Like so many African-Americans of my generation, the victory of the Civil Rights movement is one that I truly believed in. I grew up understanding myself as carrying the ideals of that movement forward through achievement and assimilation. But that story evolved for me in the days and years after I met Khader Adnan, the revered Palestinian activist, who was first taken hostage in 1999, and martyred last May after an 87-day hunger strike.
Adnan’s life was shaped by his passionate activism as a student at Birzeit University in Ramallah which, perhaps inevitably, led to him being repeatedly targeted by Israeli authorities. He spent a total of 8 years in Israeli prisons under “administrative detention" - never having a single trial and only ever even being charged one time. Over those horrific years, he conducted 12 hunger strikes to resist Israeli’s policy of administrative detention, as well as the inhumane conditions and torture to which he was subjected. At least three of Adnan’s hunger strikes were over 50 days, which place them amongst the longest in history.
“The Strike Continues until Freedom and Dignity.”
Administrative detention is a practice used by the Israeli government to incarcerate Palestinians without formal charges or a trial, often based on alleged undisclosed evidence. This mechanism allows Israeli authorities to detain individuals for renewable six-month periods, effectively holding them hostage indefinitely under the guise of security concerns.
For obvious reasons this policy has drawn widespread condemnation from international human rights organizations, which highlight its potential for abuse and the psychological torment it imposes on detainees and their families. Adnan’s repeated detentions, without any formal charges, underscore the arbitrary and oppressive nature of this strategy. His commitment to resist through hunger strikes is a powerful symbol of the broader struggle for justice, human dignity and liberation.
It was July of 2015 when a group of us traveled to Palestine with the intention of learning from the Palestinian struggle. Carried by the winds of Occupy Wall Street and Black Lives Matter, we brought a film crew and our curiosity. Adnan had just been released, and when we arrived to meet with him, he was being interviewed by an Israeli reporter. In spite of having suffered nearly 60 days without food, he nevertheless angrily reprimanded the reporter for the lack of news coverage of his hunger strike. He was outraged over Israel’s lack of reporting on the Palestinian prisoners being held without charge. He sensed his words would be twisted and he refused to continue the TV interview, angrily pulling the mic off.
Later, myself, our filmmaking team and crew, as well as the late acclaimed anthropologist and thinker behind Occupy Wall Street, David Graeber, attended his homecoming celebration during Ramadan in the occupied West Bank near Jenin. After the speeches and cheers, we were invited to a delicious feast. Three of us were secular women, and we were surprised to be invited to eat with the men, who joyfully welcomed us with open arms.
Soon after, Adnan was once again arrested; this time simply for going to Jerusalem to pray at the al-Aqsa Mosque. He was quickly released, but then hospitalized due to the wear on his body from the 58-day hunger strike that had earned him his freedom. In spite of this hardship, he generously invited us to meet with him at the hospital. And so we found ourselves sitting at his bedside talking about the motivation behind his hunger strikes, the liberation he was seeking, and how his struggle related to ours.
While Israel labeled him a terrorist, he disagreed and argued that if that were truly the case, then why would they release him under any circumstances at all? They were trying to break his will—something that proved impossible. While imprisoned, they could strip him of everything, but not his fundamental humanity. His hunger strikes were rooted in a profound commitment to his humanity and the dignity of resistance. At his essence he saw himself as a humanist; a believer in liberation and dignity for all human beings.
“The more they torture me, the stronger and more determined I become.”
For Adnan liberation was to be found inside the struggle to express our full humanity by demanding dignity irregardless of the circumstances - simply because we are human. He was practical and believed that struggle entailed resisting in any way possible at a point in time and continuing to ask what is possible as things change.
He was empathetic to the Black American struggle for rights, and for all our struggle has represented to the broader struggle for humanism. Yet, it was insufficient - or incomplete. He told us about a Black IOF soldier named Abraham who was kidnapped by Hamas. Apparently, the IOF didn’t even realize he was missing for 8 months. His conclusion was that what unites us in the struggle against white settler colonialism and white supremacy is deeper than what divides us.
By the time Khader Adnan died he had spent 20% of his life in prison. At the time of our meeting a decade ago, Adnan stated that Israel was holding as many as 7,000 prisoners, mostly without charge or trial. And as of today Israel is holding perhaps 10,000 Palestinian prisoners. Since 1967, Israel has imprisoned 750,000 to 1 million Palestinians, many of whom children, mostly without charge.
In the decade since we went to Palestine to learn about struggle and liberation, the number of Blacks killed by the police has stayed the same or increased depending on who you ask, and the racial wealth gap has continued to expand. In spite of protests it seems that the vast majority of white Americans are perfectly fine with this; for the majority a social contract rooted in white supremacy is only natural.
And so over the last decade, I’ve come back time and again to the question of what dignity really is. The question haunts me as I step aside to accommodate the “angry white walkers” who refuse to veer. The question haunts me when I laugh off a racist comment in the name of politeness.
Being in the presence of Adnan’s steadfastness changed me. He is proof that life’s meaning is never defined by your circumstances, but rather by how you live it, what you choose to fight for, and what you’re willing to die for. I no longer understand my struggle as about access; my demand for justice and liberation is much deeper - because my life itself is the demand.
After Adnan’s martyrdom, his wife asked that there be no bloodshed in response to honor of the spirit of his non-violent resistance. She openly worried about what Israel would do to Gaza if the resistance responded. Nevertheless, in May of 2023 Hamas and Islamic Jihad fired rockets into Israel in retaliation for Adnan’s murder, leading to a cycle of retaliation.
Although Adnan never made the news cycle here, his death was part of the escalation of tensions that has led to the genocide we are witnessing. When we visited Palestine a decade ago, murders of regular Palestinian civilians were already happening regularly - as they had been for decades. The illegal settlements were rapidly expanding and unhinged violence from the settlers was always on the horizon. It is in this context that Hamas demanded the release of prisoners through an exchange for hostages. In fact the release of the hostages that Israel holds under the euphemisms “administrative detention” and “prisoner” was the primary reason for their attack on October 7th.
It was largely due to this encounter with Adnan that our film became untenable. Israel permanently banned the Palestinian-American scholar/activist/artist and leader of our team simply for speaking with him. They inflicted the profound pain of never being able to return home simply for speaking with Khader Adnan, a man never even tried for any crime.
Khader Adnan became a beloved Palestinian public figure because, in spite of the injustice of his years of harassment, imprisonment, torture and inhumane treatment, he was still able to find a way to express his greatness. His life could not be handcuffed to a bed. Adnan showed the world that dignity for the oppressed can really only be found in our resistance - and that humanity for all is found in our struggle.
Thanks for answering the common refrain of mostly white apologists, why don’t Palestinians take a page from King and struggle non-violently. Because as you point out with the horrifying statistic of 750,000-1 million apartheid is the status quo that demonizes resistance and the humanity of people.
Thanks for this Pamela. Also been thinking a lot about dignity recently. Really appreciate your essay.