One year later
Still the same questions
A year ago this week the war between Israel and Hamas exploded. Much better writers than me have written at length about this conflict— its history and context, what it means, and where it could lead. What I have to add to the conversation is not deep historical knowledge or policy prescriptions. Instead, what I find myself thinking about a year later is how my central question is still the same one I had a year ago:
How am I implicated?
How am I implicated in the choices made by my government? And how am I implicated by how I talk about this conflict with people in my own life?
I’ve known for a long time that I live in a bubble. Bumper stickers on cars all over my town read “Ithaca, NY: 10 square miles surrounded by reality.” But it’s not just my town, it’s also my social and political life, which spans the globe. I’m not connected to people who have radically different beliefs than I do, mostly. Or at least, I wasn’t until this war.
For the first time, I have found myself in conflict with people I care about and respect when discussing it. Maybe that experience shouldn’t be so shocking. Our society has been so polarized for so long. But it has been. I never thought I’d be debating with my friends over the possible justifications for slaughter and destruction— of Palestinians or Israelis.
Instead of shying away from how disorienting and vulnerable it has felt to wade into these conversations I never expected to have, though, I have tried, as I wrote at this time last year, to sit in the discomfort of confronting my own complicity in violence and dehumanization. Then to use that necessary humbling as the starting point— for listening to and acknowledging the grief and fear that is laying bare just under the surface of all their anger and surety.
A quote from Nelson Mandela has returned to me again and again: “Be tough on structures, be tough on institutions, but don't be tough on each other.”
When I have remembered that wisdom, when I have swallowed my pride, my righteousness, and my instinct to defend myself or my position, I have been left with nothing but a deep and grief-stricken love for my people and the world.
I don’t know why we persist in believing we can bomb our way into peace or that tribalism ever leads to anything but endless harm. Both are so obviously not working or helping and never have.
I don’t know why we succumb to feelings of fear or scarcity or separation, either. Until I do, because I have. And might very well again. So, I can offer no righteous judgments on that score. Just as much compassion as I can muster because this being human with other humans business is often so painful.
A bright spot in all of this has been the opportunity to participate in or witness conversations with others deeply grappling with this convergence of love and grief and humility and complicity. I had one of those conversations with my best friend when she came to visit recently. We came to no grand conclusions, in the end. Only affirmed that we are in this confusing, complicated, painful life business together.
I also witnessed it in this conversation between author Ta-Nehisi Coates and Trevor Noah on Noah’s podcast, What Now? Coates has a new book out, The Message. In it, he grapples with the complications of ancestry and the possibility of return to Africa as a Black American. He grapples with book banning (of his own books) and how to understand what’s really happening underneath those struggles. And he grapples with the longstanding conflict between Israel and Palestine, traveling to the region to see for himself the realities of life and talk to people.
It’s a truly moving conversation and a special gift, I think, for smart, thoughtful people to offer such a transparent view into their own complexity and complicity, to be honest about what they know and don’t. If you’ve ever wondered what practicing integrity actually looks like in real time, I think the conversation offers that. I hope you’ll watch it.
And I hope you’ll join me in working for peace, in the world and in your own life, so that this time next year we’ll be able to ask different questions.
XO, Asha