Paul Gavan (Sinn Fein) | Oireachtas source

I want to raise the issue of Palestine and read into the record just some of the letter that was published in the Irish Examiner yesterday. It states:

My name is Samia.

You do not know me, but you may have seen my picture.

I know that you have seen so many photos of my home and my people that it may be hard to recall one from another.

But, there is one picture of me you should remember, because I am holding the dead body of my niece, her tiny little frame swaddled in plastic.

Her name was Massah.

She was two years old.

Now, she is dead.

I could not hold my sister Samar because her body was in pieces.

So was Massah’s big sister, Lina, who was four.

Their dad, Dr Luay Khudair, my sister’s husband and somebody who was like another brother to me, was killed too.

Blown to bits.

I am still alive, though there are so many days I wish I was not.

I am going to move on because of the pressure of time. The letter continues:

When I heard Samar’s family home was bombed by the Israelis, it was one of the most difficult nights of my life.

Can you imagine? Your home? Your source of safety? Falling down on your head. Killing you. Tearing you apart, into pieces.

This is what happens daily under the Israelis. And the silence of the world encourages it.

In the morning hours, as the bombing continued, I walked through danger to reach the hospital.

My screams were heard by everyone there, but not by those who I wanted to hear me.

The beautiful Lina, who was born after a long period of suffering and waiting, after several miscarriages for my sister, she was killed.

But I did not find Massah, nor her mother ... not her father, not her aunts.

Everyone was underneath the rubble.

I headed to their street. I did not recognise their house.

Rubble. Stones. The smell of death, terror, and fear.

They took out my sister in pieces.

And Massah flew from the force of the Israeli missile, over the roof of the neighbour’s house.

She was the only one that remained whole, and not torn into pieces like the rest of the family.

I embraced her tightly. Her little body. So still. So cold.

I whispered in her tiny ear, asking her to tell my sister, my mother, that I love them dearly, and yearn for our reunion.

She goes on to write:

How many little Massahs have been murdered since? How many Linas? How many Samars have been blown to pieces?

Do you think I deserve this? Did my sister? Did her husband, who was a doctor? He devoted his life to caring for people.

[...]

I am no different to you.

Only, I feel abandoned.

If you choose to ignore, know that it is you who has abandoned me.

Love, Samia

It is quite an incredible letter.

In other news, we have all been invited to celebrate Independence Day on 8 July in the US Embassy. I, for one, will not be going. I ask everyone here to reflect deeply on the genocide that is happening and on the fact the US is delivering the bombs and guns that deliver that genocide. We should take the clearest possible stance, not just against Israel but against the US, very clearly, for its part in the genocide that continues, even as I am speaking this morning.