Note: The below was not written by a Palestinian.

“Hello, I am Palestinian. And since honesty is so rare in my politics, let me confess a few things.

1947. The UN offered me a state. Alongside Israel. Borders, independence, recognition. I said no. My leaders promised that war would “drive the Jews into the sea.” Instead, I lost everything and they called it a catastrophe. Not because they didn’t offer me a state, but because I rejected it.

1948–2025. Arab states could have integrated me, given me rights, passports, dignity. Instead, they locked me in refugee camps for generations, so I would remain a weapon against Israel. They built palaces for themselves and prisons for me. They used me as propaganda, not as people.

1967. After another lost war, I could have built a state in the West Bank and Gaza. Instead, I insisted on “no peace, no recognition, no negotiations.” Three noes. Fifty years later, I still have no state. Turns out, rejection doesn’t pay the rent.

Oslo, 1990s. Israel said: “Let’s try it.” It gave me autonomy. Weapons for the police. Billions in aid. What did my leaders do? They stole the money, armed militias, and launched an intifada. Suicide bombings instead of schools. Rockets instead of factories.

Gaza, 2005. Israel left completely. No settlers, no soldiers. I had the chance to turn Gaza into a Mediterranean Singapore. I voted for Hamas. They turned it into Mogadishu by the sea. Billions in aid? Tunnels, rockets, and palaces for their leaders, while my people eat canned food in the dark.

Democracy? I haven’t had elections in nearly 20 years. Hamas kills dissenters in Gaza. Fatah imprisons them in the West Bank. My leaders cancel elections because they’re too busy fighting for power.

Religion. Instead of building a future, I put clerics on TV teaching children to hate Jews. I glorify “martyrs” who blow up buses. I raise my children with songs of blood and fire instead of books and science. I trade hope for holy war.

Arab world. Arab regimes call me “brother.” But ask them how many Palestinians can live freely in Lebanon, Syria, Egypt, or Kuwait. They exclude me, but celebrate my death, because my death is their excuse.

Absurdity. I keep saying I want to “build a state.” And ironically, right next door is Israel: the neighbor that built a thriving democracy, a tech powerhouse, farms in the desert, cities from dust. No oil, no infinite wealth, just courage. I could have learned, copied, collaborated. Instead, I chose envy and rage.

Anti-Jewish obsession. I could have accepted Jews as neighbors. I could have said: “Two nations, two states.” Instead, I repeat: “From the river to the sea.” Instead of displaying honor, hospitality, and rich Arab culture, I showed only the culture of the sword: anger, extremism, and blood. Instead of shouting salaam (peace) to Israelis, I shouted death to the Jews. And then I pretend to be surprised when Israelis don’t trust me, when they’re angry, disappointed, and convinced I don’t want coexistence at all.

Responsibility. I blame Israel for everything. Always. My leaders steal billions? Israel’s fault. Hamas fires rockets from hospitals? Israel’s fault. I glorify death over life? Israel’s fault. Responsibility isn’t my strong suit.

I am Palestinian.
I could have built a nation, many times. I chose rejection, corruption, and endless war. I could have lived in peace with Israel, but I chose to live in the shadow of its destruction.

So yes, I am a victim. But too often, I am a victim of my own leaders, my own choices, and my own refusal to let go of hate.

And that, dear reader, is the tragedy no one wants to admit.”

Coca Camhi, 10/12/2026, https://x.com/cocacamhi/status/2109564046038950357?s=46