Allow me to speak my Arab tongue
before they occupy my language as well.
Allow me to speak my mother tongue
before they colonise her memory as well.
I am an Arab woman of color.
and we come in all shades of anger.
All my grandfather ever wanted to do
was wake up at dawn and watch my grandmother kneel and pray
in a village hidden between Jaffa and Haifa
my mother was born under an olive tree
on a soil they say is no longer mine
but I will cross their barriers, their check points
their damn apartheid walls and return to my homeland
I am an Arab woman of colour and we come in all shades of anger.
And did you hear my sister screaming yesterday
as she gave birth at a check point
with Israeli soldiers looking between her legs
for their next demographic threat
called her baby girl “Janeen”.
And did you hear Amni Mona screaming
behind their prison bars as they teargassed her cell
“We’re returning to Palestine!”
I am an Arab woman of colour and we come in all shades of anger.
But you tell me, this womb inside me
will only bring you your next terrorist
beard wearing, gun waving, towelhead, sand nigger
You tell me, I send my children out to die
but those are your copters, your F16′s in our sky
And let’s talk about this terrorism business for a second
Wasn’t it the CIA that killed Allende and Lumumba
and who trained Osama in the first place
My grandparents didn’t run around like clowns
with the white capes and the white hoods on their heads lynching black people
I am an Arab woman of colour and we come in all shades of anger.
“So who is that brown woman screaming in the demonstration?”
Sorry, should I not scream?
I forgot to be your every orientalist dream
Jinnee in a bottle, belly dancer, harem girl, soft spoken Arab woman
Yes master, no master.
Thank you for the peanut butter sandwiches
raining down on us from your F16′s master
Yes my liberators are here to kill my children
and call them “collateral damage”
I am an Arab woman of colour and we come in all shades of anger.
So let me just tell you this womb inside me
will only bring you your next rebel
She will have a rock in one hand and a Palestinian flag in the other
I am an Arab woman of color
Beware! Beware my anger…
before they occupy my language as well.
Allow me to speak my mother tongue
before they colonise her memory as well.
I am an Arab woman of color.
and we come in all shades of anger.
All my grandfather ever wanted to do
was wake up at dawn and watch my grandmother kneel and pray
in a village hidden between Jaffa and Haifa
my mother was born under an olive tree
on a soil they say is no longer mine
but I will cross their barriers, their check points
their damn apartheid walls and return to my homeland
I am an Arab woman of colour and we come in all shades of anger.
And did you hear my sister screaming yesterday
as she gave birth at a check point
with Israeli soldiers looking between her legs
for their next demographic threat
called her baby girl “Janeen”.
And did you hear Amni Mona screaming
behind their prison bars as they teargassed her cell
“We’re returning to Palestine!”
I am an Arab woman of colour and we come in all shades of anger.
But you tell me, this womb inside me
will only bring you your next terrorist
beard wearing, gun waving, towelhead, sand nigger
You tell me, I send my children out to die
but those are your copters, your F16′s in our sky
And let’s talk about this terrorism business for a second
Wasn’t it the CIA that killed Allende and Lumumba
and who trained Osama in the first place
My grandparents didn’t run around like clowns
with the white capes and the white hoods on their heads lynching black people
I am an Arab woman of colour and we come in all shades of anger.
“So who is that brown woman screaming in the demonstration?”
Sorry, should I not scream?
I forgot to be your every orientalist dream
Jinnee in a bottle, belly dancer, harem girl, soft spoken Arab woman
Yes master, no master.
Thank you for the peanut butter sandwiches
raining down on us from your F16′s master
Yes my liberators are here to kill my children
and call them “collateral damage”
I am an Arab woman of colour and we come in all shades of anger.
So let me just tell you this womb inside me
will only bring you your next rebel
She will have a rock in one hand and a Palestinian flag in the other
I am an Arab woman of color
Beware! Beware my anger…
Contributed by Pierre Andre Lienhard - 2024/2/26 - 21:43
Shades of Anger, from the album Hadeel, 2009
An interview with Palestinian poet, Rafeef Ziadah
in: Women's View on News, May 14, 2012
An interview with Palestinian poet, Rafeef Ziadah
in: Women's View on News, May 14, 2012
An interview with Palestinian poet, Rafeef Ziadah | Women's Views on News
An interview with Palestine refugee, Rafeef Ziadah on her thoughts and dreams for Palestine.
[...] “My family are refugees to Haifa,” she says. “But part of my family are internally displaced inside Israel.”
