Navigating another winter of discontent

 

5 min. read

My cultural and political engagements continue to be some of the few positive aspects of my mixed (at best) experience so far in Belgium. As usual, there is no shortage of free or cheap cultural events.

I have a heated exchange at Full Circle with a cocky UK-based African-American academic. His address is noticeably androcentric and he carries a strong aroma of misogynoir. He minimises the distinct difficulties Afrodescendant women face at the intersection of race and gender discrimination. He doesn't have much truck with intersectional theories at all. It's thus not a surprise that he apparently has a vendetta for black feminists like Kimberlé Crenshaw, Audre Lorde and in particular, bell hooks. Time doesn’t allow me to go into my frustration with his all-or-nothing, cherry-picking method of argumentation, as well as the lack of intellectual rigour elsewhere in the room. Notwithstanding a few notable exceptions, the mostly white guests are too scared and/or ill-informed to challenge him or add anything constructive to the conversation. Similar for most of the Afrodescendant guests, a number of whom are Americans themselves. Some patriotic loyalty is at play, apparently. One attendee, with whom I’d previously had a cordial exchange, is particularly defensive that evening. Or maybe I've just caught her at a jaded low-point. She accuses me of interrupting (she's not wrong) whilst shamelessly hacking others off herself. She pounces on any comment she doesn’t like, whether or not directed at her. She serves as the academic’s personal bulldog if I so much as ask for a point of clarification. Worst of all, as someone who professes to be interested in the advancement of black women, she takes no issue with the very problematic statements made by the guest speaker. For someone as educated as she claims to be, it’s a disappointing display.

I have a more positive encounter at the celebrated Jazz venue, Archiduc, where I come across a couple I met over five years prior at the 2018 Afropean symposium. I recall a conversation with the fellow, of mixed Afro-Brazilian descent, about his being an advocate for Black Love. At the time, he proudly informs me of his relationship with a darker-skinned Afrodescendant woman. I am glad to observe he's kept his word.

I have long wondered what became of the two. Did they remain in Belgium and if so, why I had not bumped into them sooner, like other guests I met at the same symposium?

That is partially answered by the adorable tot accompanying them at Archiduc that afternoon. They’ve spent almost two years in hibernation, outside of work obligations, looking after the new addition to the family. We exchange numbers and a few text messages. I'm not expecting us to become BFFs. I'm just pleased to have scratched that curiosity itch.

On the political front, I am in charge of booking the entertainment for a special bring-and-share organised by Intal, to raise awareness about the deteriorating situation in Eastern DRC. A live performance and a DJ set are also envisaged, to add some well-needed levity to the event. I ask my mate, B-Sharp from the Afro Jam to help out with the former. He's on another level that evening, the enrapt audience hanging on his every melodious word. He ropes me into an impromptu performance, as I suspected he would.

 I am also invited to be on the organising committee of the association's annual political education conference, Campus Intal. Whilst the organisation itself is slightly on the chaotic side, it’s still incredibly rewarding to be involved in any activism of this sort. Many, if not all, of my Intal comrades are also members of the Belgian workers’ party, PTB. We cross paths once more at the party’s New Year’s gathering, at which delegates outline their political programme for 2024. It’ll be a significant period, with many forthcoming key elections, none for which I am eligible to vote. My support will have to be moral instead.

Campus Intal itself is equal-parts invigorating and exhausting. The team of volunteers is coordinated by Kelly, a boisterously loud New Zealander of Taiwanese origin. I’ve hitherto given her a wide berth, deterred by her presumed attention-seeking and a suspicion that any activism had more to do with her IG profile than The Cause. My attitude does thaw substantially whilst we work together to ensure the weekend runs as smoothly as possible.

I make several great connections that weekend in between the informative and interactive workshops. There’s Italian-Eritrean, Merlat working in the NGO sector. I meet Brian, an easy-on-the-eye Brit of mixed-Madagascan origin. He arrived in Brussels almost a year before I began my (mis)adventure here but is new to political engagement. I have longer conversations with vaguely familiar faces such as half-Egyptian, Yussef and Habiba; a bright, not to mention stunning, Lybian-Italian with Camel-like eyelashes born and raised in Vancouver. 

At the end of conference day one, I partake in my first guerilla, flash mob-style protest at the notorious supermarket chain, Carrefour. Heavily invested in Israeli settlements, the franchise is high on the list of companies to Boycott according to the BDS campaign. A sizable group of us descend on one of the largest branches in Brussels. I assume we’ll merely picket the entrance so I am surprised when we enter the megastore's premises themselves. At a strategic moment, Palestinian flags are unwrapped, and one of Intal’s leaders calls for a boycott of Carrefour and an immediate ceasefire in Gaza on a megaphone. The group proceeds through the shop chanting these demands, as bemused customers record the protest on their phones.

Those amongst us (like myself) with a more precarious, third-country national status serve as decoys. Habiba and I feign a genuine interest in the dairy or pasta products whilst we play lookout. We’re led by Lucien, born to Syrian-Christian parents near Damascus.

