Lianet Vazquez, MD
An American in Gaza
When I think of Gaza,
I think of blue gloves,
Woven welcomes,
Friendship and trust.
She sheltered me, clothed me, fed me.
She whispered: I’ll keep you safe,
Admire the sunset from a balcony adorned
With the softness of twilight
And the serenades of dawn.
In exchange,
I paid for the shelling that destroyed her home.
I silenced the gavel that accountability sought.
I parroted scripts that defaced her in scorn.
I made her an exception in international law.
Tragic that my knowledge of you was not enough
For my government to see you for your blue gloves,
Or the kites that your poets imagined with hope,
Or the men who carved life from the rubble with love,
Or the doctors on duty who spelled HELP in their own blood,
Or the child who danced dabke to the beat of dropped bombs.
Oh Gaza, Oh Gaza
What have I done?
“I wrote this poem thinking about the people who welcomed me with generosity and kindness when I worked in Gaza in 2021. The poem captures my interactions with a dear friend—the hospitality, assurances, and love she offered me—juxtaposed with the actions of the US government in providing the weapons, impunity, and diplomatic cover of Israel’s indiscriminate assault on my friend’s home and the entirety of Gaza in what the International Court of Justice calls “a plausible case of genocide.” The poem is an acknowledgment of our moral failings as a society and a cry for the international community, including the US, to recognize the humanity of Palestinians.” —Lianet Vazquez, MD
Lianet Vazquez, MD is a resident physician at Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston. Prior to practicing medicine, she served as a Herbert Scoville Jr. Peace Fellow and worked on issues of conflict resolution and non-proliferation in the Middle East. She has worked with refugee populations in Jordan and Lebanon and conducted a medical rotation at Al-Shifa Hospital in Gaza, in the aftermath of the May 2021 war. Her poetry has previously been published in the medical journal Annals of Internal Medicine.