The most recent hearing at the International Court of Justice on Israel’s genocide in Gaza demonstrates once again that justice cannot be silenced, nor crimes buried.
Speaking as part of the Palestinian delegation at the ICJ, Irish barrister Blinne Ní Ghrálaigh recounted to the court the final moments of one of fifteen Palestinian paramedics executed by the Zionist occupation army.
“It was the recording of the Israeli attacks on the 23rd of March found on the mobile phone of a slain Palestinian Red Crescent paramedic that compelled Israel’s retraction of its initial attempted justification of the killings. That recording of Refaat Radwan’s final words also reflects the sacrifice made by so many in Gaza who have given their lives for others. After reciting the Muslim prayers of the dying, and knowing his mother’s heart would be broken by his death, he called out, ‘Forgive me mother. Forgive me. I chose this path to help people. Forgive me.’”
The death of Refaat calls to mind an episode shared by Jean-Paul Sartre in a lecture delivered after the Second World War. A student asked him how he should respond to the moral dilemma he faced: should he go and fight with the French Resistance against the Nazi occupation, or should he stay home to care for his elderly mother, who depended on him? Sartre did not attempt to resolve the dilemma. He offered no universal rule. Instead, he insisted that the student must choose — and in choosing, create his values. There could be no refuge in doctrine, nor evasion of responsibility.
Refaat’s killing at the hands of Zionist soldiers offers a piercing glimpse into the decisions Palestinians are forced to make daily. Every path they take leads to sacrifice. Their only freedom is to choose which loss they will endure. In Refaat’s case, he chose to risk his life helping those struggling for freedom, dignity, and the very existence of his people — even as it tore him from his mother’s side. And in a cruel twist, his choice brought not only death but also the agony of feeling he had abandoned her.
But Refaat chose all the same. He chose to act, not merely to endure. He chose to help others in defiance of a system that sought to erase both him and them. If he had stayed away, if he had surrendered to safety, there would be no life worth living — for him, for his mother, or for any Palestinian.
Sartre called this the condition of man: “condemned to be free.” It is not freedom as privilege, but freedom as burden — the necessity of choosing, even when every option brings pain. Rafat’s final words remind us that even under siege, even under bombardment, Palestinians still bear this burden. Their freedom has not been taken. It has been made unbearable.