Resistance and Solidarity
Solidarity is where the building of the sacred community happens
Life here continues to be guided by the constant stream of lamentations. And while heartache and hopelessness at times chart out our paths, as we continue to lift each other up, we are reminded of the incredible strength and power when we share in vulnerable resistance to oppression.
This week is a sharp reminder of how at times there is a chasm between resistance and solidarity, and how quickly we are to redefine these definitions based on our circumstances rather than admitting in a humble submission that we are unable to maintain anything like perfect adherence to this principles.
I was on the tail end of the tour by a well known Israeli organization that is internationally recognized for challenging the narrative of Israel’s occupation. Hoping to get a ride back from Atwani to Jerusalem, I hopped on the van. When we turned around the corner, I quickly spotted my friend, Eid Hathaleen being pulled over and questioned outside of his village in Um al-Khair.
I quickly told the driver of the small-tour bus to stop so that I could stay there with him and at least be a presence in that moment. The Israeli activist momentarily joined me. In a quick exchange between the well-known Israeli activist, he sharply told, “Get back on the bus. There isn’t anything you can do here.” To which I quickly retorted, “You’re right, but what I can do is be in solidarity.” He jumped back on the bus. I stayed in the cold, absolutely powerless to intervene in the situation which would have allowed Eid to keep his car.
See, my dear friend Eid had both of his family cars confiscated this week by the Israeli authorities. It is a devastating and demoralizing situation. Searching for the meaning of a mess like this is almost an act of self-flagellation. While you’re rolling over each successive way in which the car was stolen could potentially have a silver lining, you realize ten more ways in which the family and community his permanently impacted. In these times, it often the case that only simple acceptance can provide any sort of relief: The car is gone, there is nothing we can do about it — full stop.
As the Israeli soldiers emptied out his family’s belongings in the dead of night, community members gathered up the food and tools and began to march up the dark gravel path their home. I was lucky enough to pick up the heavy grain sack for their herd because in doing so, the pain of carrying the load gave me balanced out the pain of watching Eid’s wife’s car being shuttled away by the Israeli authorities.
After dropping off his belongings, we gathered in the tent to share a pot of tea. As we rehashed the multiple times before cars were taken from their community and the surrounding families in the area, we marked out all the ways that sustainable transportation in marginalized communities in the South Hebron Hills was difficult and problematic, particularly for the village of Um al-Khair. In the end, we simply had to accept that at least in the moment, remedying the lack of transportation was behind closed doors. And with that, that was a normal, consistent conclusion that had been reached so many times before: We had to wait.
But within that space of recognized temporary powerlessness, there opens up a space to be vulnerable, to share in frustrations, to share in hopefulness, to share in hurt, to heal in a way — even just for a moment — that galvanizes our commitment to each other. This is where solidarity is birthed.
It is this solidarity that allows us to resist when we are tired and broken, there seems like there is nothing left to do. In that openness, we can see within each other that there is still a will to move forward when there is clarity. With our long to-do list, it is easy to forget this. We have to be in other places to be and schedules to stick to. That is the cold reality of life — at times. There are just times in which we cannot be with those who need us the most all the time and in every circumstance.
But what does need to happen is for us as a community continue to revisit to mean what it means to resist oppression and what it means to be solidarity and to acknowledge that when we rest on laurels, we can perpetuate violence and oppression on those who would hope to be the struggle for joint struggle for human rights.
There are ways in which I can resist the structures of Israel’s military occupation, but at the same time, further, marginalize and inflict damage on the communities that I would hope to serve with humility. It is easy to turn the people who are enduring suffering as a means to our own selfish and self-centered means. I watch it happen. I have done it myself. Even more importantly, it is easy for me fall back into that framework of engagement.
Several organizations will bring people to Um al-Khair, sit for hours, drink their tea, eat their food, force the community to relive their stories of trauma as the recount each home demolition since 2007 in the hopes of getting people to develop and implement advocacy strategies on their behalf — not offer up even a token monetary contribution for the community. Or if they do offer up a gift, it is well below the rate of which other well-known organizations would be given. I’ve watched lots of individuals and organizations use village of Um al-Khair and others for their story of suffering and the villages not reap anything in return — all in the name of resistance.
And here is when trust breaks down. This is a small swathe of land and the human rights and activist community is even smaller. Villages like Um al-Khair and others know when they are being exploited because those of us working and living here share amongst each other where we go, what did, what it cost, and everything in between.
This is a clear example in which we can resist the Israeli occupation while exploiting the Palestinians we set out to serve. We can leave a lot of collateral damage in our work, regardless of our intentions. Knowing that it will take the formation of a robust movement of resistance of individuals, organizations, and institutions necessary for change, by only resisting, and not being in solidarity with, we are destroying the necessary trust that is prerequisite for building coalitions of radical change.