I detect one of the security guards making a furtive phone call. He doesn't attempt to handle the situation himself. I ring Lucien to warn him the police are on their way. They show up with a head-spinning quickness.

By that time we’re already at the tram stop, heading back to HQ. It is exhilarating. Despite being almost half my age (I assume), Habiba is a veteran of this kind of direct action. It’s more of a novelty for me.  The following morning, both of us will attend a popular workshop on activists’ rights in Belgium. The human rights lawyer leading the session is the same who advises on Intal's direct actions.

Following the supermarket protest, we let our hair down at the conference afterparty. Most of the crowd are baby Millennials or Gen-Zed, far more familiar than I with the Electro-Eastern fusion, Amapiano and commercial Hip-Hop playlist of Intal's very own DJ Mustafa. Despite the absence of any old school R&B, I still get my dance on. It's just as much fun watching the comrades throwing shapes to varying degrees of success. Kerry, intense even when sober, is literally bouncing off the walls after a beer or two. When she volunteers -unsuccessfully - to pole dance around the pillars, I double up in hysterics.

Slipping away to get some rest before the next day of activities, I am stopped en route by none other than B-Sharp’s amiable wife, Luna.

At such moments, I could believe that perhaps I am exactly where I need to be.

Soundtrack: Chet Baker Sings + The Legendary Riverside Albums

Red, White, Black and Green

 8-9 min. read

(c) Farahgraphicz

I could not reflect on the past month without acknowledging the events of 7 October in Israel and the ensuing onslaught in Gaza. Much of my time, before, during and after my most recent UK trip has been consumed by it. 

The attacks by Hamas on Israeli civilians come shortly after a national day of action in Belgium to protest the government’s plans to restrict the very right to demonstrate. 

My comrades at Intal and others regroup again when the Israeli state responds to Hamas’ brutality with predictably gruesome and disproportionate reprisals. 

The night of Hamas’ assault, I sleep fitfully, terrified of Israel's retribution that is sure to come. The following morning at church, I open up briefly when asked how I'm doing by Roy, another regular. I’m hesitant to share. Whatever my church’s official position - assuming there is one - it is not rabidly Zionist. Still, there are members who are. Roy isn’t, even if he’s less enthused about Palestinian liberation than I’d hope. He advises me to be attentive to self-care. 

You can’t take on all the world's burdens, he admonishes, That’s God’s job. You’ll be far less useful if you’re burned out. 

True that.

What many of us fear comes to pass. As I write, the IDF’s offensive has seen the slaughter of over 11,000 Gazan civilians (some believing this to be a serious underestimate), roughly half of whom are children. I weep with others across the world when I hear or think of the horror taking place on the ground; not just in Gaza but throughout the Palestinian territories. Shortly after I put virtual pen to paper for this article, I learn of the arrest of well-known Palestinian activist, Ahed Tamimi under an apparent pretext; no doubt an act of provocation by the Israeli state. At the ripe-old age of 22, she's already spent significant periods of time in custody. That same week, IDF militia shoot dead a 13 year-old in the West Bank, on the way to hang out with his friends.

I channel my terror into prayers and making my voice heard where possible, mainly through collective action on both sides of the Channel. In Belgium I attend any pro-Palestine and ceasefire demonstration event for which I'm available. Many involve Intal, the peace-building, anti-imperialist initiative which I joined earlier this year.  They have long been active in campaigning and raising awareness around the Palestinian cause. I'm informed at a team meeting that the organisation has gained hundreds of new members in the weeks since the crisis spiralled.

I have the privilege of being part of the reportedly half a million who march through central London in late October. I become tearful at the display of solidarity amongst this reassuringly diverse crowd. I also well up at the thought of freedom for Palestinians, no matter how remote it appears at the moment. From the River to the Sea...- a chant so maligned and misrepresented by Zionists - moves me every time.

The following weekend, not long after I return to Belgium, my mother participates in one of many demonstrations at the local level throughout the UK. She has a similar emotional reaction. She's also touched enough to attend the enormous rally taking place in London on Armistice day. Despite the (now sacked) UK Home Secretary Suella Braverman's attempts to incite social unrest, she's defied by up to 800,000 -according to some estimates - mostly peaceful participants.

I seriously reflect on which companies to add to my BDS list. I don't patronise Starbucks in any case, and I can't remember when I last purchased anything from McDonalds. I'm more partial to Domino's Pizza and Burger King but these are rare treats and easily suspended. Boycotting French supermarket chain, Carrefour will be tougher. Alas, my knowledge of HP’s implication in the regime comes just after replacing my old laptop with one of their products.

I learn of celebrities I once respected writing inane letters to President Biden, effectively congratulating him for aiding and abetting Israel’s murderous campaign. I am baffled by African-Americans such as Chris Rock, Tyler Perry and Jordan Peele’s reaction. It’s one thing for a subset of black Christians who have swallowed vile Zionist indoctrination whole in the name of religion (that could explain Perry's stance). It’s another for those who don’t have that excuse. 

