Milad: The Birth of a Dream and Its Continuation

Walid taught me, through his patience and unwavering strength, how to cultivate the most profound connections and safeguard the most sacred ones. He showed me how to breathe amidst the polluted air of an era defined by national and moral decay, how to remain ethically alive, and how to lead a life motivated with meaning and purpose, even in a world that has reduced human worth to that of a disposable cup. Yet, for all I learned from him, he often told me that I had taught him something even greater – that love is as essential as freedom. In his Letter to a Companion, he described me as the ‘al’ – the defining article – in his life.

Our life together was never easy, Walid, but it remains unlike any other. Everything we have taken from this world, took from us, giving everything a unique meaning. Every phase of our journey is a story worth telling – stories we share with ourselves and with others. The crown jewel of these stories is Milad.

Though Milad and I must now navigate this difficult life alone, carrying only your memory, you will always remain our first teacher. We will follow your path and pursue your dreams. We will continue to dream, for dreaming is a beautiful act – it magnifies our strength to face life’s challenges and complexities. Many fear dreaming, confronting it as if it were a nightmare. But Milad and I will dream boldly, without fear, because the worst that can happen is waking up – ready to face reality, clear-eyed and aware.

I remember my first visit to Walid as though it were an extension of the visits I used to make to my father during his imprisonment in the 1970s. Back then, we referred to ten-year sentences as ‘short periods’, a grim concession to the decades our prisoners now endure in Israeli prisons. Through my father, I came to know the icons of the prisoner's movement, those who spent countless years in captivity, like the martyr Omar Al-Qasim. Little did I know then that my life would become intricately connected to a prisoner whose journey would so closely mirror that of Omar Al-Qasim.

Walid, both a martyr and a witness, remains in my memory. I recall his unwavering moral integrity and remarkable politeness during that first visit, which I initiated to better report on the prisoners directly. Out of courtesy, I asked him, ‘What can I bring for you (all), Walid? Is there something you need?’. Without hesitation, he replied, ‘Yes, yes, please bring me the book The Israeli Military Mind’. From that day forward, books became Walid’s foremost request. At the start of every visit, his first question was always, ‘Did you bring books?’. Over time, after Milad’s birth, this question evolved into something more tender: ‘Did you bring photos?’.

My prison visits became sacred rituals, each one marked by meticulous preparation and lingering reflections afterward. The energy, hope, and determination that Walid infused in me were unparalleled. Each visit was divided into two parts: the ‘work visit’ and the ‘hope visit’. The work visit was filled with discussions of instructions, plans, and activities to support the prisoners’ cause from within the prison walls. I do not recall Walid ever speaking only about himself or his own conditions; his focus remained steadfast on the collective – on the prisoners, the prisoner movement, broader political and national issues, and even the state of the larger Arab world.

I vividly remember visiting him in Gilboa Prison during the Egyptian revolution, after he had already endured 25 years of incarceration. With unshakable resolve, he told me, ‘If spending another 25 years in prison is what it takes for the Egyptian revolution to succeed, then I am ready.’.

As for the hope visit, which focused on Walid’s eventual freedom, it remains unfinished to this day.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years. Together, we created countless memories, too many to recount here. Through it all, Walid remained steadfast in his struggle both within and beyond the prison walls. He dedicated himself to grappling with the most difficult questions and seeking even harder solutions for the Palestinian national movement. Walid continued to write, to nurture hope, and to cling to the unyielding dream of freedom and liberation.

Yet Walid was abandoned by the very national movement he devoted his life to, forgotten by those for whom he sacrificed everything. I still recall the piercing cry I delivered in Ramallah on May 8, 2023, during a speech commemorating the 21st anniversary of national leader Marwan Barghouti’s imprisonment. My words were directed at the Palestinian Liberation Organization, the national and Arab movements, and all supporters of Palestine worldwide. Today, I repeat that cry: I demand the release of Walid Al-Sharif's body so it may rest in the sacred soil of Palestine, not remain imprisoned in the cold, oppressive refrigerators of the occupation.

Must the prisoner wage the battle for freedom alone? Must his family shoulder the burden of securing his release – or even just his body – on behalf of the entire national movement? How can we justify a prisoner languishing in captivity for four decades if not as a result of betrayal? What is more unbearable: the silence of the betrayer, or the anguished cry of the betrayed?

At that time, I stood before the Palestinian leadership in Ramallah and screamed, and I continue to scream the words Walid could never write and will never write – words lost to the illness, exhaustion, and betrayal that consumed him during his long, cursed wait... until martyrdom claimed him. My words were as stark as Walid’s plight, as the plight of all prisoners of the Palestinian national movement. As stark as captivity, as stark as freedom. As stark as martyrdom, and as stark as the martyr himself.

