In psychology, there is a phenomenon we refer to as “psychic numbing.” It occurs in times of staggering catastrophe, when it seems that, no matter how hard we try, we cannot prevent a tragedy. Indifference and defeat began. Systems of oppression depend enormously on this type of detachment, betting on the exhaustion of dissidents.
The total devastation of Gaza – and the impunity of its attackers – is a clear example of psychic numbing: six months later 35,000 sacrificed. Almost half of them children. Neighborhoods devastated, aid trucks blocked, common pits unearthed. This comes even after large numbers of Americans have made calls to US representatives, participated in protests, and organized actions and seminars. Now the 1.4 million people sheltered in Rafah face imminent terrain invasion, that President Biden considered A “red line” was established in March.
As a Palestinian-American, I believe it is the relentless violence that makes the act of witnessing, of not turning away, its own kind of dissent. The unprecedented mass demonstrations in the United States in recent weeks are a sign of growing support for the Palestinians, not to mention an antidote to psychic numbness.
However, after more than 2,000 people arrested At university protests, many journalists, commentators, and campus administrators appear to treat because of it: what would cause tens of thousands of students across the country to risk expulsion, doxxing, and violent arrest? – as an afterthought. Perhaps the question we should be asking is why those meant to model moral responsibility and compassion for young people have remained silent or have been ambiguous or have carefully scrutinized language in the face of documented atrocities. The students and activists fighting for Palestinian equality say clearly: we have found our Red line. Where is yours?
One of the most moving moments of these horrible months has been observing The Palestinians say, I won't leave here. Many were then killed in the homes they refused to leave, while others were killed in the “safe zones” to which they were evacuated. The camps that we have seen set up on campuses interact with this phenomenon: protesters enter a space and say: we will not leave here. They say, We will not leave here because in other places people are expelled from homes, hospitals and universities in dismembered parts, and mothers recognize their dead children by the names written on their forearms.. TO Photography of a camp shows tents marked with the words “FOR GAZA. FOR HIND” in honor of a 6-year-old boy Hind Rajab, who was killed in gaza. Another image is of a sign with a simple and non-negotiable phrase: “There are no universities left in Gaza.”
The first act of protest is usually internal: where we place our attention, how we examine or question our ideas and value systems. From individuals to institutions, this moment has put a magnifying glass on the concepts (and acts) of coherence. Where are our ideas of freedom tested? What are the limits of our value systems, the loyalty of our politicians to their constituents, our international law? Who do we believe? deserves to be called a boythat they give him water, that they grant him security?
The “Palestinian exception” has for decades presented a dilemma for “good” and “liberal” people: how to deal with a movement that calls for equal treatment within a broader system that is based on exclusion principles and superiority. At its core, the Palestinian liberation movement is not about exceptionalism; It is a request for coherence and, within that coherence, responsibility.
Accountability is the foundation of any worthwhile social order. For example, the contravention of international law (the alleged attacks against hospitals and journalistsengaging in collective punishment – is a gap that should not only alarm Palestinians, but all entities and individuals seeking to live under some kind of world order. If one believes in what one stands for, in the righteousness and legitimacy of an idea or system, then one should not hesitate to have it evaluated. Holding others accountable (in political systems, relationships, educational institutions) is a gift: it involves an imagined future of corrected behavior and interrupted harm. It is the belief in change, in renewal, in remediation.
There is the curious phenomenon of asking Palestinians what they denounce before asking what they defend. But the first is answered by the second: my commitment is to the truth, to being responsible for the ways in which I act or interact with harm. My commitment is to movements that are rooted in good faith, rooted in interconnectedness, rooted in the genuine belief that the only liberation worth having is a collective one.
“True resilience begins when people face pain.” bell hooks wrote, “and wanting to do something to change it.” Currently, the population of Gaza is being famished and bombed. They do not have access to the spaces that many of those who protest, write or speak have. On collapsed buildings in Gaza, survivors have written the names of loved ones left under the rubble. “If I must die” wrote the poet Refaat Alareer before being murdered, addressing his murdered daughter, “you must live/to tell my story.”.” This directive has crossed oceans. Its fulfillment lies in the unwavering solidarity we are seeing around the world, from demonstrations and artwork to vigils and encampments.
In this historic moment, people are coming together to demand accountability for alleged war crimes. In the end, the call to freedom moves us collectively to the core because it sounds louder than fear, because the security that comes at the cost of the destruction of another is not real security. And it is our task, each one of us, to ask ourselves what we will do with that call, with what we have witnessed. Because we owe it to the future. Because we owe it to the dead. Before murdered in novemberDr. Mahmoud Abu Nujaila scribbled On the blackboard of a Gaza hospital: “We did what we could. Remember us.”
Hala Alyan is a poet, novelist, and professor of applied psychology at New York University. Her latest collection is “The Moon That Turns You Back.” @hala.n.alyan
