Why Must We Be Heroes?

Some of us were born into fire. Others into silence. But for us in Gaza—our first breath came with the taste of fear. The world met us with its back turned.

Sometimes our pain, hunger, and fear get romanticized or turned into some kind of heroic
narrative—as if we chose this, or as if we endure it because we want to.

The truth is these things are forced on us. We endure them because we have no other choice,
not because we’re trying to be strong or magical.

But that doesn’t mean we’re not strong. We are. Just surviving in these conditions is an act of strength. And the world should feel ashamed—every single day—for watching us on the news and continuing like nothing is happening.

What hurts the most is that we’re forced to turn our pain into something poetic or “resilient”
because otherwise it’s just unbearable. And yes, maybe it brings awareness or tears, but it also hides a deeper injustice: that we even have to endure this at all.

We shouldn’t have to be resilient. We should be safe. We should be allowed to live, like
anyone else. That’s the point. We didn’t choose to be heroes. We never wanted to be heroes.
We just want to live—like everyone else.

So yes, maybe we are strong. But we shouldn’t have to prove it every day just to survive.

Why must we be heroes just to satisfy the spectators who feel a false thrill of victory watching us? Why must we humiliate ourselves to this extent?

What use is a homeland if we cannot live in it peacefully?

What use is resistance if it is against an enemy who surpasses us by thousands of years in
weapons and equipment?

Why must we die of hunger and oppression?

Why must my little child grow up learning the bitterness of deprivation, the meaning of hunger, and the sound of rockets—before he even learns to write his name?

What crime have we committed?

Why must we be born Palestinians?

It is a true curse that haunts us forever.

I hate everything.

I hate the homeland, I hate the resistance, I hate the enemy, I hate humanity, and I hate the whole world—there is more evil in this world than all the nightmares combined.

I hate that I am here, and I hate that I want to leave this place.

I hate the homeland, and I hate that I hate it.

I don’t know if you will understand me, but all these are feelings piled up inside me, pushing me to explode in the face of the whole world.

T.S. is a young mother and writer in Gaza. She has been accepted to a graduate program in the United States and prefers to remain anonymous.