Yahya Sinwar Last Will And Testament
The writer who became a fighter
As a British journalist, I have had interactions with the leaders, politicians, and even fighters of the resistance factions, in Gaza, including figures from Hamas and Al-Qassam Brigades. On a number of visits, I interviewed politicians and was hosted by those you have been trained to loathe and fear. Whilst researching for the Mail on Sunday, Press TV and the Islam Channel, I spent time with the recently assasinated, Ismail Haniyeh. On one occasion visiting his family at their humble home, in the now devastated, ‘Beach’ Refugee Camp.
Forwarded to me by a member of the current Gazan negotiating team, the words below are a a translation from the Arabic ‘Last Will and Testament of Yahya Sinwar’, the late Hamas chief, whose final moments are already the stuff of legend.
The fluency and flow of Sinwar’s writing shows a sophisticated leader. Although I never met him personally, he was clearly a good writer and like others from Hamas, politically astute and globally aware.
In other words, far from the cartoon version of villainy we are constantly fed by zionist, western media.
whilst in an Israeli dungeon, Sinwar wrote a novel titled, ‘The Thorn and The Carnation’. A blend of fact and fiction, it begins after the 1967 Occupation of Jerusalem and the West Bank by zionist forces and can now be purchased online, in English.
I invite you to consider what Yahya Sinwar’s life meant, in terms of its choices and its challenges. These reflect the condition of the Palestinian people under the illegal Occupation of their land, by Jewish colonisers from Europe.
What you do with this information, in light of the genocide taking place, may reveal your passive role in ethnic cleansing and Apartheid. Or perhaps, instead, you will choose to vocalise the right of an oppressed people to resist annhiliation and struggle for freedom.
Author: Yahya Sinwar
I am Yahya, the son of a refugee who turned exile into a temporary homeland, and turned a dream into an eternal battle.
As I write these words, I recall every moment of my life, from my childhood in the alleys, to the long years in prison, to every drop of blood spilled on the soil of this land.
I was born in the Khan Younis refugee camp in 1962 during a time when Palestine was a torn memory and forgotten maps on the tables of politicians.
I am the man whose life was woven between fire and ashes and I realised early on that life under occupation means nothing but a permanent prison.
From my earliest days I knew that life in this land is not ordinary and that whoever was born here must carry in their heart an unbreakable weapon, understanding that the road to freedom is long.
My will to you starts here from that child who threw the first stone at the occupier, who learned that stones are the first words we speak in the face of a world that stands silent before our wounds.
I learned in the streets of Gaza that a person is not measured by the years of their life, but by what they give to their homeland. And so my life was: prisons and battles, pain, and hope. I entered prison for the first time in 1988 and was sentenced to life but I never knew fear.
In those dark cells I saw in every wall a window to a distant horizon and in every bar a light that illuminated the path to freedom.
In prison I learned that patience is not just a virtue but a weapon, a bitter weapon, like drinking the sea drop by drop.
My will to you: do not fear prisons for they are just part of our long journey toward freedom. Prison taught me that freedom is not just a stolen right but a concept born from pain and shaped by patience.
When I was released in the “Wafa Al-Ahrar” prisoner exchange deal in 2011 I did not emerge the same. I emerged stronger, with a greater belief that what we’re doing is not just a passing struggle but our destiny; one that we carry until the last drop of our blood.
My will is for you to remain steadfast, clinging to your dignity and to the dream that never dies. The enemy wants us to abandon resistance, to turn our cause into endless negotiations, but I say to you: “Do not negotiate over what is rightfully yours”.
They fear your steadfastness more than your weapons. Resistance is not just a weapon we carry but it is our love for Palestine in every breath we take, it is our will to remain despite the siege and aggression.
My will is for you to remain loyal to the blood of the martyrs, to those who have left us this thorn filled path. They paved the road to freedom with their blood, so do not waste those sacrifices in the calculations of politicians or the games of diplomacy.
We are here to continue what the first generation began and we will not stray from this path no matter the cost.
Gaza was and will remain the capital of steadfastness, the heart of Palestine that does not stop beating even if the world closes in around us.
When I took over the leadership of Hamas in Gaza in 2017 it was not just a transfer of power, but a continuation of the resistance that began with stones and continued with the rifles. Everyday I felt the pain of my people under the siege and I knew that every step we take toward freedom comes at a price, but I tell you “The cost of surrender is much greater”.
So hold on to the land as firmly as roots cling to the soil, for no wind can uproot a people who have chosen to live.
In the Al Aqsa flood battle I was not the leader of a group or movement, but the voice of every Palestinian dreaming of liberation. I was driven by my belief that resistance is not just an option but a duty.
I wanted this battle to be a new chapter in the book of Palestinian struggle where the factions unite and everyone stands in the same trench against an enemy that never distinguishes between a child and an elder, or between stone and a tree.
The Alqsa flood was a battle of spirit before it was a battle of bodies, and of will before it was a battle of weapons. What I leave behind is not a personal legacy, but a collective one for every Palestinian who dreamed with freedom, for every mother who carried her son as a martyr on her shoulder, for every father who wept bitterly for his daughter who was killed by a treacherous bullet.
My final will is that you always remember that resistance is not in vain, nor is it just a bullet fired; but a life lived with honor and dignity. Prison and siege have taught me that the battle is long and the road is hard, but I also learned that people who refuse to surrender create miracles with their own hands.
Do not expect the world to be fair to you, for I have lived and witnessed how the world remain silent in the face of our pain.
Do not wait for fairness, but be the fairness. Carry the dream of Palestine in your heart and make every wound a weapon and every tear a source of hope.
This is my will: do not lay down your weapons, do not throw away stones, do not forget your martyrs and do not compromise on a dream that is rightfully yours.
We are here to stay in our land, in our hearts and in the future of our children.
I entrust you with Palestine, the land I loved until death and the dream I carried on my shoulders like a mountain that never bends.
If I fall, do not fall with me, but carry the banner that never falls and make my blood a bridge for a generation that rises from our ashes stronger.
Do not forget that the homeland is not just a story to be told, but a reality to be lived, and with every martyr born from this land a thousand more resistance fighters are born.
If the flood returns and I am not among you, know that I was the first drop in the waves of freedom and I lived to see you continue the journey.
Be a thorn in their throat, a flood that knows no retreat, and do not rest until the world acknowledges that we are the rightful owners, and that we are not just numbers in the news.
Yahya Sinwar, born October 29th, 1962 [died as a martyr October 16th, 2024]
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