For decades, Palestinians have lived under conditions that rob them of their rights, dreams, and even hope for a future. Every day brings new challenges and threats, leaving us to wonder: Is there truly a future in Palestine?
In the West Bank, a chilling reality confronts us: Israeli settlers hung banners openly saying the slogan “There is No Future in Palestine.” This hateful statement is not only tolerated but is also spreading across cities, glaring down at us from walls and roads. It has been there for over a month, yet no one deems it hate speech. These messages have not been removed; instead, they multiply and amplify a message of hostility and fear. This glaring threat reinforces the atmosphere of fear and uncertainty that has become an inseparable part of our daily existence.
As Palestinians, we are scared. Fear has become part of our daily lives as we worry about the safety of our families, homes, and future. Demolitions, attacks, arrests, threats, checkpoints, and closures constantly disrupt our lives. These actions are not random; they are part of a systematic effort to weaken our sense of stability and push us further from the hope of a better tomorrow.
The slogan “A good Arab is a dead Arab” is more than a phrase; it represents the deep-seated animosity directed at us. It’s a sentiment perpetuated by Zionist politicians and policies that aim to dehumanize Palestinians. Despite this, we are no different from other nations. We dream of raising families, building careers, and planning for a future. We are human beings who deserve dignity, safety, and the freedom to thrive, but these aspirations are consistently met with barriers.
Freedom of movement, work, and access to essential services are fundamental rights denied to us and treated like luxuries. Why must Palestinians endure so much struggle just to achieve what others take for granted? Even simple acts like going to work, attending school, or visiting a hospital become challenges that demand patience and courage. Travelling, which should be a straightforward act, feels like a privilege we are not allowed to enjoy.
I live next to a military base, and for a while, it seemed quiet. The raids on our house stopped a few years ago. But last year, everything changed. Soldiers began stopping cars, pulling people out, and interrogating them with questions like, “What are you doing here?” It is ironic because the real question should be, “What are they doing here?” The IOF were in a Palestinian neighbourhood with no settlers nearby. People are simply trying to visit family, deliver goods, or return home.
The military presence, however, has transformed our neighbourhood into a trap. Fear of being detained or harassed keeps people from passing through. Visiting loved ones or making deliveries has become an act of courage, as the risk of being stopped, interrogated, or worse looms large.
We dream of a normal life where we don’t have to live in constant fear or feel like intruders in our land. But every act of demolition, every checkpoint, and every hateful banner tells us to stop dreaming. These actions send a clear message: “You have no future here.”
Judgment often falls on us Palestinians for the choices we make, whether to endure these hardships or seek safety elsewhere. But no one has the right to dictate those choices. Our pressures are immense, and our decisions are rooted in survival instinct. We are only human, striving to endure in a world that denies us peace and security.
Foreign visitors often ask me, “What is your life like as a woman here in Palestine? Do you go to the gym, walk, or visit cafes?” I understand where this question comes from: the stereotype of the oppressed Palestinian or Arab woman. I always try to answer from a place of love, wanting to challenge this misconception. Yes, as Palestinians, we have our issues, as every community in the world does. And yes, we are working on them, even within the reality of occupation. However, we must end the occupation to create a healthier liberation movement, especially for women. Only then can we focus our struggle on demanding our rights and freedoms. When we fight for freedom, it is for all Palestinians against this oppressive regime. Liberation is a crucial first step.
Another question I am often asked is, “Do you see yourself living here your whole life?” I always answer honestly: I want to. I love my home, culture, traditions, and people. But I also want to ensure a safe future for myself and my loved ones. It is heartbreaking to fear the future in a place you call home, where you want to belong, but you are constantly reminded of the uncertainties surrounding you.
We are not asking for sympathy; we are asking for recognition of our humanity. The world must see our struggles and understand that our fight is not just for land or sovereignty. It is for the right to exist as human beings, to live without fear, and to dream of a better future.
The banners, the checkpoints, and the demolitions are all designed to strip us of hope. Yet, we hold on to hope because it is all we have. We dream of a day when Palestine will not be synonymous with struggle and despair, a day when we can live freely and peacefully like anyone else. Until then, we will continue to endure, resist, and fight for a future that feels so far away yet remains worth striving for.