It’s easier to think there are no words for what we’ve seen since the war in Gaza passed the one-year mark. That it’s impossible to express how it feels to see hungry, desperate mothers and young children blasted into oblivion as they wait for food and water.
Or to see the vehicle of four engineers, who had received Israeli authorisation for their work, bombed as they drove to Khan Younis to make repairs. Or the hundreds of thousands of Lebanese displaced, on top of the one million plus already forced out of their homes in Gaza. Or the Gazan teenager and activist burnt to death live on video last week.
“There are no words, simply no words, to describe what we saw,” Linda Thomas-Greenfield, the US ambassador to the UN, said in response to that incident.
But that’s a cop-out. There are words, and we must endeavour to find and use them, to move people to see and feel and act. For me, that starts with my perspective as an American. Several years ago, I spent time in Israel and enjoyed the place, from Jaffa to Jerusalem. I have several close Jewish friends, and I firmly support Israel’s right to defend itself.
At the same time, I was driven into journalism by 9/11 — seeking to learn more about frustrations in the Muslim world, particularly in relation to my homeland, the US — and have lived for years in mainly Muslim regions, Kashmir to Istanbul, Doha to Beirut and beyond. My sympathies with and links to the Muslim world are considerable.
As a result, I’ve long sought to maintain a balance, personally and professionally. I’ve written for major news outlets, for instance, about the inspiring re-emergence of a Jewish community (in Ukraine) and about a secretive and potentially problematic Islamic college in the US.
A year ago, as this conflict began, I found myself taking a position that some would describe as neutral, and others might call wishy-washy. For me, it was the only reasonable path.
I supported Israel’s right to use force to defend itself but disagreed with its overwhelming methodology. I denounced its foe, Hamas, and its horrifying October 7 assault, while supporting greater Palestinian rights and freedoms and an end to civilian death and displacement in Gaza and the West Bank.
Gritting my teeth amid the drumbeat of tragedies, I embraced patience through the war’s initial months, believing that Israel should be able to use force to eradicate a potentially existential threat. Might Israel be engaging in genocidal acts? And where are all these displaced Gazans supposed to go? Those questions lurked in the background, but I just hoped for a swift end to the violence.
But in recent weeks, I’ve felt my stance shift. Israel’s assault has not only continued even after its killing of Hamas’s leader Yahya Sinwar, but “escalated out of control”, according to Amos Hochstein, US President Joe Biden’s adviser on the conflict.
Even as many express hope the conflict will soon begin to wind down, Israeli attacks have intensified in Lebanon and expanded into Iran. Its approach in Gaza seems to point towards a starvation objective, even as it plans to clear most residents from northern Gaza after the war and resettle parts of the Strip.
Yet my shift is not about Israel. For one thing, it is a mistake to view the actions of Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s government as fulfilling the wishes of all Israelis, tens of thousands of whom have been regularly taking to the streets in protest.
But even setting that aside, this is a people who have stared down annihilation – having survived, within living memory, the near-total erasure of their people. I cannot pretend to know how that might shape my view of the world, my foes and neighbours. But I can see how that might prod Israel to do all it can to eradicate an enemy that has vowed to destroy it.
Such full-throttle, emotionally driven policies, however, must be tempered and shaped by informed, even stern guidance from a close and powerful ally. Yet this is nearly the opposite of what the US, Israel’s primary military and economic benefactor, has done. Apart from a few mealy-mouthed statements and meaningless red lines, Washington has essentially stood idly by as Israel has embraced slaughter as a military strategy.
How could my country, and particularly this administration, which purports to defend freedom and human rights around the world, not only do nothing while thousands of civilians are killed, but supply most of the weapons doing the killing?
As an American who has for decades sought to connect with Muslims, it’s not just heartbreaking – it’s thoroughly unacceptable, perhaps even unforgivable. Many of my Muslim friends, some of whom are prominent political analysts, have concluded that the US views Muslims and Arabs as inferior, as undeserving of the full extent of human laws, rights and security.
The West, some of them have decided, is racist. And I can’t blame them. Yet we’ve not only failed Palestinians and the Lebanese; we’ve also betrayed our ally, Israel. After more than a year of these horrors, it could not be clearer that the global response to Israel’s aggressions of the past year is no flash in the pan.
The atrocities of the past weeks and months will not soon be forgotten. Whether or not this is another Nakba is not for me to say. But it has left an indelible mark on Palestinians and their supporters – one that will shape politics and policy approaches for years, even decades.
It’s hard to imagine any path forward that puts the Levant in a better place a few years from now. What seems much more likely is a less stable, more violent and tense region for a long time to come, with the ripples reaching much further.
It’s all well and good, in this increasingly multipolar era, for the US to seek to reduce its global presence and stop playing global policeman. But with Ukraine and much of the Middle East in flames, now cannot be the time to step back entirely – what’s the point of amassing such great might only to watch the world burn? Sooner or later, it will reach American shores.
Vast carnage and mayhem. An endless cycle of tit-for-tat violence. Years of death, destruction and displacement. These are some of the words we might use today to warn against the losing of our humanity and keep the region from tumbling into the abyss.
