A young girl recently walked into the psychiatry department. Though she struggled to speak even a word, I could already see so many emotions wrapping her face. In the past few weeks, amid the genocide in Gaza, Palestinians all across the West Bank and Bethlehem have reported a spurt in mental health issues.
Believe it or not, but as a fifth-year medical student, I see so many people coming to me, people who are silently suffering from depression and anxiety. And most of them suffer from PTSD due to a genocide-like situation that has been going on for over 75 years. Unfortunately, there has never been any consolidated data to substantiate the mental health conditions of Palestinians.
My own life has been spent under occupation, restricted by apartheid walls. After attending to patients all day and risking my life through tens and hundreds of checkpoints, I take time out to practice Dabke, a form of Levitanine folk dance that has become my form of self-expression and a symbol of resistance.
Dabke, as a form of art, existed much, much before the occupation. It was created when people would build houses and they needed to step on mud on the roof. The movement created a rhythm of togetherness. Later, with more pucca houses coming up, the practice took the shape of art and went on to be performed at weddings and gatherings. With the occupation, it became a form of resistance. Dabke came before the occupiers and it will stand after all this is over.
Being born into the occupation, dance for me is resistance. Whether I am dancing with my relatives at weddings, or even on the stage, the form transmits through us the wave of feelings we wish to communicate to all.
The songs we use in Dabke are self-explanatory. Additionally, nowadays, the stage lighting has shifted to dark blue, black, and green. For me, dance never has had any language but today it has partly become a symbol of resistance against oppression because Palestinians have never been threatened like this before. As a Palestinian dancer, I always carry the risk of going behind bars. It is not easy to choose dancing in Palestine. If you’re a Dabke dancer, you are viewed as part of the ‘Free Palestine’ resistance movement, which we proudly are. But I shall never give up on dancing because of our culture and heritage.
Dance is deeply satisfying for me. It helps me express my identity amid what is happening to our community. Much of it is who I am. And, in the context of what is happening, it is more and more critical to preserve that identity. What’s happening in Gaza is not a war because ‘war’ denotes equality of power. This is genocide and ethnic cleansing.
The Western world tells you that the West Bank is safe and peaceful but believe me there is so much beyond what the eyes can see. No one knows. Now, when someone asks me about my hopes, I laugh. How will I answer them? All hopes have been lost, our faith is broken. I have lost all faith in global leadership. Even our own leadership has failed us. All our remaining hope right now is pinned on the people of Palestine.
(As told to Shreya Basak)
(This appeared in the print as 'Depression, Anxiety… PTSD')
