On the anniversary of the Nakba, confronting the truth of what happened is the first step toward justice.

David Kuttab

As our news feeds fill with reports of the latest Israeli airstrikes or diplomatic maneuvers, it's easy to lose sight of the fundamental injustice at the heart of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. For Palestinians, Nakba Day—commemorated annually on May 15—reminds them of that original sin: the mass displacement of more than 750,000 Palestinians in 1948.
This was not a tragic incident of war, but a deliberate policy of ethnic cleansing that created a state by wiping out an entire people. Entire communities were displaced at gunpoint. Entire villages were destroyed. Families fled with nothing but the clothes on their backs—never to be allowed to return.
Today, Gaza is experiencing a second Nakba. Yet few in the international community know that the majority of Gaza's residents are themselves refugees or descendants of refugees from the towns and villages of southern Palestine. What we are seeing unfolding now is not separate from the Nakba, but rather a continuation of it.
Now, nearly eight decades later, the world must confront not only the consequences of that displacement, but also its reality. This requires more than mere sympathetic statements. It requires an accounting of the facts of what was taken—and from whom.
On Thursday, at the National Press Club in Washington, a Palestinian family presented that story with indisputable documentation. Adel Bseiso, a Palestinian-American, unveiled a treasure trove of meticulously preserved records compiled by his grandfather, Mahrous Mustafa Bseiso. These records include original land deeds, tax records, sales contracts, and correspondence—legal documents documenting the family's extensive land holdings in and around Beersheba, in the Negev region of southern Palestine.
Mahrous, like many Palestinians, believed in building a life through honest work and land management. He transformed desert areas into fertile farms, orchards, and commercial ventures. However, this legacy was violently cut short in 1948, when Israeli forces occupied Beersheba and expelled its Palestinian residents. The Bseiso family, along with tens of thousands of its members, lost everything.
Adel was born in the West Bank city of Al-Bireh and later immigrated to the United States. He grew up with his father, Jawdat Mahrous Bseiso, the promising young heir to the family legacy, who was forever haunted by the events of the Nakba. Jawdat never recovered. Adel recalls: "He would often lose consciousness. He would constantly ask, 'What happened to us? How can everything be taken away and no one held accountable?'"
Answering these questions became Adel's life's mission. His research led him to create the Bseiso Family Archive, now the largest known collection of original land ownership documents from a single Palestinian family displaced in 1948. In 2025, after years of digitization, the archive was officially published online in partnership with Columbia University's Edward Said Program in Modern Arab Studies.
This initiative is not revenge, but recognition. For Adel and thousands like him, justice begins with truth. The Bseiso family is not demanding the impossible, but rather the same demands of any displaced people: recognition, accountability, and dignity.
Palestinians continue to demand a comprehensive and just solution based on international law and fundamental human rights. The right of return, enshrined in UN General Assembly Resolution 194, remains the cornerstone of that vision. Whether through actual return or compensation and resettlement, the principle that no one benefits from ethnic cleansing must be upheld.
But Israel did not stop at refusing to recognize the Nakba; rather, it actively sought to erase its traces by denying the existence of Palestinian refugees. One of the most obvious examples of this campaign is its efforts to delegitimize the United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees (UNRWA), the sole UN agency dedicated to Palestinian refugees.
For generations, UNRWA has provided education, healthcare, and essential services. It is also a symbol of international recognition and hope for millions of refugees displaced by war and occupation. By seeking to dismantle this agency, Israel seeks to erase the humanitarian lifeline it provides and the legal status of Palestinian refugees. It believes that if UNRWA ceases to exist, the right of return will be cut off with it. This is not just a bureaucratic maneuver; it is an assault on identity, history, and justice.
Despite everything that has happened since 1948—through the 1967 war, the two intifadas, and the devastation since October 7, 2023—the Palestinians have not abandoned their call for a just and comprehensive solution. They are not demanding special treatment; they are demanding that the world fulfill its promises. They are demanding that international law be more than just ink on paper.
The issue of responsibility cannot be postponed indefinitely. Without addressing the root causes of Palestinian displacement, neither the two-state solution, nor a ceasefire, nor any negotiations will be complete.
Any true peace must begin with recognizing who was displaced, how, and by whom.
On this Nakba Day, as Palestinians mark 77 years of loss and resilience, the world must confront an uncomfortable truth: The suffering did not begin on October 7, 2023, or even in 1967. It began in 1948, when one nation was built by uprooting another.
The Bseiso archive is not just a collection of yellowed papers. It is a living challenge to a long-standing historical erasure. It is a testament to the ongoing Palestinian demand—not just for justice, but for truth.

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The issue of responsibility cannot be postponed indefinitely. Without addressing the root causes of the displacement of Palestinians, neither the two-state solution, nor a ceasefire, nor any negotiations will be complete.