We see the Other,
and they are blue.
And we see the Other,
but they are us.
They are blue and disguised
only slightly
by another planet and another language,
Disguised just slightly
in the guise of fiction.
But we see the Other.
We are the Other,
The Na’vi,
the blue people.
Where war is fought over land
Were precious resources
are the cause for blood and struggle and mothers’ tears
The world, right beyond the window
is bombed and shelled,
it is taken with guns and threats
it is taken by the hands of zealots.
And it is taken,
by those with another language,
by those with other plans
and other dreams.
And though this theater is dark,
and though this is disguised by fiction,
by a big budget and special effects
and James Cameron
and a movie marquee that reads
AVATAR
in big black letters,
and though I still have the money for popcorn
and the children spit
sunflower seeds on the ground
with rhythmic authority,
we still see the Other.
We see us.
We are blue.
We are big eared.
We are the dispossessed.
We are the Na’vi
after the land is stolen,
after the water has run dry and the olive trees have been butchered
and our brothers have been sent to their jails.
We are the Na’vi after 60 years of repression,
after blood, after constant war,
after the grasp has tightened and tightened,
ever so slowly
and now I just cannot breathe.
And I write,
and I see,
and I talk.
I see this fiction,
and I see this true story.
I see me,
my brothers,
my sisters,
all wishing for the land we once farmed and knew.
I see what we want behind rows of tanks, bullets and armor.
We are the Palestinians,
the Na’vi,
the real beyond the fiction.
One side of the fragmented stone,
just one of many who have lost their trees and ancestors and whispers.
We have lost it all
for our resources,
for soil and water and fruits,
for an ideology that can smother even the sharpest eyes.
This is a world of blind men and mute women.
If only we could fly,
If I could ride the dragon of the sky
and defeat those who come with their single minded plans,
but this is not fiction,
this is not a film.
The small have been defeated,
though we march through the forests of failure,
wearing blue and marching towards the fences that create our prison.
Watch us, as you have watched the Other.
The world is a million theater screens,
and the lives behind them drip with real blood,
and taste of sweat
and scream with the nightmare of living,
the nightmare that our lives have become.
We are the Na’vi,
the Palestinians
the Other.
and they are blue.
And we see the Other,
but they are us.
They are blue and disguised
only slightly
by another planet and another language,
Disguised just slightly
in the guise of fiction.
But we see the Other.
We are the Other,
The Na’vi,
the blue people.
Where war is fought over land
Were precious resources
are the cause for blood and struggle and mothers’ tears
The world, right beyond the window
is bombed and shelled,
it is taken with guns and threats
it is taken by the hands of zealots.
And it is taken,
by those with another language,
by those with other plans
and other dreams.
And though this theater is dark,
and though this is disguised by fiction,
by a big budget and special effects
and James Cameron
and a movie marquee that reads
AVATAR
in big black letters,
and though I still have the money for popcorn
and the children spit
sunflower seeds on the ground
with rhythmic authority,
we still see the Other.
We see us.
We are blue.
We are big eared.
We are the dispossessed.
We are the Na’vi
after the land is stolen,
after the water has run dry and the olive trees have been butchered
and our brothers have been sent to their jails.
We are the Na’vi after 60 years of repression,
after blood, after constant war,
after the grasp has tightened and tightened,
ever so slowly
and now I just cannot breathe.
And I write,
and I see,
and I talk.
I see this fiction,
and I see this true story.
I see me,
my brothers,
my sisters,
all wishing for the land we once farmed and knew.
I see what we want behind rows of tanks, bullets and armor.
We are the Palestinians,
the Na’vi,
the real beyond the fiction.
One side of the fragmented stone,
just one of many who have lost their trees and ancestors and whispers.
We have lost it all
for our resources,
for soil and water and fruits,
for an ideology that can smother even the sharpest eyes.
This is a world of blind men and mute women.
If only we could fly,
If I could ride the dragon of the sky
and defeat those who come with their single minded plans,
but this is not fiction,
this is not a film.
The small have been defeated,
though we march through the forests of failure,
wearing blue and marching towards the fences that create our prison.
Watch us, as you have watched the Other.
The world is a million theater screens,
and the lives behind them drip with real blood,
and taste of sweat
and scream with the nightmare of living,
the nightmare that our lives have become.
We are the Na’vi,
the Palestinians
the Other.
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