The letter that follows is written in memory of Aaron Bushnell, a twenty-five year old US Airmen who set himself ablaze in what he called an “extreme act of protest” against the genocidal war on the Palestinians in Gaza. It was he who inspired the creation of this Substack. These were his final words:
“My name is Aaron Bushnell. I am an active-duty member of the United States Air Force, and I will no longer be complicit in genocide. I am about to engage in an extreme act of protest, but compared to what people have been experiencing in Palestine at the hands of their colonizers, it’s not extreme at all. This is what our ruling class has decided will be normal”.
These words were streamed live as he walked towards the Israeli Embassy in Washington D.C., with a flask in hand, filled with flammable liquid. He set his phone across from him, removed his hat, and poured the liquid over his head. Like a soldier, determined, he placed the hat back on, threw the flask to the side, ready to ignite the fire.
A voice can be heard: “can I help you sir?”. Bushnell pays this no mind. And then the flames begin.
Sirens in the background. A man is heard yelling, “get on the ground!”. Soon after, what seems to be the same man appears in frame, pointing a gun at him as he burns to the ground.
And as he burns, he bellows… “free Palestine! Free Palestine! Free Palestine!” 'til his last dying breath.
“I need a fire extinguisher!” a woman yells, possibly the paramedic. With two fire extinguishers, the flames die. He was then taken to hospital.
He didn’t make it.
Aaron Bushnell paid the ultimate price for a cause he believed in, though I wish there were another way. As a Muslim, I should not sanctify a sin, nor should I venerate a man dying in disbelief. God says, “Do you consider providing the pilgrims with water and maintaining the Sacred Mosque as equal to believing in Allah and the Last Day and struggling in the cause of Allah? They are not equal in Allah’s sight” (9:19).
And though I do not intend to sanctify his act, I acknowledge the power and principle behind his message. I acknowledge it as a distinguished act of self-sacrifice. I want him to be remembered. Here’s my letter, written in his memory.
The Letter
With tearful eyes I write, and the first words that come to mind are thank you, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what they’ve done to you. I’m sorry for whatever crimes they’ve compelled you to commit. I’m sorry you felt that the way to fight against the callousness of your empire was, in the literal sense, to set your flesh ablaze. I see again, that what I have done for my people has not been enough. Close to nothing, even. I see that we should be willing to sacrifice our lives for what is right.
I wonder what the ultimate factor was, that led you to your decision. You did this of sober mind. Your words carried a clear lucidity to them. You knew what you were doing. I can’t imagine what you must’ve felt, that led you to follow through with this act.
You were closer to the crimes than I was. Closer to the reality. I wonder how close. I wonder if this was your way out. If this was some act of rebellion. If it was a “f**** you” to the ruling class. I wonder if it was grief, or rage, or desperation. Whatever it was, I know that you had more principle, humanity, and a more fervent moral compass, than anyone you were made to serve.
Your act reminded us the seriousness of the situation. You let us know that our sacrifices are but a duty to humanity, and a testament to our own. It showed us that we’ve been too stagnant, that we care too much about minor losses. That we should put even our lives on the line.
And no, I don’t mean to glorify self-harm, or romanticize it, or sanctify it. You sacrificed your life to send a powerful message. And yet there is no sanctity in sin. There must’ve been another way.
Thank you for your self-sacrifice. And I’m sorry.
***
I’m filled with sadness. What shame, that the same establishment that you devoted your life to, claimed to care for you, consecrated your patriotism, held a freaking gun at you as you burnt into flames, afraid, even as you wrothe in pain!
Afraid of what? Of your humanity, perhaps? Of your brazened spirit? Were they more concerned over the non-existent threat a sole burning man posed on their own lives than they were of putting out the fire that engulfed him? Or were they trained to fear those who protest against their cold callousness inhumanity? Is this simply a machine-like response -- the only response that they know, never tailored to a situation, applied to all circumstances out of their ordinary?
You were failed by the same people you were made to serve. They failed to see humanity. You had more of it in you than, put modestly, much of your ruling class combined ever did. And maybe that shouldn’t be a surprise. And still, there needs to be another way. I’m sorry.