorry I cannot write about you in such detail. I wish I could have gotten to know you all and remember you individually. You were each one in a million. With all the love I have in me, I hope you rest well. I don’t know if I believe in God or not, or in an afterlife, but I do believe in angels. You were angels on this earth.
Below, I have attached Dr. Alareer’s works and other things, as well as tributes written about him. Please read his works, and read the works of his students whom he loved so dearly. Thousands of brilliant minds have been lost, and we must remember them. But, it is just as important to love people when they are living. Learn people’s names before they leave us.
For learning about Palestine and Palestinian Liberation, please please please check out the wonderful and extensive collection of resources that is Decolonize Palestine.
For motivation, here is some from Dr. Alareer himself. In “Gaza Asks: When Shall This Pass,” he writes: And as Gaza keeps gasping for life, we struggle for it to pass, we have no choice but to fight back and to tell her stories. For Palestine.”
Refaat Alareer’s Works, Lectures, and more:
Gaza Writes Back, edited by Refaat Alareer
Gaza Unsilenced, edited by Refaat Alareer
“Gaza Asks: When Shall This Pass?” in Light in Gaza: Writings Born of Fire
Haymarket Books is offering the Ebook of the Light in Gaza: Writings Born of Fire for free, in addition to a discounted paperback and hardcover.
Stories make us | Refaat Alareer | TEDxShujaiya
Listen to Dr. Alareer speak about the power of fiction here
“My Child Asks, ‘Can Israel Destroy Our Building if the Power Is Out?’” by Refaat Alareer
“They even keep our corpses: Dying in Israeli prisons” by Refaat Alareer
“The story of my brother, martyr Mohammed Alareer” by Refaat Alareer
“Gaza Writes Back: Narrating Palestine” by Refaat Alareer
“The 1948 Palestinian Nakba Continues Today” by Refaat Alareer and Talal el-Nabih
“O’live Tree” by Refaat Alareer
Read more of Dr. Alareer’s poems on his website here
“The Voice Notes Poet Refaat Alareer Sent Before His Death” by Yasmeen Serhan
“Make some noise: Malcolm X in Gaza” by Joe Catron
Listen to Dr. Alareer speak about Malcolm X here
Watch Dr. Alareer’s lectures on his YouTube channel
Watch part one of his creative writing course here
Written Tributes by Students, Family, and Friends:
“‘If I must die, let it be a tale’: a tribute to Refaat Alareer” by Max Blumenthal
“In memory of Dr. Refaat Alareer” by the Electronic Intifada
““What existence is worth”: The Martyrdom of Refaat Alareer” by Louis Allday
“Refaat Alareer taught life” by Mahmoud Alyazji
“Speak up! We owe it to Refaat” by Asem al-Nabih
“Rest in power, Refaat Alareer” by Khaled Al-Qershali
“Our pens will honor Refaat Alareer” by Wesam Thabet
“A student's tribute to mentor Refaat Alareer, Gaza’s beloved storyteller” by Yousef M. Al Jamal
“Israel has killed Dr. Refaat Alareer, impactful teacher, writer, activist” by Helena Cobban
Honoring Dr. Refaat Alareer on day 66 of Gaza's Al-Aqsa Flood | The Electronic Intifada Podcast