The death of peace activist Rachel Corrie in 2003 has come to greater prominence over the past year as war rages between Hamas and Israel in Gaza. Twenty-one years ago, 23-year-old Corrie became the first American to be deemed a martyr in the ongoing conflict between Israel and Palestine, after being run over by an Israeli bulldozer.
Corrie had gone to Gaza to nonviolently protest the bulldozing of homes in an area Israel was clearing to prevent militants from having a place to hide. While protecting the family home of local pharmacist Samir Nasrallah from demolition by the Israel Defense Forces, she was run over by an armed Caterpillar D9R armored bulldozer.
Israel claimed that the bulldozer driver couldn’t see Corrie and that her death was unintentional. Corrie’s family later sued Israel for a symbolic $1 in damages, but a court rejected the suit. The court ruling was called “unacceptable” by former U.S. President Jimmy Carter.
thinking about rachel corrie \u2014 american activist, member of the palestinian international solidarity movement who was crushed to death protesting the demolition of palestinian homes by israeli bulldozers
On the third anniversary of Corrie’s death, in 2006, poet Maya Angelou read one of the final emails she wrote home after leaving Olympia, Washington for Gaza. Angelou is a famed American author, historian, and civil rights activist best known for her 1969 memoir of growing up in the South, “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings.”
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Rachel’s email from January 2003.
We are all born and someday we’ll all die. Most likely to some degree alone. What if our aloneness isn’t a tragedy? What if our aloneness is what allows us to speak the truth without being afraid? What if our aloneness is what allows us to adventure – to experience the world as a dynamic presence – as a changeable, interactive thing?
If I lived in Bosnia or Rwanda or who knows where else, needless death wouldn’t be a distant symbol to me, it wouldn’t be a metaphor, it would be a reality.
And I have no right to this metaphor. But I use it to console myself. To give a fraction of meaning to something enormous and needless.
This realization. This realization that I will live my life in this world where I have privileges.
I can’t cool boiling waters in Russia. I can’t be Picasso. I can’t be Jesus. I can’t save the planet single-handedly.
I can wash dishes.
Rachel Corrie stands up to a bulldozer before being killed.via Joe Carr/Wikimedia Commons
The key message in Corrie’s email is that there is power in being alone. It shows that sometimes when we aren’t preoccupied with the expectations of others, we give ourselves the space to grow to our fullest potential. It’s also a sad commentary that many of the people we love in our lives can hinder reaching our potential.
Corrie’s words are a great reminder, in a world constantly distracted by screens, that we can only truly develop as people when we have a moment of solitude to explore our own thoughts and deeply held moral beliefs.
The piece is also an invitation to visualize what our lives can be if we follow our own paths without worrying about what others think. What truths would we speak and what adventures would we seek? What causes would we stand up for if we knew we wouldn’t be judged?
Corrie’s words also echo those of Maya Angelou, who believed that only through courage can we reach our potential. “One isn’t necessarily born with courage, but one is born with potential. Without courage, we cannot practice any other virtue with consistency. We can’t be kind, true, merciful, generous, or honest,” she told USA Today in 1988.
Two years after Corrie’s death, her diaries and emails came to life in a play called “My Name is Rachel Corrie,” which has been staged worldwide, including in her hometown of Olympia, Washington, in 2017.