Foreword: At this point in time, I trust everyone stumbling across this piece is well-aware of the 76 years of occupation, invasions, wars, and injustice which Israel has incurred over Palestine, as well as Lebanon and Syria. I need not tell you about any of their countless atrocities nor the bloody history that accompanies them. If you feel like you need additional information, the internet will not fail you.
In the past year, I’ve grown to realize that words no longer hold meaning. They’re just empty vessels made up of letters, plastered on papers, on websites, and on social media posts, and thrown around in speeches by members of the “international community.”
I used to think there was a set of words that was reserved for “special” occasions; a vocabulary that would only be used in humanity’s darkest times. I (naively) believed that these times were few and far between, and that this set of words would have to gather dust before we would bring them back out again. And yet, for the past year, without fail, this vocabulary has been the only one we can muster up.
But you see, we’ve overused this vocabulary so much, it feels like the words it includes no longer describe the situation properly; they feel like they’re too little, too soft, too low-impact to encompass what’s currently happening in Palestine and Lebanon –and what the occupation has been enacting for the past 76 years, with impunity.
For the sake of not risking you getting lost in the maze of thoughts that I am trying to transport from my mind to my keyboard, I’m going to walk you through, one by one, each word, phrase, or statement which, in my mind, has become null.
“Our world/we/ the international community has failed Palestinians”
Perhaps this statement comes from a place of good intentions. Maybe it’s a well-meaning attempt to acknowledge the overwhelming injustice that Palestinians have faced for decades. Maybe I shouldn’t be too quick to dismiss it as hollow rhetoric. But when you hear this phrase over and over again, it starts to ring empty. It becomes a statement of resigned acknowledgement rather than a call to action.
The truth is, “failure” implies that there was a sincere effort to begin with. Leaders of the very countries that refuse to place arm embargos, that consistently funnel money into the very forces that are killing Palestinians, Lebanese, and Syrians, that supply the very weapons, and that ally with the occupation say that they’ve “failed” Palestinians. Under the same breath, they make their speeches, calling on the “international community” to act and asking the beast to be tamed when they (1) make up the “international community” and (2) feed and sustain the beast.
The international community hasn’t “failed” Palestinians by accident. By saying “We’ve failed,” the world distances itself from the complicity it bears. It’s as if the issue is out of their hands; an unfortunate circumstance rather than a deliberate decision. Therefore, this statement is an excuse for those in power, and people in relative places of privilege, to absolve themselves of responsibility.
“Thoughts and prayers”
This statement is perhaps one of the most universally repeated, most tiresome, and most frustrating things to read or hear when tragedy strikes. Again, I need not say that I know it may stem from good intentions. Nevertheless, it’s also a reflex; a way to express sorrow without feeling responsible. The truth is, this statement offers a momentary escape from guilt, a brief signal of empathy that requires no real action.
“Thoughts and prayers” are easy. They don’t require individuals to confront the root causes of violence. They don’t challenge people to demand or seek accountability. They don’t compel governments to stop supplying weapons to an occupying force that has wiped out 1206 Gazan families off the civil registry in one year. They don’t put an end to the occupation’s targeting of paramedics and first responders in Lebanon. They allow the average person to carry about their day after uttering these three words, the thought of all those who have been slaughtered in Palestine and Lebanon to be pushed into the deepest crevices of the brain, no longer to be thought of.
“Injured”
I first started contemplating the word “injured” when a friend of mine pointed out how limiting it is. It got me thinking. The word “injured” sounds almost trivial, like a scrape or a bruise, a condition that will eventually heal over time. It fails to capture the sheer brutality of the violence that the occupation is inflicting on people in Palestine and Lebanon, and the irreversible damage they endure as a result.
To call the survivors of these attacks “injured” is to diminish the reality of what they go through. It ignores the limbs that are blown off, the children who wake up without arms, legs, or even parents, the men and women whose faces are left unrecognizable. Gaza’s Health Ministry estimates that over 10,000 Gazans have lost a limb in the past year, 4000 of which are children. Following the pager attacks on September 17 & 18, when Israel detonated thousands of pagers and wireless devices used by members of Hezbollah across Lebanon, an ophthalmologist caring for the patients said he has “never had to remove this many eyes before” in the 25 years of his career.
