The U.S. president has essentially called for the ethnic cleansing and U.S. takeover of Gaza, while requesting yet another billion in military aid to Israel, including the release of the hold on 2000-pound bombs. In the meantime, Gazans are slowly returning to the complete devastation of their homes, to dig out what remains of their lives and loved ones. Sitting next to the Israeli leader charged by international courts for war crimes that resulted in the death and devastation we see in Gaza today, Trump justifies his proposal by asking, without any sense of U.S. complicity or irony, “What do they have? It is a big pile of rubble right now.”
For over a year the world has watched a genocide unfold in Gaza, with seemingly little that those who watched in horror could do to change the course of events. I know many of us struggled to go on with our regular, safe lives, pursuing our professional goals, enjoying the comforts of home with family and friends, while carrying the knowledge that these atrocities had been allowed to continue, fueled by my tax dollars and the blessing of our government. As the descendent of refugees from the 1948 Nakba, I’m part of the Palestinian diaspora, but I know these feelings of trying to find a ‘work-genocide balance’ extended beyond those with familial and ancestral ties to the region. The recent firehose of executive orders coming out of Washington are having their intended effect of diluting our attention on any one issue, but Trump’s new declarations on Gaza have once again hyper-focused many of us on this unbelievably horrific denouement to the pain and suffering of Palestinians.
So, are we allowed to talk about any of this on campus yet?
I research and teach at a research-intensive university in the U.S. My subject area is not directly related to what’s happening in Palestine. I struggle daily to stay focused on my “niche” academic topic (as important as I believe it to be); I struggle to stand up in front of a classroom of students and not talk about what is happening in Gaza. I have tenure, which means a lot of latitude on the topics I pursue, the outlets where I want to publish, and what I teach. In theory, I’m supposed to be able to speak out loud what others are scared to or don’t have the microphone to do. Where corporate America and government agencies are often stifled, universities, the argument goes, are the beacons of free speech and critical thought.
Yet I write this anonymously. I’m sure I will be called a coward for this choice, but I don’t even feel safe wearing a keffiyeh on campus anymore, given the very real fear and threat of doxxing, retaliation at work and threats to my livelihood. My tenure theoretically protects me in my current posting, but other tenured professors have fallen. And if I were to apply for a different job or a promotion, I cannot be sure that some of the vocal and powerful wouldn’t quash my chances, simply for speaking out on an internationally recognized genocide and open calls for ethnic cleansing from a U.S. president that we were all witness to.
Are my fears exaggerated? My university isn’t particularly high-profile. It hasn’t been targeted by media or Congress (yet). But we are seeing these kinds of consequences beyond the Ivy League. A nurse practitioner at the University of California, San Francisco, faced suspension for wearing a watermelon pin. A justice studies professor at San Jose State University was suspended for engaging with pro-Palestinian justice groups. Harassment of pro-Palestine academics is rampant in Canadian universities as well. While protests and encampments may not be grabbing headlines anymore, universities are still shutting down speech on Palestine.
All sorts of new terms entered our regular lexicon this year: anti-Palestinian racism, the Palestine exception to free speech, Progressive except Palestine (although the sentiments behind these have certainly been around for a while). In academia, we should be fighting these corrosive forces, not manifesting them on our campuses. Academic freedom is theoretically untouchable, but the line somehow is drawn at the issue of Palestine. We should be able to talk openly about the painful history and continuation of, and revived calls for, colonization and ethnic cleansing in Palestine without being called antisemites (as Harvard has recently decided) or getting cancelled. We should not be in the situation where it is open season on students and faculty who call for their universities or organizations to divest from companies that benefit from genocide. And we should not have to hesitate to join protests against our government’s very real complicity in this atrocity, on campus or off, for fear of police brutality, arrest, or deportation.
I truly hope that the cease-fire will hold and lead to some immediate relief for Gazans, and that more sensible plans are put in place so that Palestinians and Israelis alike are able to live in dignity and security. But as we collectively hold our breath to see what happens next in Gaza (not to mention the ramp up in settler violence and ongoing forcible transfer of Palestinian communities in the West Bank) we should at the very least be able to have these difficult conversations on campus. Maybe one day I will feel safe enough in my skin and my position to sign my name to something like this op-ed. For now, all I can hope for is to bring more attention to this issue so that maybe some university presidents (and the Trustees and elected officials who quietly but powerfully shape the academic landscape) are brave enough to take a stand and counter the Palestine exception.