Walid joined the struggle as a member of the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine in 1983. He was arrested on March 25, 1986, and, in March 1987, sentenced to life imprisonment by the military court in occupied Al-Lydd. In 1998, Walid and a group of his comrades from Jerusalem and Palestine 1948 officially joined the National Democratic Assembly Party, though they had been actively involved with it prior to that. Despite being abandoned by their national movement and enduring the depths of prison, these individuals never ceased their struggle within its ranks.

In 2012, Walid’s life sentence was set at 37 years, meaning his release was scheduled for March 24, 2023. However, on May 28, 2018, the military court in Beersheba issued an unjust ruling, adding two more years to his sentence under the pretext of his involvement in smuggling mobile phones to facilitate communication between prisoners and their families. As a result, his new release date became March 24, 2025. And given the slim chances of repealing the Zionist law that prevents early release for prisoners like Walid – even for medical treatment, unless granted clemency by the state president — his family began pursuing legal avenues to challenge the additional two-year sentence and to request a one-third reduction of this extended term.

In the final chapter of Walid's illness, as the walls of his captivity tightened and the Palestinian national movement faltered, his family found itself nearly alone in their struggle. On March 28, 2023, they launched the ‘Campaign to Release the Prisoner Walid Daqqa,’ rallying the support of thousands of Palestinians, Arabs, and advocates for justice and freedom worldwide. The campaign’s sole objective was clear: ‘the immediate release of prisoner Walid Daqqa to allow him access to unrestricted medical treatment.’

Yet, this goal was cruelly thwarted. The racist Zionist judicial system denied justice, solidarity protests faced brutal repression, campaign content on social media was censored, and a torrent of malicious rumors sought to undermine their efforts. Undeterred, the family worked tirelessly to refute these falsehoods. During this time, prisoner leader Zakaria Zubeidi rose up from solitary confinement and submitted an urgent request to donate bone marrow to his brother-in-struggle, Walid, declaring himself a comrade ‘to the bone’. Yet others hesitated, and tragically, all attempts failed.

The shocking, unofficial announcement of Walid's martyrdom came on April 7, 2024, transforming the campaign from one for his release into one for the liberation of his corpse.

Walid Daqqa was always a unifier, a relentless critic of wrongdoing, whether within his organizational framework, the PLO, or the broader Palestinian national movement. Today, we do not seek to overshadow Walid’s voice, but we have the right to ask: how could he be excluded from prisoner release deals and exchange agreements not once, but four times – in 1994, 2008, 2011, and 2014? What did every individual and leader in his national movement do for Walid Daqqa, whose body remains detained alongside his comrades? What have they done, and what will they do, for the sick prisoners and all those still languishing in enemy prisons? How will they confront Walid’s memory, knowing they failed to secure his freedom in life?

Walid wrote extensively about resistance – the resistance in Jenin, the resistance against the erasure of consciousness, and the resistance to the ordinary and parallel time imposed on prisoners’ bodies. Even in his children’s trilogy, he centered his stories on prisoners, refugees, and martyrs, yet he steadfastly refused to write about death. Instead, he wrote a play about martyred prisoners, The Martyrs Return to Ramallah. Time and again, we called for Walid not to be left alone, for his prophecy of returning as a martyr to remain unfulfilled. We urged that he must not end up like the characters in his play, whose spirits returned to Ramallah to inscribe on the walls of authority buildings: ‘Free the martyred prisoners. Liberate the prisoners’ remains.’

On March 25, 1986, Walid Daqqa founded a university unlike any other in the world – a university whose branches now extend across 28 locations in northern, central, and southern occupied Palestine: 19 prisons, 4 interrogation centers, 3 detention centers, and 2 military courts. This institution spans the entirety of historic Palestine, covering 27,027 square kilometers, unimpeded by checkpoints, as if one owns the entire land with no one to stop them.

Nothing could stop Walid – not even his martyrdom, which was unofficially announced on April 7, 2024. He remained steadfast, as he said to me and a comrade in a recorded call before the war of extermination on Gaza and Palestine: ‘I will not let them write the final line.’ True to his words, he continues his struggle even after his physical absence through three texts: a novel, a play, and an intellectual study, published in the special issue of the Journal of Palestinian Studies, where he served on the editorial board.

We will continue, alongside those who carry Walid’s legacy, to protect, amplify, and translate his vision into action through a precise programme that honors his body of work, just as Walid intended and as befits him and Palestine. Walid’s spirit still fights, and his presence lingers, even as his body remains unjustly and unlawfully detained.

Walid Daqqa continues to defend us – his people’s cause, the prisoners’ cause, and the cause of freedom and liberation.