The Intersection of Disability and Genocide
The Intersection of Disability and Genocide
dena harry saleh
“Flies, mosquitoes, gunshots and bombing – everything is against me 😂”
– Khaled Sulaiman
Khaled Sulaiman is a 26-year-old disabled man surviving the onslaught of Israel’s brutal and sustained attack on the people of Gaza. I am a Palestinian of the diaspora and met him through a dear friend and fellow organizer who learned of his viral story from disabled influencer, Imani Barbarin.
Khaled agreed to talk with me about his experience and we met with the idea to do this interview. It started with small, socially polite sharings permeated by the undeniability of the genocide. We connected 11 days after the closing of the Rafah crossing, 11 days after he was fractured from the whole of his most immediate family whom he hasn’t seen since. Not too much later, Khaled and I began to share in a more emotionally vulnerable way.
We would send each other voice notes and I could hear the bombs in the background. Behind his quiet morning whisper, I could also hear the sounds of gunshots and chirping birds. I use quotations in this piece so you can hear Khaled’s voice, too.
Born in Jabalia in 1998, Khaled is the second-oldest child. His family began to notice the symptoms of muscular dystrophy when he was around 18 months old – his parents saw that he couldn’t hold his head up and “knew something was happening.” He was bullied in his younger years and “going out to a place that had an elevator was like Disneyland” for him. I asked him how Israel treats disabled people. “We know the stories,” he simply said.
Khaled doesn’t see his disability negatively. At one point he lamented to my friend, “Idk what I have done in my life to be in this torture 🥲” When my friend, who is also disabled, commiserated about how disabled people are too often made to feel that they did something wrong to deserve their pain, Khaled interjected – “I mean being here in Gaza, not my disability. I accepted my disability years ago. I’m fine with it. In fact, I can say that I’m happy with it.”
Before the war, Khaled was a gamer; he’s “been playing video games since [he] can remember.” When he was 12 it was “noticeable” that he was talented with computers, even fixing them himself. After years of experience, he became one of “the best players in multiple games,” such as survival games, RPGs, League of Legends, Apex Legends. Largely restricted to his home, Khaled’s “true friends were friends that I met online.” He believes it was his disability that made him “super skilled in computers.” He “went through many different colleges but never got to finish any.” After studying many subjects, he “eventually decided to study English literature,” but then “was offered a golden chance (a work from home for a fine salary), so [he] took it and dropped out of college after studying for 2 years.” He speaks English with fluency and loves music.
Gaza on October 7th, 2023 was as normal as a day could be. But after that day, the family “had to keep moving from one place to another.” After shuffling around for about a week, they got the warning from the Israeli Occupation Force (IOF) to evacuate the area. That was the last time he saw his home in Gaza City; Zionists bombed it, along with his neighbor’s.
His father had a car and that’s how they were able to leave. After six days they “moved to the south and stayed with relatives in Al Qarara, Khan Younis and were there for 50 days. It felt like hell, missing home, wishing for the war to be over every day. There was a ceasefire after 50 days, then after that, the first thing the IOF did was bomb Khan Younis.” The family then moved to Rafah. “We know what happened in Rafah after the temporary ceasefire,” he said.
By the spring, the family had gathered enough funds to evacuate to Egypt but hours before they were supposed to leave, they learned that Khaled’s name had been removed from the list. Like everyone else in the family, he had passed the required security clearances, but only his name and date of birth was crossed out with a careless line and erased, like a bad attempt at white out. To this day, the family has not been given a reason why – but as Barbarin shared when she saw Khaled’s story, “Nobody wants disabled people to immigrate to their country… There’s a reason why you rarely if ever hear of disabled people, particularly physically disabled people, crossing a border and gaining asylum, or immigrating to a country… When it comes to evacuating disabled people and getting people to safety, we usually are last.”
“Everyone was crying,” says Khaled, but forced to choose between one person staying in a war zone or everyone, the family made the devastating decision to go. At first, Khaled’s mother refused to leave, staying by his side for several weeks. But Khaled feared that her window to escape would close and urged her to go. Khaled stayed behind while his family and organizers desperately searched for a way for him to evacuate – if not to Egypt, then anywhere that would take him and be safe. His story went viral and with the help of influencers who highlighted the ableism Khaled faced at the crossing, his family managed to raise enough funds for him to evacuate, albeit for three times the amount that each of them had been charged. But the money came in too late. Just a few weeks after Khaled’s mother left, they closed the border – and to this day, it remains closed. After almost a year of waiting and hoping for an opportunity for Khaled to come join them in Egypt, the money the family had raised for that purpose was recently stolen. They now have nothing. And Khaled remains without them in Gaza.
With the effects of muscular dystrophy, Khaled told me that his heart is weak. If he goes for a walk, his “heartbeat goes very fast.” It is difficult to use the wheelchair in Gaza – “streets are just dirt and sand.” He only recently got a handmade bed, and “can’t sit on the ground.” He has been displaced many times along with the extended family members he is staying with, a brother-in-law and disabled and elderly relatives who also couldn’t evacuate. He thought he was in a safe zone but Zionist forces continued to target his makeshift shelter. “It’s very difficult to shower – it takes a lot of effort,” and they use tanks to splash water on themselves. He uses only a covering outside, which is where he sleeps.
