It is winter break right now at the university where I work, which is also the same university where I was once a student, many years ago. The campus is very quiet, and the days have been very dark. Students have gone home to be with their families and loved ones until the new year and term begins.
With the cyclical nature of a life that has been long influenced by the recurrence of patterns driven by the timing of the academic calendar, I recognize that this time of year is often one of intense reflection for me. I have taken some time off from my job, and I have spent these last days doing more of what I have also been doing these past fifteen months, determined to not allow myself to become immobilized by disbelief, despair, and grief, which becomes increasingly challenging with each passing day.
I have seen students in Gaza study by flame and torch light in the midst of falling bombs, students giving their thesis presentations in makeshift tents, wandering the destroyed streets after searching all day for water and food to now search for a signal so they can take their final exams. And I wonder what world am I living in where no institution of higher education in the country I reside has expressed any public support for these students, nor any condemnation of the genocide and violence the U.S. government is funding and making possible.
When I have expressed this in various places to various people during this past year, the responses I receive are generally those of denial, discomfort, defensiveness, or minimization, and sometimes all of these combined, a reaction steeped in anti-Palestinian racism, something so fully integrated into our mainstream culture, that those who even acknowledge the existence of this particular form of racism may be accused of anti-semitism.
But that accusation is a hollow distraction. Although it is also a dangerous and deadly hollow distraction, lacking in substance but so very damaging, because it has been used effectively to silence and keep many in complacency and intentional ignorance, conditions which have formed the framework and the foundation for sustaining this genocide, which kills more people every day.
I am not one who often engages in comparative hypotheticals, as they are often disrespectful to the experiences of those who are being marginalized and dehumanized, obscured and denied. I dislike when parallels are used to convey something or refer to someone who should be respected and understood on their own terms. But I am well past the point of where I must try anything and everything, every day, to end these horrors.
So here goes: Please consider for a moment if all of the schools and universities in the U.S., Canada, or the UK had been severely damaged or destroyed, if the educational infrastructure in these countries had been targeted and bombed, along with their teachers, administrators, professors, and staff. Do you believe that if this had occurred you, in your role, as the leader of an institution of higher education, would have something to say about this? Would you express sadness, outrage, or condemnation of such violence? Would you want to make sure that the institution you are leading played no part in supporting this destruction?
Perhaps you believe that there is something separating us from the people of Palestine, that they are somehow far away, that we are somehow removed from responsibility because of their geographical location. But the truth is what you may perceive as a distance that absolves our institutions from any culpability is actually artificial, arbitrary, and grounded in illusions--illusions that disintegrate beneath the weight of the U.S. bombs, weapons, and policies being used to target and destroy the culture, homes, lands, and lives of the Palestinian people. Bombs, weapons, and policies which this country profits from, and those profits fund our schools, our endowments, our retirement plans, and our salaries.
According to a UN Report published in April 2024, more than 80% of the schools in Gaza had been severely damaged or destroyed, as the result of a deliberate effort to destroy the Palestinian education system. This ‘scholasticide’ also refers to the targeting of teachers, students, staff, and the destruction of educational infrastructure. That same report explains:
“After six months of military assault, more than 5,479 students, 261 teachers and 95 university professors have been killed in Gaza, and over 7,819 students and 756 teachers have been injured – with numbers growing each day. At least 60 percent of educational facilities, including 13 public libraries, have been damaged or destroyed and at least 625,000 students have no access to education. Another 195 heritage sites, 227 mosques and three churches have also been damaged or destroyed, including the Central Archives of Gaza, containing 150 years of history. Israa University, the last remaining university in Gaza was demolished by the Israeli military on 17 January 2024.”
While babies freeze to death in fabric shelters drenched with rain, while trucks containing blankets, food, and medicine are barred by Israel from entering into Gaza, while hospitals are besieged and doctors who will not abandon their patients are kidnapped and taken to torture camps, after months of pleading with the international community for help, and all the while the bombs don't stop falling, it has become harder for the supportive messages I share each day with the many people in Gaza who I have come to know and care about to be received alongside any kind of hope, or any belief that they have not been abandoned by the world.
People say they are dying multiple times--first when they lose their friends and family, then next when they die themselves, and again when it seems to them that none of these deaths matter to the world outside. A world they believed would do something once they knew what was really happening.
I try my best to tell them they are not alone, that we do care, that we are trying. And I know this is true for many of us. And I see this truth in the actions many of our students have taken. But despite this, in my darkest moments, when I am safe in my warm home reading messages of despair as the winter storms ravage the inadequate shelters people have tried to build for themselves out of discarded materials and remnants of destruction, and all I can offer in that moment are words, I feel a heavy weight settle on my chest with a physical presence that is unlike anything I have ever felt before in my life.
Everyone has some amount of power, and those in leadership positions at institutions of higher education have a great deal more power than they admit. What do you think would happen if university presidents decided to speak out against this, to demand an end to these atrocities, to condemn the targeting of educational institutions and their staff? I promise you it would have an impact. It would make a difference.
And we are also well past the point, after everything we have experienced during this past year and longer, where you can say that you do not know what is happening. You cannot say there is nothing you can do. You can only say you are choosing to look away, you are choosing to give your blessing to this genocide. And you do have another choice. We all do. Every person who reads these words can make the choice, right now, to end this.
Take responsibility for your position. Realize your power. Find your voice. Do what is right.
--December 30, 2024