An Invisible People
Palestinian-Americans often choose to stay quiet and keep our heads down because we know how little our lives are valued.
There’s a ritual I perform every time violence erupts between Israel and Palestine; one that I’m fairly certain I will not be retiring any time soon despite welcome news of a ceasefire in the Gaza strip. Many of my friends know that I’m half Palestinian and, in times like this, some of them will reach out, asking if my family is safe or how I feel about the unfolding events. I’m touched by their concern, yet I always find myself quickly steering the conversation to other topics and confessing that I’ve been avoiding the news at all costs. Sticking my head in the sand is my ritual and I’ve grown quite adept at it. These friends know not to push; perhaps assuming that there’s only so much I’m able to hear about the lives lost and homes destroyed. And while I’m far from numb to all this death and devastation, I’m more than a little ashamed to admit that I avoid the news for a quite different reason: I’m not ready to learn about all the people who don’t consider me a real person. Such knowledge comes in many forms. Perhaps, as in 2014, I’ll hear one of my favorite celebrities praising Joan Rivers for always speaking her mind not long after she told a reporter that Palestinians “deserve to be dead” and we should be relieved that “at least [those killed] had very low IQs.” Or maybe I’ll hear a friend laud Bill Maher as a progressive icon shortly after he hosts an all-white panel on the conflict and insists that sympathy for Palestinians is only because they are “mostly brown.” Strangely, statements of naked hate and racism aren’t even the ones I dread most. Instead, I brace myself for the moment when I will hear the seven words that Palestinians-Americans have come to expect from our elected officials and which President Biden uttered not too long ago: “Israel has the right to defend itself.” His first statement on the subject lasted just under a minute and made mention of Israel several times yet strangely, the words “Palestine” or “Palestinian” never escaped his lips. New York mayoral candidate Andrew Yang also made no mention of Palestinians when he tweeted “We’re standing with the people of Israel who are coming under a bombardment of attacks.” Some might find it odd that neither man felt the need to mention the community that has suffered over 95% of the deaths in just this latest escalation, not to mention the vast majority of injuries and loss of property. One might even think that, based on their choice of words, they are simply unaware or unwilling to admit that Palestinians exist at all. And if that’s the case, they’re hardly alone.
Shortly before the pandemic, I attended a screening of a Palestinian film that received accolades at the Venice Film Festival. My memories of the evening sadly have less to do with the movie and more to do with a woman sitting behind me who felt the need to repeatedly tell those around her, “This is stupid; there’s no such things as Palestinians.” This, of course, was not the first time I heard this sentiment, nor will it be the last. Just last month I had to beg my mother to stay off any Facebook thread that mentioned her homeland in the hopes she might stop trying to convince such skeptics that she did indeed exist, and her family had lived in the region for hundreds of years. Usually, those who deny the existence of Palestinians will go on to say that the “brown” people in question are simply Arabs who live in Israel and, as such, are welcome to relocate to places like Jordan, Syria, or Lebanon if they want equal rights and a modicum of value placed on their lives. After all, wouldn’t these olive-skinned masses feel more comfortable with their own kind? Sometimes those identifying as Palestinian will even be dismissed as “professional refugees,” as if they raised their hands on career day and said, “I’d like to live in an apartheid state as a second-class citizen when I grow up!” The reasons for such myths are fairly easy to understand: If Palestinians do not exist, then the world does not need to concern itself with their unequal treatment or the loss of their lives. The average American may not hear the phrase “Palestinians don’t exist” with the same frequency they’re exposed to racist language about other marginalized groups but President Biden and Mr. Yang’s statements show that such a view is the prevailing one of those in power — whether they articulate it or not. In the days following his initial statement, President Biden’s administration was keen to point to discussions he was having with Israeli Prime Minister Netanyahu and communications in which he suggested that US “supports a ceasefire.” The characterization of these conversations increasingly felt like one world leader politely asking another to be more kind to the local wildlife or to more rigorously regulate their emission standards. None of the official statements gave the impression our government was concerned that actual human beings might be dying by the hundreds. But let’s take a break from semantics and talk about data.
I once had a trigonometry professor who tried to dissuade me from a career in the creative arts, insisting that I had an affinity for math. Perhaps she was right because while words often fail me when trying to explain how dehumanizing these moments feel, I can at least trust that the numbers speak for themselves. Since 2005, 96% of those killed in this never-ending conflict have been Palestinian. That is 96% of a population that is significantly smaller than the Israeli one. Some will of course try to dismiss the loss of life as a proportional response against an aggressive enemy yet roughly 75% of the Palestinians killed are civilians, and children have made up nearly 1/3 of the deaths in just this most recent escalation. In light of such figures, it seems almost moot to point out that property damage and loss of income are similarly lopsided for a community that is already incredibly impoverished, especially compared to their neighbors. So what am I to make when I hear my elected officials, celebrities, or even friends talk about “Israel’s right to defend itself,” regardless of how many Arabs are slaughtered in the process? What conclusions should I draw about the value of a Palestinian life or, perhaps more selfishly, the value of my own? The math can get a bit tricky for me because I am half white of course. Statements from our leaders would suggest that a Palestinian is worth less than 1/25th of a normal person. Adding this with my Caucasian side would put the value of my life at around 54% of your standard white American. But who knows, maybe my exceptionally fair skin can earn me a few extra points. Maybe a compromise is in order and I could count as much as 3/5ths of a normal human being. Perhaps this is why my Palestinian grandfather was so relieved when he saw that I was a blond baby.
