I would like to share this text with you. It was originally the opening monologue of a show I later canceled. In this piece, I humorously describe the period when my thoughts about Palestine began to develop and change. I talk about how I was not interested in Palestine at all, and how some of my perspectives started to shift after I met three Danish girls.
Enjoy the reading. At the end, I will leave a video link that shows how comedy can also be destructive. I recommend watching it. That’s why we should do comedy responsibly so we can protect good people and avoid legitimizing genocide.
I didn’t want to do this show.
Because I felt like I didn’t have the right to make it.
And honestly, I didn’t even feel that much about Palestine.
My mom is Turkish, and my dad is originally Palestinian, from Haifa.
We’re from the same town as Bella Hadid. Imagine how much I was ignoring
I didn’t even know Bella Hadid was Palestinian.
I used to think “Bella” means beautiful and “Hadid” means iron.
I thought it was her fake porn name.
But in 1948, Israel “let us go” to Jordan.
Like what they’re trying to do to Gaza now “go to a safe place, and come back.”
But they went to Jordan and couldn’t come back.
Because Israel meant: “That’s my land.”
They just left. Forever.
My grandparents ended up in a Palestinian refugee camp in a city called Russeifa.
That’s where my father grew up.
But being Palestinian was hard.
They were like second-class citizens.
That’s why my younger cousins started pretending they were Jordanian.
Because if they didn’t lie, they wouldn’t find jobs.
Jordanians thought they were better than Palestinians.
But every time I went there, I’d say:
“I’m Palestinian. Who gives a shit about Jordan, bro? LeBron is the GOAT.”
But what they were doing in Jordan… I was doing in Turkey.
It was hard to be Arab in Turkey especially after the Syrian refugee wave.
At first, when I came back from Jordan, I didn’t try to hide it.
But after some nice Turkish racism…
Turkish people don’t do racism to Europeans.
That’s why I said: “I was born in Europe. I’m European.”
They’d ask: “Which part?”
I said: “The European part of Istanbul.”
Didn’t work.
So I started to hide it too. To protect myself.
I didn’t think I deserved that racism.
And you’ll say, “Who thinks they deserve racism?”
I’ll say: an Indian guy I met in Poland.
He knew why he was getting it.
He was like: “Sorry, I didn’t do Kamasutra with your mom, that’s why I deserve this.”
(Just joking.)
But I didn’t get it.
Because I felt Turkish.
I had no accent.
I thought in Turkish.
I wrote in Turkish.
And I was ready to die for Turkey.
But I still lived that racism.
And why?
Because some Arab guy made me—
and then went to buy milk.
He never came back.
When you go Black, you never go back.
Actually, he went to buy a Kalashnikov.
And I don’t need to say this, but… yeah, he used that Kalashnikov.
I was angry at the guy who made me Arab, even though I never saw him when I grew up.
I was angrier every time I experienced racism.
And I blamed my father more and more.
I didn’t even realize it was racism at first.
Years later I did.
There was this Turkish ultra-nationalist youth group, “Ülkü Ocakları.”
Imagine Mussolini fanboys with Turkish tea.
They had branches in every school and university.
If you needed someone to fight the Kurds, you’d call them.
And they’d invite everyone to their office for tea and to talk about “great Turkish history.”
Basically, they were talking about Armenia how they “protected themselves.” 🙂
But they never invited me.
I was friends with them, but still—they never invited me.
And I thought: “Maybe it’s because I’m cool.”
Or maybe: “They think I’m gay, because I was painting.”
But 4 years, 4 months, 3 days, 2 hours later—
On April 4, 2022, Friday—
I was painting in my room and suddenly I said:
“Fuck.
They didn’t invite me because I’m cool…
They didn’t invite me because I’m half Arab.”
And I started crying.
Not because it hurt too much
But because I was tripping on LSD.
It was a bad trip.
Even though it started great I was seeing my girlfriend’s boobs.
Then the boobs turned into Israeli rockets.
