Displacements

In this chapter, Barghouti reflects on the multiple layers of displacement experienced by Palestinians, both physically and emotionally. He begins by contemplating how displacement creates a constant sense of estrangement, even within one’s own memories. He notes that being displaced once leads to a perpetual state of uprooting: “It is enough for a person to go through the first experience of uprooting to become uprooted forever”. This metaphorical fall, like slipping on the first step of a staircase, sets off a chain of events that leads to a life of improvisation and insecurity. Barghouti illustrates how life in exile forces one to adapt to unfamiliar surroundings, but even then, the feeling of strangeness never fully dissipates. Over time, the exile becomes accustomed to the exceptional nature of their circumstances, viewing it as "natural." He expresses the paradox of longing for both closeness and distance simultaneously, embodying the tensions between attachment and separation. This sense of duality is prevalent throughout the chapter, as Barghouti reflects on how the exiled individual lives with a fragmented identity.

Barghouti recounts his experience of staying connected to his son, Tamim, through phone calls while living apart due to his deportation from Egypt. Despite the separation, he and his wife, Radwa, tried to create an atmosphere of joy and normalcy for Tamim, who grew up in Cairo while Barghouti lived in exile. Barghouti acknowledges the absurdity of feeling bitter about personal family separation when all Palestinian families, both in the diaspora and in Palestine, suffer from far greater tragedies. The chapter delves into the losses caused by war and displacement. Barghouti recalls the death of his father and the pain of not being able to attend his funeral due to the restrictions on his travel. The sense of helplessness that accompanies this distance is captured poignantly when he writes: “And the distance between my loved ones and me is uglier than a government”. This line encapsulates the emotional and physical toll of displacement, where political barriers prevent even the most basic acts of mourning and familial connection.

Barghouti reflects on his son Tamim’s upbringing in exile, noting how Tamim, despite being born in Cairo, yearns for Palestine like an old refugee who has never seen the land. Tamim’s connection to his Palestinian heritage is symbolized through his attachment to family stories and traditions, even though he has never physically experienced them. He is angry about the cutting down of a fig tree at Dar Ra’d, a tree he has never seen but considers a vital part of his identity. Barghouti expands his reflection on the nature of exile, describing it as a condition that extends beyond the physical realm to affect one’s emotional and psychological state. He recalls the isolation and loneliness that accompany weddings in exile, such as the wedding of his friend I’tiqal in Budapest. This wedding, devoid of the traditional joy and family connections, becomes a symbol of how exile diminishes even life’s most celebratory moments. Barghouti muses on whether the homeland could cure this pervasive sorrow, but he ultimately concludes that exile reshapes one’s very existence, creating a permanent fracture.

The chapter also explores Jerusalem as both a physical and symbolic entity. Barghouti contrasts the global focus on Jerusalem’s religious and political significance with the everyday lives of Palestinians in the city. He notes how the occupation has severed the connection between Palestinians and their Jerusalem, limiting access and transforming it into a symbol rather than a lived reality. The Jerusalem that Barghouti remembers—full of life, markets, and daily activities—has been replaced by a city under strict control, where Palestinians’ presence is reduced to mere numbers. Barghouti closes the chapter by reflecting on the burden of identity in exile. He observes how exile forces individuals to continually prove their worth and identity, both to themselves and others. This ongoing struggle to assert one’s existence and heritage in a foreign land becomes a defining feature of life in exile, where nothing can ever be taken for granted, not even one’s connection to the homeland.