“Injured” suggests recovery, but for many, there is no full recovery— there is only survival, and survival often comes with a body– or mind– that will never be whole again. Another individual suggested the word “maimed” as an alternative, and it makes more sense to me. Maimed bodies reflect the depth of trauma –both physical and psychological– that extends far beyond the battlefield. These are not just “injuries” that fade, they are permanent markers of the violence inflicted upon them by the aggressor.
“Massacre”
A massacre should stop the world in its tracks. I have long associated this word with historical contexts – granted, near-historical contexts. I am reminded of the likes of the Deir Yassin Massacre in 1948, the Sabra and Shatila Massacre in 1982, or the Qana Massacre in 1996. I’m sure older generations have lost their faith both in the (weight which the) word (holds in the international community) and the world itself, before me. Now, in some way, I feel the same.
Phonetically, the word still remains heavy: I cannot say it without feeling the effort my mouth’s muscles put in. Yet my mind cannot understand how this word does not evoke the reaction it should. Maybe that’s why I’ve lost some faith in what it can represent. Each time we use the word, everyday we uncover a massacre in Gaza, in the West Bank, or in Lebanon, the world responds with less and less urgency, as if the routine nature of violence has made even the word itself too familiar and too expected.
On August 10, Israel killed more than 100 Palestinians in a strike on al-Tabin school in Gaza. On Sunday September 29, Israel killed 45 people when they struck a building in Ain el-Delb, South Lebanon. Oh what, another “massacre”? Another round of condemnations? These events trigger a familiar cycle: reports of atrocities surface, brief outrage flickers, and then—nothing.
And what happens to the word itself? It becomes a label, stripped of its ability to horrify. Just like that, I began understanding where my –and many other– Lebanese parents’ cynicism emerged from.
I find that the word “massacre” is no longer enough for me. I still shiver when it’s mentioned in its Arabic format – majzara – but I have lost faith in the English equivalent. It has been said far too much without proper action taken to halt it from happening. It can no longer describe the pain, the destruction, and the brutality of the action like it perhaps did before. I now stare at the word and trace its letters in my brain, but I can no longer comprehend it. Or maybe I have comprehended it too much.
“Genocide”
When we invoke this word, we are not just speaking of loss; we are speaking of an intent to erase; to annihilate a culture, a history, a community, and its future. Can you imagine that this is one of the words I’m decrying as “not enough”? As too diluted or too stretched thin to describe the situation in Palestine?
A year (and 75 years) in, the word should be unavoidable. And yet, it is frequently sidestepped, reduced to a mere accusation– politically inconvenient, controversial, or inflammatory. To many, it is a word reserved for history books or distant tragedies. Currently, the definition of the word is contested in international forms and is only reserved for the “experts,” as though the suffering of an entire people can be negotiated and discussed, with nothing behind us but time to deliberate. This in itself is an indicator; these experts, politicians, and academics are telling us that genocide can only ever be recognized until decades after it takes place. It will only be useful in the “never again” discourses, in class modules, and in historical docuseries.
I no longer feel this word as I once did, maybe because I cannot fathom how we have used this word with so much frequency, yet it has invoked no major action. Sure, it has mobilized masses to take to the streets, to scream, and to boycott —all this is objectively moving, but the genocide persists. It is still live streamed on our phones, it is still enabled, it is still funded.
So tell me, does the world fear this word enough?
Words that can no longer bear the weight
We live in a time where language struggles to keep pace with the scale of human suffering. It’s weird, how words that are meant to provoke action the most feel like empty shells, repeated so often and falling on unwilling listeners, they barely register. Yet, it is not the words themselves that have failed, but the world’s ability to hold them up to their full meaning.
Rest assured, the intention behind this piece is not to create a new vocabulary or a new language. The odds are, we’ll just be making up more words to dismiss and hollow out of their meanings.
Michelle Eid
Michelle is an editor, and researcher. Her research focuses on matters concerning socio-economic rights and development in the MENA region, such as the right to health, food sovereignty, agriculture and more. She is also the Editor-in-Chief of Al Rawiya.
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