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Tag: story of Palestine

  • University Encampments for Justice in Palestine: 3 Key Insights

    University Encampments for Justice in Palestine: 3 Key Insights

    After visiting several university encampments in the United States and engaging in hundreds of conversations with university personnel, faculty, student organizers, and national leaders, I feel it is important to share key insights for the global Muslim community and others interested in important foundational elements of the movement.

    First, the stance of anti-genocide is a self-evident principle of the most basic moral virtue.

    It is morally natural and expected for students to side with justice. People of all backgrounds are fed up with genocide and a blatantly hypocritical status quo. There is no peace while genocide is ongoing. There is no peace as long as Gaza is under occupation. Without justice and peace in Palestine, there is no true peace in the world.

    Students have much less to lose than American politicians who have collectively received millions of dollars in bribes—disguised as lobbying—from pro-Zionist groups. How can we expect politicians to advocate for true universal justice, for all people including Palestinians, Muslims, Jews, and others, when their decisions are swayed by external entities and financial incentives?

    University administrators are not exempt from scrutiny. Virtually no American university president has condemned Israel’s actions as genocide, nor have they protected the rights of students to protest occupation, immoral investments, and the ethnic cleansing of Palestinians. University presidents and regents often receive direct pressure from wealthy donors, including Zionist supporters of Israel’s occupation of Palestine, and they prioritize their careers, political connections, and long-term ambitions over ethical concerns. The higher one climbs within an unethical system, the less independence they retain, especially when moral causes require the sacrifice of their comfortable status. Only those with moral fortitude would resign from their positions rather than renounce their moral values.

    As for the everyday citizens who criticize students, it may be the media they consume shapes their perceptions of peoples, places, and events. It is the unfiltered social media documentation of genocide that has informed students and faculty worldwide.

    Second, people who advocate for universal justice are increasingly frustrated with the double standards, hypocrisy, and selective justice they observe.

    We see individuals, political groups, and institutions espouse morality and justice but then look away and remain silent when a clear injustice is taking place; they, directly or indirectly, support and promote a government and media narrative that inverts reality. This ruling class quagmire of self-interest, networked with ideological delusion, feeds a growing disgust among activists and the general population. Worse still is when peaceful protests against the genocide happening in real time, on screens in front of our eyes, are misrepresented as antisemitic and promoting of violence. How is it justifiable to violently arrest students peacefully protesting against the utter destruction of Gaza and the bombing that has killed so many tens of thousands, a majority of them women and children? The students are peacefully protesting settler-colonial structures that lead to ethnic cleansing, discrimination, land theft, oppression, violence, and now, genocide. Shutting down the peaceful protests against what is demonstrably wrong, let alone violently doing so, is the height of hypocrisy, displaying a double standard and selective justice that is beyond shameful.

    For Muslims, standing against injustice involves a full commitment to the truth, not blind allegiance to a nation’s military-industrial complex, a political party, a particular politician, influencer, or even a “religious” scholar if he speaks or acts in any way that deviates from Islamic orthodoxy. In Islam, allegiance is to universal justice and truth as defined by God. Therefore, if a Muslim commits a crime, Muslims stand with the truth by willingness to condemn his crime and support his prosecution by the law, just as Muslims worldwide have condemned the terrorist movements that do not represent Islamic teachings. Similarly, many Jews condemn the Israeli occupation of Palestine, the inherent racism and supremacism in Zionism and in the far-right extremist groups in Israeli society, as well as the weaponization of antisemitism and the Holocaust. Some of the most vocal advocates for Palestinian liberation, calling for the end of occupation and injustice, are, themselves, Holocaust survivors. Organizations like Jewish Voice for Peace are at the forefront of numerous campaigns and university encampments.

    Furthermore, students are tired of being lied to and deceived. Western media often portray peaceful protestors as radical anti-Semitic agitators, while ignoring the reality that these encampments are protesting genocide, immoral investments, and the suppression of pro-Palestinian voices. It has been documented on numerous occasions that agitators and undercover pro-Zionists frequently infiltrate these protests to provoke students, incite violence, and cause the mainstream media to portray the protestors as anti-Semitic.

