On the Eve of the Anniversary… A Tribute Wrapped in Longing
He danced on the edges of inevitable endings, becoming a difficult number in the eyes of his enemies before his admirers. Spiritually devout more than ritually religious, he led a struggle against a power backed by both East and West — a power forged by the West and exported Eastward, far from its makers.
Amid walls of rejection, his only compass remained Jerusalem — its minarets, churches, and ancient alleys. He was no orator, yet no one reached the hearts of the world’s afflicted as he did. His keffiyeh became an identity — a Palestinian passport recognized across the globe. It became a universal symbol, summoned in every square where people fought tyranny and occupation.
From one siege to another, he finally departed, only to return shrouded — to his final place of confinement. Even in death, he refused to leave the realm of action and influence; he insisted on remaining the dream Palestinians miss whenever despair tightens its grip. They summon his memory to conceal their weakness and mend their broken spirit. Remembering him has become a form of collective therapy — a psychological refuge when reality feels unbearable.
Yet reviving great anniversaries, in nations aspiring to progress, is not merely an act of homage — it is a call for reflection. A moment to pause and review the year gone by: what have we learned from the legacy and from the man himself? The truth, undeniable to any observer, is that we are in decline — from bad to worse.
We gaze around and see how everything has changed. Once, we fought for leadership among the players of global politics; now, we struggle merely to remain within its equations. Entire cities lie in ruins; thousands of bodies await burial; widows, orphans, and bereaved mothers by the thousands; civic life executed in cold blood.
The southern half of the homeland has turned into a new border — one now subject to negotiation. The north is consumed by settlement expansion. Cities, people, and livelihoods are under siege; the economy suffocates; even survival on our own land feels uncertain.
Such is our condition — between a year that has passed and another about to begin. We ask what has changed, only to find that our reality has worsened. Is this solely the result of war, or were we ourselves complicit in shaping this fate?
Did we learn anything from the man whose memory we honor — from his decision to leave Beirut by sea, preventing its destruction and occupation? The answer, regrettably, is a resounding no.
Whether we admit it or not, we are witnessing the erosion of independent national decision-making. A political system with two rival heads can produce nothing better than paralysis. Arafat repeated it a thousand times: the key to our survival lies in our independent national will. We may lose ground here and gain it there — but what matters is to remain free in choosing our path, steadfast in keeping our compass toward the greater goals.
Yet everything that has unfolded is the inevitable result of surrendering to regional power games. Even after an entire axis suffered humiliating defeat, we persist in clinging to its shattered remnants — though it is certain they can offer no more now than they did at their peak.
How, then, do we escape this strategic deadlock whose consequences stand plain before us — while we await even worse to come? Can ideology alone justify refusing to bend before the storm? What, then, have we learned from Arafat’s own choice — his Oslo moment — when he bowed to the winds of global change following the fall of the Berlin Wall?
Perhaps the best tribute we can offer him is to reread his experience in managing the Palestinian cause — with critical eyes — and to draw lessons from his failures before his triumphs.
For in doing so lies our only way forward: fewer memories, and more imagination for the distant horizon.
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