And then… the high school memory came back.
I never did LSD again.
(Lie.)
But honestly I didn’t care that much.
I grew up with my Turkish family.
All of them were white. And racist.
And in photos, I looked like Angelina Jolie’s son.
Of course, the adopted one.
So I tried to look Turkish. I kept a mustache.
Racist, Anatolian, and hating Arabs.
Even though my mom was pro-Palestinian all the time.
She wanted me to be pro-Palestinian.
She named me Selah, after Salahaddin Ayyubi
The Muslim general who took back Palestine and made it peaceful for everyone.
I asked her,
“Why did you give me his name?”
She said,
“Maybe one day you’ll make Palestine great again.”
I said,
“Bro… what a motivation.
But I’m a junkie in Istanbul.
The biggest damage I can give Zionists is not selling them weed and ruining their vacation.”
But after I moved to Istanbul, I met left-wing European drug addicts.
They were more active about Palestine.
So I became a little more active too.
But still not an activist.
I was against activism.
Because if the action doesn’t change anything,
Then it’s just emotional masturbation.
And I was doing enough masturbation and drugs.
I was an addict, because I was seeing life as just an experience
I wanted to try everything.
I wasn’t scared of doing stupid shit,
like anal, like taking ketamine,
and both while I was working.
I thought of it as a “cool, young, stupid dude” activity.
Because I knew I was just a 20-year-old stupid guy.
I still remember how I started ket.
I was working the night shift, and it was 6 in the morning.
I was cleaning, and one girl came to me and said,
“Hey, you wanna try anal?”
I didn’t even know what ketamine was, but I said, “Yeah, why not?”
I took the line and started cleaning the walls…
but I was supposed to clean the floor with a mop.
That’s how my story with addiction started.
I was even good at it.
I was taking check-ins while I was in a K-hole—zero mistakes, fully tripping.
But after a while, I lost control.
I fucked up my relationship with my girlfriend. With my mom. With myself.
Then I started to blame myself.
My health went to shit.
I thought it was just the drugs.
It was the drugs… but it was a little more serious than that.
The day before I was supposed to go on holiday with my drug addict girlfriend…
they told me I had cancer.
I said:
“How the fuck do travelers who’ve been doing heroin for 40 years live with nothing…
but me, just for a few lines of ket and anal, I get cancer?”
I said, “All this is because I’m Palestinian.
It’s the Israel lobby that made this.”
So I started thinking about my life during treatment.
Because I had enough time to think.
I spent 6 months in a room, without internet, without TV. Alone.
But not much changed for a long time. I tried to stop thinking.
Then came October 7th. That was the beginning of my new thoughts.
I was in the hospital, getting chemo.
And while Israel was bombing Gaza,
I was in pain, watching it live with my mom like the rest of the world.
And my mom said:
“Hey Selah… you’re an artist. Do something.”
I said:
“You’re right, mom.
I’m an artist… and cancer. Bitch.”
But that day, I thought.
And maybe for the first time in my life, I fully accepted that I’m Palestinian.
A lucky Palestinian.
Even though I was getting chemo in a public hospital in Turkey
I was luckier than Palestinian cancer patients who couldn’t get treatment
Because Israel cut their electricity.
And told them to “leave the hospital we’re going to bomb it because there are tunnels.”
I was luckier than my brothers there.
So I said:
“If I survive this… I’ll try to do something.”
I left the hospital healthy.
A miracle: a Palestinian who had cancer and didn’t die.
After that, I tried to enjoy life again.
It was hard. No cigarettes, no drugs.
And then one day, I saw 3 Danish girls.
Vegan.
So pro-Palestinian.
And I thought:
“These three Danish vegan bitches are doing more for Palestine than I ever did.
They smell more like freedom fighters than me.
Their beards look more Hamas than mine.”
Later that night,I started searching videos on YouTube.
I watched a comedy sketch.
Israeli comedians.
Joking about the tunnels under Gaza hospitals.
That video broke something.
This is that video