Samah Fadil: This question reminds me of the call to action Rasha Abdulhadi sent to me and urged other writers to use: “Whatever sand you can throw on the gears of genocide, do it now.” Poetry is sand that can be thrown on the gears of genocide, so I agree with Solmaz—the aesthetic pleasure comes second. But, one must remember that sand is made up of trillions of particles of eroding rock. Poetry is sand but sand is not only poetry… Poetry is a tool that can be wielded by anyone—for good or bad, status or self, self or salve. In my experience, I can’t say that my poetry has changed anyone but myself, but when I think of all of the poets that have inspired me to reach for my pen, and who continue to do so, I’d like to think that in some way, we are all continuously changing with each other’s words.
The answer above was written before the recent targeted assassination of beloved Gazan poet Dr. Refaat Alareer, and feels especially haunting now. I wish more people knew of him and his work before he was martyred. I wish people knew the poets who are still breathing as much as they knew the ones who are not. But to go back to the question, what is the role of poetry in genocide? After seeing the literal hundreds of people around the world who translated Refaat’s poem “If I must die”, it’s a reminder to me that in our hundreds, in our millions, we are all Palestinian. My last interaction with Refaat was him asking me to send him a clearer image of my poem “lucid”. I was so incredibly honored he asked. I did, and I hope he got to read my words. I hope he enjoyed them. He is someone who held poetry very, very dear to his heart and someone who taught its revolutionary potential to his students. My role as a poet is to honor that legacy.