As I write this, I can already hear the rejoinders I so often encounter any time someone suggests that there is an inherent inequality between how Israelis and Palestinians are treated by America. I’m more than happy to save myself a trip to Facebook or Twitter where I’ll be told that the liberal media is far too sympathetic to the savage Arabs who live only to pick fights with their peaceful neighbors, leaving the Israeli government with little choice but to exterminate them with one of the most powerful militaries in the world. But let’s take a quick look at how the violence has been covered by your typical “woke” media outlet. Last week CBS This Morning characterized the conflict as follows: “Since Monday, over 80 Palestinians and 7 Israelis have been killed in this tit for tat war.” Let’s just let those words linger for a moment. A conflict with a disparity of more than ten times in the death toll can only be “tit for tat” if some lives matter a lot less than others. CBS’s coverage is sadly par for the course when it comes to most seemingly “non-political” news sources. A broadcast I watched several days ago highlighted several Israeli citizens discussing damage to a local building before, almost as an afterthought, they spoke to a solitary Palestinian man who had lost four members of his family in just the last week. It bears reiterating that these are not the words of a more political outlet like Fox News where commentators face no repercussions for saying things like “Israelis like to build. Arabs like to bomb crap and live in open sewage.” This is what Palestinian-Americans see every time they turn on the news.
All of this swirls in our heads as we struggle to find the best way to talk about the situation, knowing just how little so many of our fellow Americans seem to think of us. And just when I personally find myself physically exhausted from bouncing between sadness and rage, that’s when a new emotion rears its head: shame. This shame comes from the fact that, despite what I’ve written in the preceding paragraphs, my aforementioned ritual is to keep quiet, change the subject, and avoid rocking the boat when someone mentions the conflict. Usually, I’ll deflect by saying, “well, I’m sure no one wants me to go off on a rant.” Sometimes, if I’m in a group of people, a person might save me the trouble by suggesting, “let’s not get into that; I’m sure we all have our opinions.” Such a sentiment lets me know that this person considers the value of my life to be no different than any other potentially divisive topic like the merits of the Green New Deal or if single-payer healthcare is really the best option. But of course, I don’t argue, because I’ve learned what happens when I’m honest. Conversations tend to end abruptly when I mention the lives lost, usually with another person helpfully offering, “well, let’s not get political.” Perhaps worse are moments in which those around me simply grow quiet and begin to avoid eye contact until I take the hint that talk of dead Arabs is really ruining the mood. Of course, my shame is especially acute because I know that while I’m deciding whether or not to risk speaking out and possibly make my acquaintances feel uncomfortable, there are non-Palestinians who are willing to raise their voices and will suffer real consequences for doing so. Perhaps they’ll be pre-emptively canceled as was the case with Emily Wilder, a 22-year-old reporter recently fired by the Associated Press shortly after conservatives complained of her “pro-Palestinian activism.” Perhaps valuing Palestinian lives will result in accusations of anti-Semitism as it has for Wilder (who is Jewish) along with Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, John Oliver, and Bernie Sanders (also Jewish). Or, worst of all, perhaps even those with established careers will pay with their livelihoods like CNN commentator Marc Lamont Hill did when his network fired him after he suggested Americans should “commit to political action….[for] a free Palestine.” Few things can wreak havoc on your sense of self-worth like knowing that others are being made to suffer for the crime of considering you a human being.
But the shame doesn’t stop there. Another wave creeps in when I realize that, amidst all my righteous indignation, I’ve forgotten to ask my wife if her Jewish family living in Israel is safe. It’s similar to the shame I feel when it occurs to me that I spend so much energy trying to convince anyone who’ll listen that Palestinian lives matter, that I often neglect to mention that I don’t think Israeli lives are worth any less. And when I’ve managed to get through all that, I’m greeted with the final shame that comes from the knowledge that I have the luxury of sitting safely in my home, complaining about tweets and the morning news, without being interrupted by the sounds of bombs dropping or seeing bodies piled outside of my window.
There’s so much more I wish I could convey about this conflict, especially because I know that the announced ceasefire is little more than a pause rather than an actual solution. I wish I could mention all the Palestinians I speak with back home who spend as much time ranting about HAMAS as they do the anti-Arab elements in the Israeli government; two groups of extremists who feed off one another in a desperate attempt to stay relevant while ensuring that the rest of the population remains frightened and divided. I wish I could mention how policies that throw people out of their homes for the crime of being Arab are perhaps not conducive to peace or discuss the hope I feel when liberal Israeli groups speak out in favor of Arab rights, usually far more vocally than most “progressive” Americans ever dare. And I wish I could tell you how often my wife and I naively dream of a day when we might take a trip to the Middle East and visit our families living on both sides of the conflict without having to think about decades of violence, bigotry, and mistrust. But how do I begin this conversation in a country that so often tells me I’m not a real person? Who is going to listen to someone who doesn’t exist?
