Who Rules the Country... And Who Stops the Slow Execution?

The pain is no longer a transient crisis
nor just an economic hardship or delay in salaries
nor even just a political deadlock that weighs on people's daily lives.
Today, unfortunately, the pain is greater than all of that.
It is a piercing feeling that resides in the hearts of the people of Palestine,
and particularly among the members of Fatah,
who feel they have been left between two merciless fires:
the fire of occupation that pursues them at checkpoints, in prisons, and in their livelihoods and dignity,
and the fire of internal decisions that betray them by leaving the loyalists outside the scene and granting space to faces that do not resemble the national pain.

There,
a Palestinian is pursued for holding on to the soil of his homeland,
suffocated in his livelihood,
tracked in his movements,
and pushed every day to the brink of oppression,
until life itself has become something that slips through the teeth of the barriers.

And here,
in the interior that was supposed to be a shelter for the fighters,
a son of Fatah finds himself surrounded by faces that do not resemble the pain in the field,
do not preserve the memory of the martyrs,
and do not know how the camps, villages, and universities have endured under the banner of the movement.
Faces that have overstayed their welcome until they have become a heavy burden on the organizational and national spirit,
creating political alienation that separates the base from the decision-makers,
and making the citizens feel that those who speak on their behalf do not hear their pulse.

We are prisoners of loving Palestine
and prisoners of the love of Fatah.
We were raised to believe that the movement was always the home of the people,
the voice of the poor,
the umbrella for the fighters,
and the address of the national project.
But today we stand before a question that cannot be ignored:
How can the true sons of the movement,
the children of the camps and neighborhoods, universities, and the field,
be left waiting in disgrace at the doors
while the presence of strangers above the people lingers on,
and they continue to hold positions in the decision-making circles as if the country were created solely for them?

What is even more painful than all of this, Mr. President,
is that high-level appointments continue to repeat the same mentality that elevates the favored and influential while sidelining those with history and competence, in a scene that evokes national and organizational anger and disgust.
It is not that people object just to the individuals, but rather they object to the method
and to a mentality that sees the homeland as a gateway to positions, not a message of justice,
and regards proximity to circles of influence as more important than a history of sacrifice, integrity, and competence.

The street has begun to ask bitterly:
Where are the sons of Fatah who dedicated their lives to defending the national project?
Where are the children of the martyrs and prisoners?
Where are those who stood firm in the most difficult circumstances?
How can it be that the doors remain closed in their faces
while the same names, privileges, and circles are repeated?

And from here,
from the heart of loyalty, not enmity,
and in a spirit of care for the dignity of the state and the reputation of the movement,
we address a clear and explicit call to His Excellency President Mahmoud Abbas:

For the sake of God, take a historic decision on behalf of Fatah and national justice
to open a comprehensive investigation into all high-level appointments made during the past period,
under the supervision of the Palestinian Attorney General
and monitored by the Anti-Corruption Commission,
so that the people know that the state is still a state of law
and that Fatah still stands up for its loyal sons
and that the homeland is not governed by favoritism but by right, competence, and integrity.

This decision has become not just a party demand
but a national and moral necessity to restore trust between the people and their institutions
and between the movement's members and their leadership,
and to prove that justice is not just a slogan raised in speeches
but a practice that is translated in appointments, accountability, and oversight.

Mr. President,
this is not just a cry of anger
but a call of love from the sons who were raised on your name
and the name of Fatah
and the belief that justice is the foundation of the survival of the national project.
Save the people's trust before it erodes further
and do justice to the sons of the movement before their silence transforms into a deep wound
and return the decision to the citizens who carried the dream in the hardest days
and were always the first line of defense for national legitimacy.

Because the most dangerous thing we can reach
is not just economic hardship
nor barriers
nor delayed salaries
but that a son of Fatah feels that his loyalty has become a burden,
that his history is no longer an advocate for him,
and that the homeland has begun to open its doors to strangers more than to its own children.

And when this feeling reaches the hearts,
it does not only tire the bodies
but tires the very meanings:
the meaning of belonging,
the meaning of sacrifice,
and the meaning of keeping the homeland a home for its children above all else.

This is not just an article
but a historical call: restore the dignity of justice and return the sons of Fatah to their rightful place in the heart of decision-making before the pain becomes deeper than words can express.