Phalapoem editor, 15/12/25
[Scene: A vast hall of marble and glass — the European Commission in Brussels. Outside, rain falls softly. Inside, the floor reflects both the light above and the moral darkness beneath. Handala stands barefoot, facing the wall. Ursula enters, papers in hand, her face polished with diplomacy.]
Ursula von der Leyen:
Who let this child in here? You shouldn’t be in these halls, little one. This is where adults make decisions.
Handala (without turning):
Adults? You mean those who speak of human rights while choosing who gets to be human?
Ursula:
We defend democracy, freedom, and security. The European Union stands for peace.
Handala:
Peace has a strange meaning here. You send weapons to the illegal occupier and silence to the occupied. Tell me, Madam President — when you say “security,” do you mean for those who have walls, or for those who have none left?
Ursula (measured):
Israel has the right to defend itself.
Handala:
And Gaza has the right to exist. Or does existence itself threaten your alliances?
Ursula:
You don’t understand politics, child. The world is complex — history, law, responsibility—
Handala (interrupting):
History? You should know it well. Germany once said it was only following orders too.
Law? You helped write it — then watched it burn with every bomb dropped on Gaza’s children.
Responsibility? You owe it not to the past, but to the living.
Ursula (coldly):
We have condemned the humanitarian situation. We call for aid, for restraint—
Handala:
Condemned? You condemned words while others condemned children. You called for “aid” after you helped starve them. Restraint, Madam President, is a word without meaning to a mother who buries her child under concrete.
Ursula (defensive):
We must be careful with language. The term “genocide” must be determined by courts.
Handala:
So justice must wait until every witness is dead? You once said Europe had learned from its crimes. Tell me, when did forgetting become your form of remembrance?
Ursula (quietly):
I have seven children. I know what loss means.
Handala (turns slightly, still not showing his face):
Then every time you see their faces, remember the children you refused to see. Their names could fill every corridor of this building — and still, you’d call it politics.
Ursula:
You don’t understand the weight of leadership.
Handala:
No. I understand its cowardice.
You lead nations but cannot lead your conscience.
(Silence. The sound of distant thunder. Handala begins to walk toward the exit, still facing away.)
Ursula (softly):
Where are you going?
Handala:
To where Europe’s values are buried — among the ruins you refused to see. When you are ready to face them, you’ll find me there, still turned away, waiting for justice to look me in the eye.