Have you heard of Handala? He’s a little cartoon boy with his back turned and his hands clasped behind his back, a posture I find myself instinctually taking at protests like these.
Handala turned his back to the audience in 1973 and became a symbol of refusal and more – in the words of the man who drew him, Handala was “the arrow of the compass, pointing steadily towards Palestine. Not just Palestine in geographical terms, but Palestine in its humanitarian sense—the symbol of a just cause, whether it is located in Egypt, Vietnam or South Africa.”
I say “was” because the man who drew him was gunned down long ago, about a year after I was born. That kind of thing happened a lot to the cultural resistance.
So Handala can’t be drawn in exactly the same way anymore, and maybe that’s why our bodies take on his pose. Because the compass still points to Palestine.
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I’m very tired. I couldn’t stay for the march. I couldn’t bring myself to shout any slogans or clap with much gusto. I’m tired of the slogans anyway. I pray this child won’t have to shout them one day. I pray this child won’t ever know the fear other children now feel. That’s all I can muster up today: some thoughts and some prayers. I know.
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