As a Palestinian of the diaspora, this most current genocide has me reeling every cursed day, but of course, I feel like I can never take a lot of space because Khaled is actually living through it. Still, he presses for information about how I’m doing and the truth is, I am doing horribly. It’s difficult not to cry after sending him voice notes. He listens with empathy. He listens to my horrible approximation of Arabic and offers to give me lessons. And he always tries to make me smile, somehow finding the humor and absurdity in this horrific situation. He sent me the meme of a bruised and broken Squidward with the line, “If my sleep schedule was a person.” His favorite food is pizza, though he had recently tasted musakhan (sumac chicken and onions on flatbread) for the first time and “became an addict.” He tells me these things amidst the sound of rapid gunfire. I messaged him that one of these days we’ll eat musakhan together and he replied, “Oh don’t give me hope, I haven’t had that for months.” After apologizing for my faux pas (how do you cheer someone up who’s living through a massacre?) he reassured me, “don’t be sorry for being positive. I just try to keep my hopes low, cause I can’t see any hope.” With discomfort, I told him I understood. Then he wrote, “And I really hope we could actually eat that together one day. Although that’s gonna be a messy meal 🤭😂”
I was able to visit Khaled’s family, the Sulaimans, in Egypt this past summer. Two comrades and I had been raising funds for displaced Palestinians in Cairo and were able to travel and help distribute these funds. Since I had been in touch with Khaled and his two sisters for months by this point, we all decided that Khaled’s family and I would meet in Cairo.
The Sulaiman’s welcomed my comrades and me into their home with true grace and the flat, though sparsely furnished, was pristine and bright. We played with the four-year-old and infant child of Khaled’s older sister. Talked about books and school with Khaled’s younger sister. We spoke with Khaled’s father about Islam and each took turns holding the baby. We shared our anger and sadness at the continuous massacre with Khaled’s mother while his 16-year-old brother sat quietly and listened. We left after a couple of hours and made a plan to come back for lunch a few days later. After slightly prolonged and emotional goodbyes I realized that I had gotten to hold Khaled’s nephew, who was born in Cairo, before he did, and even before the baby’s own father because of the IOF. I learned that my meeting with his family made Khaled sad, “but not in a bad way. It’s just upsetting to think that someone [who] lives on the other side of this world got to hold that baby and what’s stopping me are just some stupid borders and the Israeli army.” Knowing that my actions added to his pain upset me and though I wasn’t able to hide it, I decided it was part of what it means to be in a true community. Sometimes it will hurt. After all that, Khaled told me that he’s “still very happy” that I got to meet his new nephew and the whole family.
The lunch a few days later was truly incredible – makloubeh with lamb, potatoes, tomatoes and eggplant. It was delicious and to this day I regret not being able to eat more. Afterwards, Abu Khaled and Khaled’s younger sister took my comrade and me to the souk (marketplace) so that we could get some souvenirs. Abu Khaled insisted that he haggle with the vendors and buy the items because he could get us a good deal. We let him, and after a couple of great bargains we had some tea on the street. Satisfied with our adventure, we sat in comfortable silence surrounded by at least three mosques and five street dogs lying down in the afternoon heat. We asked to be taken to an ATM to pay Abu Khaled back, but despite our multiple pleas he wouldn’t allow it. He thanked us in a serious manner and said that the true gift was our visit to his family and our care for the Palestinian people. We said goodbye and promised we would see each other again – hopefully next time in a free Palestine.
After the tens of thousands of dollars raised for Khaled’s evacuation were stolen, the details of which we cannot share out of concern for the family’s safety, Khaled’s family is now left with nothing and doing what they can to rebuild. And the family is still left without Khaled in their lives. It’s the latest step in a cycle of devastation, hope, and despair. The war came to Gaza, but the family was able to evacuate. Khaled passed the security clearance, but he wasn’t allowed to cross with them. They raised the money for his evacuation, but the border was closed. There’s talk of the crossing opening up soon, but now the money’s gone. Khaled believes he has “bad luck.” Even after so much effort, Khaled’s material life hasn’t gotten better, and arguably has gotten worse. We can help change that, even if just a little, and even if just for now.
FOR MORE
Please donate to this Go Fund Me to help replenish the Sulaiman family’s funds
To donate to displaced Palestinians in Cairo, please send to this Venmo account, where a trusted comrade sends mutual aid to Sanad, a grassroots organization founded by displaced Gazans living in Egypt. Please, do not use an emoji in the comment and write “pyramids” instead. You may also contribute to this Go Fund Me which goes to the same organization.
ABOUT
dena harry saleh (they/them) is a queer Palestinian of the diaspora living on Turtle Island. They are also a parent of two amazing young children, and loves to write, read, play music, and make art. They are currently a PhD student at CU Boulder, and wholeheartedly believes that not only will Palestine be free, but that they will return in this lifetime.
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