Ziadah was born in Beirut, a third generation refugee. Some of her first childhood memories were of the 1982 siege and bombing of Beirut.
“After that, my family left Beirut and we were always travelling around being stateless Palestinians, constantly deported from one country to the other, until I finally settled in Canada to do my PhD”, she says. “I have only recently come to London.”
Although she has never visited Palestine herself, Ziadah recalled the deeply entrenched memories of her elders:
“Most people in exile miss a place that they know. We miss a place that we don’t know.
“We miss a place that we just hear about and it is a home that we are told of and I think it’s holding onto that idea that we have a home and that we will return to our home, which is what I try to hold onto in all my work and to speak about in all my poems. [...]
Ziadah was born in Beirut, a third generation refugee. Some of her first childhood memories were of the 1982 siege and bombing of Beirut.
“After that, my family left Beirut and we were always travelling around being stateless Palestinians, constantly deported from one country to the other, until I finally settled in Canada to do my PhD”, she says. “I have only recently come to London.”
Although she has never visited Palestine herself, Ziadah recalled the deeply entrenched memories of her elders:
“Most people in exile miss a place that they know. We miss a place that we don’t know.
“We miss a place that we just hear about and it is a home that we are told of and I think it’s holding onto that idea that we have a home and that we will return to our home, which is what I try to hold onto in all my work and to speak about in all my poems. [...]
Pierre Andre Lienhard - 2024/2/26 - 22:12
Language: Italian
Traduzione italiana tratta da Al di là del Buco - abbatto i muri
Ho scritto questa poesia mentre stavo facendo un’azione diretta nella mia università.C’erano cittadini palestinesi e soldati israeliani. Mi sento parecchio piccola in questa situazione così ho pensato: “Sarò soltanto una palestinese, mi rifiuto di essere una colonizzatrice o una militare!” Così ero stesa a terra e questo tizio è venuto, mi ha tirato un calcio all’altezza dell’intestino e ha detto: “ti meriti di essere stuprata prima di avere i tuoi figli terroristi!”
Al momento non ho risposto nulla, ma poi ho scritto questa poesia per questo giovane gentiluomo.
Al momento non ho risposto nulla, ma poi ho scritto questa poesia per questo giovane gentiluomo.
TUTTE LE SFUMATURE DI RABBIA
Permettimi di parlare in arabo, la mia lingua, prima che occupino anche quella
Permettimi di parlare la mia lingua madre prima che colonizzino anche la sua memoria
Sono una donna araba di colore e noi veniamo con tutte le sfumature di rabbia
Tutto ciò che mio nonno ha mai desiderato fare era alzarsi all’alba
e guardare mia nonna inginocchiarsi
e pregare in un villaggio nascosto tra Yaffah e Haiffa.
Mia madre è nata sotto un albero di olivo
in una terra che dicono non è più mia.
Ma io attraverserò le loro barriere,
i loro checkpoints, il loro dannato muro di apartheid
e ritornerò alla mia terra d’origine.
E hai sentito mia sorella urlare ieri,
mentre partoriva ad un checkpoint
con i soldati israeliani che le guardavano tra le gambe
la loro prossima minaccia demografica? Ha chiamato la sua bambina Janeen.
E hai sentito Amna Muna che urlava dietro le sbarre della sua prigione
mentre riempivano di gas la sua cella?
Stiamo tornando a Falasteen
Sono una donna araba di colore e noi veniamo con tutte le sfumature di rabbia
Ma tu mi dici che il mio utero ti porterà solo il prossimo terrorista.
Che si fa crescere la barba, armato di pistola, con un copricapo, negro di sabbia.
Tu mi dici che mando i miei figli a morire
Ma quelli sono i tuoi fighi cani da guardia
i tuoi F16 nel nostro cielo
E parliamo del business del terrorismo, per un secondo
Non è la Cia ad uccidere
E che ha portato Osama al potere?
I miei nonni non sono andati in giro come pagliacci
Con cappe bianche e cappucci bianchi
A linciare gente di colore.
Sono una donna araba di colore e noi veniamo con tutte le sfumature di rabbia
Così, chi è quella donna nera che urla durante una manifestazione?
Scusate. Non dovrei urlare?
Ho dimenticato di essere il tuo sogno orientale,
il genio nella bottiglia, la danzatrice del ventre, la ragazza dell’harem, la donna araba che parla a bassa voce.
– “Si signore. No signore. Grazie per i panini al burro d’arachidi che ci piovono addosso dagli F16 del padrone”
Sì, i miei liberatori stanno uccidendo i miei figli e li chiamano danni collaterali.
