Bricks to build a no pasarán barricade

Just the last few weeks of 2024 took away Nikki Giovanni, Zakir Hussain and Shyam Benegal, people who enriched our lives with beauty and wisdom, showing us ways to live together. For many people far away from us—in Palestine, Sudan, Ukraine—it has been a year of unrelenting loss, of feeling abandoned by the world, as if we do not know what it means to live together.

Then came news of the AAP government’s circular asking Delhi government schools to ensure they do not give admission to ‘illegal Bangladeshi migrants’ in contradiction to its own April 2024 admission circular that stated ‘Admission will not be denied to any divyang child, destitute child, refugee/ asylum seeker, homeless, migrant, orphan…’ ’

The year ends with this reinforcement of political battles being fought on the bodies of children. How can the planet survive when new kinds of borders keep getting drawn—as if a gated-communities perspective is a sustainable one? And yet, how do we live till the time the planet survives?

Scrolling through my feed every morning this year showed me that we have much to learn from the Palestinian people in thinking about how to live through these times.

In the past two years, Palestinians of all ages have taught us that the time to give up hope is—never. They have documented war crimes, reported the hypocrisy of first world countries, investigated concocted stories and called out corporate media for its biased and partisan journalism. And just as importantly, they have continued to do everyday things—grow vegetables, cook, fly kites, cycle, tell stories, paint pictures, look at the beauty of a sunset and hold on to the awe it inspires.

So, really how can we despair when they continue to fight for justice and equity with spirit, resilience and dare we say it, joy? Children’s writer and scholar Katherine Rundell made a post on Instagram for teens and young adults who were asking how to survive this time with the little power they feel they have. She offered two ideas.

The first—‘the no pasarán of the human soul’, protecting our inner self so that the evil of the world shall not pass and breach our hearts and minds. And the second—‘to insist… on hope— not passive complacency, but furious, active, politically informed, iron-willed hope—because it’s our duty to the future to refuse despair’.

I see children like 10-year-old Renad Attalah take pleasure in cooking everyday Palestinian dishes in the midst of the horrific circumstances in Gaza.

I see Bisan Owda reporting day after day, updating us on the latest attacks and still finding time to play with children or sharing the joy of finding books. I see the Gaza Sunbirds continuing to train on their bicycles and finding ways to provide aid.

These are reminders of hope. These are bricks to build the no pasarán barricade.

(Samina Mishra is a documentary filmmaker, writer and teacher based in New Delhi)