This post is part of my 3DR newsletter where I share what I’m (un)learning to build just futures. It centres around my 3DR approach to equity: Decolonize. Disrupt. Dismantle. Rebuild. If you approach the world with curiosity and you’re looking for courageous and compassionate conversations around social justice and collective liberation, subscribe to my newsletter.
Hi kapwa*,
I sincerely hope you’ve been enjoying the summer and finding much joy in this season. It’s been a while since I was last in touch. Between campaigning in a federal election here in Canada for pro-Palestinian candidates, filming a documentary (more to share about that soon!), and navigating ongoing health issues in my family, there’s been a lot going on. But here I am, trying to ground back into my writing practice and make meaning of all the chaos and complexity of today’s world.
Palestine, of course, and as always, is on my mind and in my heart.
It has now been 21 months of indiscriminate bombings, mass forced displacement, and the deliberate starvation of the people of Gaza. More than that, we are seeing even more illegal settlements being built and an increase in settler violence in the West Bank. World powers continue to ship weapons and weapons components to Israel despite their full knowledge of the war crimes being committed against Palestinians. A new report was just released full of damning evidence of Canada’s secret arms trade with Israel, despite the lies we’ve been told (and continue to be told) by our elected officials.
In the face of these horrors, courageous and principled people around the world who speak up against the injustice of genocide and apartheid are faced with censorship, surveillance, arrest, violence, and all sorts of harm. I see it in my own community organizing circles. Every weekend, my pro-Palestinian neighbours gather at a public space to make art and share resources on community organizing, and every weekend, cops show up to intimidate us. Just the other weekend, I watched as members of my community were arrested for peacefully protesting our government’s complicity in genocide.
At a time when we are seeing truly terrifying crackdowns on the freedom of speech, it is more imperative than ever before that we stand together in solidarity and protect each other – and I mean that in a real embodied and physical way. I recently had a powerful experience that showed me just how crucial our solidarity is in this moment, and I wanted to share it with you today…
Solidarity As a Felt Experience
Last fall, Living Hyphen hosted a storytelling gathering at the Good Mourning Festival honouring our grief and gratitude and all the emotions that lie in between. We invited 12 people to share their stories with us about the complexity of our times honouring loss in all its different manifestations.
At the end of the day, a man asked to speak with me because he had some issues he wanted to share. Immediately, my alarm bells were sounding off. I knew what was coming.
He began by angrily telling me that the stories that were shared and the Postcards for Palestine that I had on display were offensive and antisemitic, that I was threatening his safety in a public space that his community holds dearly. That to call what was happening in Palestine a genocide was wildly inaccurate.
"What do you call destroying hospitals, schools, refugee camps, infrastructure - never mind the actual human lives that Israel has taken? How do you justify the forced displacement of over a million people?” I asked, flummoxed.
I could feel my heart beginning to race, my palms getting sweaty. “Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry,” I often need to tell myself when I find myself in confrontation.
And then my dear friend Jenn joined me and stood next to me. Immediately, I felt my heart lift, my breath steady, and my resolve grow. Instantly, I felt safe again.
This man continued to attack and condemn the tender space we created as “antisemitic” while Jenn expressed the facts of genocide. I knew that this was a "battle" that would not be "won" because we weren't even on the same "battlefield", so to speak. We were operating on completely different planets. There was no shared ground.
Knowing this, I reached out to this man, held his hand, and told him how infuriated I am by the ways in which the Israeli state has weaponized his and the Jewish community's very real trauma and pain, that it is an injustice to his people that I am fighting against. I reminded him that we were at a grief festival and that perhaps this was a moment for him to tend to his grief. I invited him to visit the many beautiful installations around the public space that might help him do just that.
We Keep Us Safe
I learned a lot in that interaction, but what I most want to highlight is that this experience taught me, on a very practical level, what it means to stand in solidarity. Literally and physically. How our bodies can co-regulate and strengthen each other. How our bodies can bring each other safety. How our bodies can serve to uplift our spirits and help us do the hard things.
Having Jenn by my side gave me the courage to speak my truth while doing so in the most caring way I knew how.
In the many protests and marches that I have been a part of, we often chant: “Who keeps us safe? We keep us safe!” The chant is an acknowledgment of and rebuke against the state-sanctioned violence that is all too often weaponized against the people. The chant is a fierce reminder of our power as a collective to protect and care for each other, a fierce reminder that our solidarity is sacred and necessary.
I’ve always known this to be true, but this experience brought this truth alive for me in my body. I share this story with you in the hopes that you too will find the courage to stand, speak, and act in solidarity with those fighting for justice and our collective liberation. I promise you, it will make all the difference.
In loving solidarity,
Justine