Sono una donna araba di colore e noi veniamo con tutte le sfumature di rabbia
Allora lascia solo che ti dica, questo mio utero ti porterà soltanto il prossimo ribelle
con una pietra in una mano
e una bandiera palestinese nell’altra.
Sono una donna araba di colore
State attenti, state attenti alla mia rabbia.
Permettimi di parlare in arabo, la mia lingua, prima che occupino anche quella
Permettimi di parlare la mia lingua madre prima che colonizzino anche la sua memoria
Sono una donna araba di colore e noi veniamo con tutte le sfumature di rabbia
Tutto ciò che mio nonno ha mai desiderato fare era alzarsi all’alba
e guardare mia nonna inginocchiarsi
e pregare in un villaggio nascosto tra Yaffah e Haiffa.
Mia madre è nata sotto un albero di olivo
in una terra che dicono non è più mia.
Ma io attraverserò le loro barriere,
i loro checkpoints, il loro dannato muro di apartheid
e ritornerò alla mia terra d’origine.
E hai sentito mia sorella urlare ieri,
mentre partoriva ad un checkpoint
con i soldati israeliani che le guardavano tra le gambe
la loro prossima minaccia demografica? Ha chiamato la sua bambina Janeen.
E hai sentito Amna Muna che urlava dietro le sbarre della sua prigione
mentre riempivano di gas la sua cella?
Stiamo tornando a Falasteen
Sono una donna araba di colore e noi veniamo con tutte le sfumature di rabbia
Ma tu mi dici che il mio utero ti porterà solo il prossimo terrorista.
Che si fa crescere la barba, armato di pistola, con un copricapo, negro di sabbia.
Tu mi dici che mando i miei figli a morire
Ma quelli sono i tuoi fighi cani da guardia
i tuoi F16 nel nostro cielo
E parliamo del business del terrorismo, per un secondo
Non è la Cia ad uccidere
E che ha portato Osama al potere?
I miei nonni non sono andati in giro come pagliacci
Con cappe bianche e cappucci bianchi
A linciare gente di colore.
Sono una donna araba di colore e noi veniamo con tutte le sfumature di rabbia
Così, chi è quella donna nera che urla durante una manifestazione?
Scusate. Non dovrei urlare?
Ho dimenticato di essere il tuo sogno orientale,
il genio nella bottiglia, la danzatrice del ventre, la ragazza dell’harem, la donna araba che parla a bassa voce.
– “Si signore. No signore. Grazie per i panini al burro d’arachidi che ci piovono addosso dagli F16 del padrone”
Sì, i miei liberatori stanno uccidendo i miei figli e li chiamano danni collaterali.
Sono una donna araba di colore e noi veniamo con tutte le sfumature di rabbia
Allora lascia solo che ti dica, questo mio utero ti porterà soltanto il prossimo ribelle
con una pietra in una mano
e una bandiera palestinese nell’altra.
Sono una donna araba di colore
State attenti, state attenti alla mia rabbia.
×
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Note for non-Italian users: Sorry, though the interface of this website is translated into English, most commentaries and biographies are in Italian and/or in other languages like French, German, Spanish, Russian etc.
Her performance of poems like ‘We Teach Life, Sir’ and ‘Shades of Anger’ went viral within days of its release. Her live readings offer a moving blend of poetry and music. Since releasing her first album, Rafeef has headlined prestigious performance venues across several countries with powerful readings on war, exile, gender and racism.
Rafeef’s debut ablum Hadeel is dedicated to Palestinian youth, who still fly kites in the face of F16 bombers, who still remember the names of their villages in Palestine and still hear the sound of Hadeel over Gaza.
About - Rafeef Ziadah
Although Ziadah began writing at a very early age, her first public performance was not until 2004, while studying at York University, Toronto, in reaction to an incident during a creative action demonstration. During the demonstration, students recreated a checkpoint with Israeli soldiers and Palestinian civilians.
“I was one of the citizens lying on the floor, being Palestinian,” Ziadah explained.
“A Zionist came by – the demonstrations at York are always heated – and as I was lying on the floor, he kicked me right in the gut and said, ‘you deserve to be raped before you have your terrorist children’.” She admits that the deeply felt hatred from the student was both shocking and disgusting to her. “The only way I could deal with it was to write back,” she says. The resulting poem, ‘Shades of Anger’ resists the racist remarks of the student, while also signifying her refusal to back down quietly.
An interview with Palestinian poet, Rafeef Ziadah - Women's Views on News