    Universities preach “freedom of speech” and when people freely speak about Palestine, they respond, “No, not like that.” Universities preach “inclusivity” and when we include Palestinian dignity and rights, they say, “No, not that kind of inclusive.” Universities preach “academic freedom” but when professors and scholars speak about Israeli settler-colonialism and the Palestinian right to freedom, they say, “Not that kind of freedom.” American norms preach “freedom to protest,” but when students and faculty protest genocide, they suppress them, suspend them, expel them, and assault them with military-trained police in scenes that resemble the IDF’s brutal and barbaric assault on innocent Palestinians.

    Third, know that students and faculty involved in encampments are principled, courageous, and resilient.

    The students understand the risks of protesting at institutions like Harvard, NYU, Columbia, Yale, UNC, Northwestern, University of Michigan, and literally hundreds of other campuses. They risk their educational and career ambitions, their comfort, and often their safety, to stand up for those who have been silenced or, worse, slaughtered. If Palestinian voices are ignored and lives obliterated with U.S.-funded weapons and the ideological extremism of Zionist settler-colonialism, then university students worldwide will speak and act on their behalf.

    We should all recognize these truths: the more you suppress students and faculty who protest against genocide and the immoral investments in the Israeli economy, the stronger and more frequent the protests will become. The more you deploy military-style police to suppress peaceful protesters, to tase and assault them, to ban and intimidate them, the more that Jews, Muslims, Christians, and others will continue to rise up. And these efforts may not immediately change the status quo, but as they clearly are disrupting those in power, the Israeli war criminals, and those who fund them, protestors also recognize that the matter is intricate, complex, and contains many variables, and protest alone is not going to cause a shift in policy. It is but one part of the equation, and a necessary and inspirational one.

    History shows that many contemporary figures once considered enemies of the state are now glorified and emulated. A good example is Martin Luther King Jr. Similarly, today’s students, faculty, and others who support the end of genocide and occupation will be viewed positively by future generations, and this recognition may not be so far off. The tides have turned. The fervent desire to stop a genocide generated by a supremacist and racist ideology and 75 years of occupation cannot be extinguished. The spark ignited on university campuses worldwide is spreading rapidly. And whether or not we see the immediate results, we will persist in our efforts to end genocide, replace it with universal justice for all people, and hold those accountable who have perpetrated and enabled one of the most barbaric and violent injustices of our times. Furthermore, whether future generations see us as being on the right side of truth and justice is not the ultimate factor in our decision-making and resilience; rather, it is the awareness that God sees our actions and is our ultimate judge.

    And soon, God-willing, Palestine will be free.

  • Frontlines of Empathy: Unveiling Grief and Resilience in Palestine

    Frontlines of Empathy: Unveiling Grief and Resilience in Palestine

    Politics and journalism have been, for a long time, two of my greatest passions in life; and Palestine has always been the driving force, the soul of my unwavering commitment to truth and justice. The first thing we are taught in journalism is that it’s a form of storytelling, sharing narratives and perspectives, the pursuit of understanding the complex terrain of reality. As a journalist you are given the duty of upholding truth and an obligation to present facts. The principle of positing information objectively is drilled into our brains. Journalism serves as a watchdog, taking on the responsibility of truth-telling, of shedding light on injustices and abuses of power. This is in stark contrast to politics, which is so often a realpolitik that covets power, not ideals, and thus falls short of a moral commitment to humanity and an empathy that is willing to look at suffering and seek its relief.

    For years, I’ve dedicated myself to raising awareness, my own first and then others’, through publishing articles, researching hours upon hours, writing academic papers, and doing projects on Palestine. While, simultaneously, I have attended events, protests, and seminars to dig deep into the core of that intransigent issue. I have read works of Edward Said and Mahmoud Darwish, two souls who shared the struggle to free Palestinians, their advocacy through action, writing, and storytelling. But in the end, mine has been a small attempt to use logic and reason in trying to make sense of the decades of illegal occupation and the politics encumbering the region.

    I was willing to fall into the rabbit hole where politics, geopolitical agendas and exploitation, propaganda, deceit, and human failing all swirl in a disorderly, life-defying maelstrom. But upon reflection, the series of events that unfolded in October forever changed my trajectory in life and my understanding of humanity, mortality, and journalism.

    One October evening, I marched on the streets of Cambridge for hours, demanding first a ceasefire and then justice for Israel’s brutal attacks on Gaza. Marching on the same streets years ago, I was among those demanding justice for the attacks on Sheikh Jarrah. My keffiyeh, wrapped around my neck, was adorned with a picture of Al-Aqsa and “Free Palestine” written across the bottom in Arabic. I joined hundreds upon hundreds of protesters, all flushed with anger and adrenaline. As always, I believed it was my duty to stand up, to be a voice for those made mute by censoring or censure or oppression.

    The trajectory of my life changed when, twenty-four hours later, I received news that my grandfather had suddenly passed away. Everything I took for granted shattered. Everything around me blurred as I was forced to grapple with a reality that I had no choice but to face. The funeral home was where I said my final goodbye. He looked at peace, asleep, the room becoming a sanctuary, for moments transcending the boundaries of life and death. The person who raised me to be strong and resilient laid motionless in front of me. And then, moments later, the world outside felt distant, and for the first time in my life I felt powerless.

    I stood and watched him being buried. I helped pat the fresh dirt on his grave, gently placing his favorite roses down. I sat and played with the soil, and as my phone buzzed with messages of condolence, I was also receiving notifications of breaking news in Gaza. The parallels of watching reports on my phone of entire families being obliterated while living my own personal encounter with death drew me into a spiral of mind-boggle and desolation. I wanted to block all of it out, I wanted to look away as if that might fix things. These two experiences, though quite distinct and incomparable, melded into immense grief for me. In the weeks following my grandfather’s passing, I struggled.

    I returned to the city to find people that I had known as friends being targeted and doxed. Campuses all around were sending nearly-identical emails, dismissing claims of the genocide taking place in Gaza. The same politics and journalism classes in which I had been taught ethics, brushed all the obvious evidence of injustice under the rug. For the first time, everything that I had been accustomed to according to a political framework of social justice and advocacy for those who are marginalized, discriminated against or oppressed — all of that came crumbling down. Every protest I attended, I heard the same stories of entire families being wiped out, of children being brutally murdered, and hospitals being attacked. I thought of my grandfather often, and of thousands like him. The juxtaposition of dealing with intimate personal sorrow while witnessing the large-scale horror of genocide became a driving force in my deepening commitment to advocacy for positive social and political change. Over the course of two months, I began collecting videos of protests and rallies, creating video packages, researching public opinion, analyzing and writing about the psychopathy of ethnic cleansing and genocide, and speaking at multiple protests.

    Seeing what Palestinians are going through, right there on the screens in front of our eyes, makes commitment to social justice, which can be for many people an intellectual exercise, become the reality it is — life’s challenge to feel the suffering of others, to empathize in ways that mobilize us intellectually, spiritually, emotionally, and morally. My voice is just a mere fraction of the megaphonic call to action to stop the destruction and death in Gaza.

    To grasp Palestinian resistance, that it will not die, one must understand grief. This was the first time in my life I felt concomitant resistance in the form of refusing to surrender to despair, in a willingness to face death and defy its pull to hopelessness and the dissolution of personal autonomy and power. This is nothing less than a total commitment to keep going, to find a solution in undying resistance to oppression.

    The struggles of the Palestinians have been obscured for decades by carefully curated narratives in the media. Headlines often reduce the suffering and deaths to numbers and statistics, stripping away their identities. Reducing individuals to these statistics perpetuates a cycle of indifference. Now, however, we see journalists on the ground in Gaza who are dismantling these decade-old narratives. At its core, we have all been forced to bear witness to the atrocities taking place. What we see is a compelling display of Palestinian strength and resilience. No class, no academic project, no intellectual analysis or reflection has shown me, as the Palestinians have, the depth of the human soul and its refusal to capitulate to death and destruction.

    Now, during every protest I think of my grandfather. I don’t think of statistics or politics or propaganda. I think of people like him. And so, I speak of him often, in hopes that as long as I speak my truth, the memory of his life’s principles and virtues will never die. Political leaders and governments too easily create “us vs them” as a cover for their destructive policies, a way of abolishing the meaning and value of individual lives. But in journalism, truth can prevail, it must be the guardian of veracity. Storytelling is our lifeblood, and it unfailingly points towards justice and resilience in the face of oppression. The Palestinian story is a living testament to this truth. In solidarity always.