I am convinced more than ever that the modern Israeli state is just another iteration of white supremacist colonial ambition. The stratification of Israeli Jews along ethnic lines, with European Jews at the top of the food chain, is evidence of that. The Zionists have Judaised this variation of supremacy but it's not a specifically Jewish phenomenon. Anybody who chants Black Lives Matter and cannot stand up for the lives of Palestinians, is not serious about combatting racism. The hashtag trend-chasers are thus exposed. Those who would devalue Palestinian lives will likely do the same to Black lives behind closed doors. It’s of no benefit for once colonised people to support any imperial project. Our struggles are intertwined and always have been. But elites will usually close ranks, regardless of their ethnicity. I should probably add the oeuvre of a few of these celebrities to my boycott list, at least until they see some sense.

Earlier in the crisis, I encourage my mother to write to her local MP. No longer based in the UK, I don't have the same access to its parliamentary representatives. The MP's response is at times mealy-mouthed and overall lacking in moral courage. She gives a completely a-historical account of events, ignoring the 1948 Nakba and laying all the blame at Hamas' feet. As if they exist in a vacuum. As if successive Israeli administrations -including Netanyahu's- had not funded Hamas as part of a divide and rule tactic to split Palestinian political support. As if nothing preceded 7 October 2023.

 

 Yet for every spineless and morally derelict elected official, playing politics with people's lives, fomenting hatred or calling for mere ‘humanitarian pauses*’, there's an Ilhan Omar delivering an impassioned speech in favour of true humanitarianism, whether or not it 'benefits' her career. Or her courageous Palestinian-American colleague, Rashida Tlaib being censured for requesting that US Congress to do the humane thing. Or workers showing more integrity than their political representatives, refusing to handle Israeli goods and demanding a ceasefire. 

* (This nonsensical notion of an humanitarian pause is like interrupting a man pummelling another, so that the victim can grab some lunch, take a shower and put on a few plasters, only to let the perpetrator continue to beat them to death after the break)

For every celebrity motivated by self-interest, there are others insisting on an end to Israel’s collective punishment; seasoned activists who defy their privileged class to speak out against injustice, whether it's popular with their peers or not. I'm relieved to come across a video by a musical hero of mine condemning Western leaders' bellicosity.

For every Archbishop of Canterbury giving carte blanche to Israel, there’s a Pope Francis calling for a ceasefire. And of course, there are the millions across the world marching in solidarity with Palestine, many of them Jewish. I'm proud to count Jewish comrades, resisting racism in all its forms, amongst my friends. Within Israel and beyond, they do not abide by their ethnicity being hijacked for cynical colonial ends. I look on in admiration as the likes of Barnaby Raine and James Schneider make a potent and eloquent case for solidarity with the Palestinians, at the risk of being labelled self-hating Jews by unhinged critics. High profile Jewish voices speaking out against the possible genocide such as Judith Butler and Gabor Maté , are essential to discredit the mainstream narrative that conflates their ethnicity with the state of Israel. (It's telling however, that these come from the more rarefied world of academia and public thinkers, whereas certain Jewish entertainers prove themselves less 'progressive' than they claim.)

I once again tap into the knowledge and experience of Palestinian Christians. My faith-based activism is re-invigorated as I learn about the Palestinian take on Liberation Theology. At the same time, I force myself to listen to views with which I might not entirely agree, within reason.

I become increasingly disillusioned with the capital-C Church. Whilst speaking to a friend in London, not especially well-versed in the history of Palestine-Israel, he expresses disbelief at the deafening omerta from Christians, both at his church and more widely. I share his bewilderment. 

It's not so much a crisis of faith but a crisis of belonging. Although my family were not activists, I grew up in a household that was sympathetic to the Palestinian cause. Whilst that instinct has been challenged, particularly when surrounded by Christian Zionists as an undergrad, it's so ingrained in me that I could never abandon it wholly.  Maybe that's given me a head start and I need to be more patient with those slow to catch-up. But still...

On one end, I am angered by the Church’s virulent strain of Zionism (especially amongst my evangelical/charismatic tribe) and on the other by the cowardly ‘it’s complicated’ fence-sitting. The latter is worse in some ways. If the history of the region is complex, the right for Palestinians not to be oppressed and dehumanised isn't hard to grasp. The aforementioned MP for my mother's constituency is supposedly a Christian. However, she seems more preoccupied with upholding her party leader's unjustifiable position than doing the honourable thing.

Of all the folk I bump into at the rallies or demos, I count none of my immediate or wider church family amongst them. 

Of course, there are exceptions. I have Christian family members attending protests in their corners of the world. My sister is blessed enough to attend a pro-Palestine church in Japan, led by a Jewish-Christian female pastor. Thank God for somebody like Cornel West, willing to stand up and be counted as he has done consistently over this issue, even to his detriment. This kind of solidarity should be commonplace amongst the Body of Christ but is sadly- shamefully – rare.

I feel on the edges of my own church community in Belgium. Apart from a select few events, I avoid extra-curricular activities. I make it to a surprise birthday party for one of the senior pastors, safe in the knowledge that at such a celebration guests will want to avoid controversial themes.

 

I’m keeping a distance from prayer meetings until further notice, for fear of being dysregulated by some insensitive comment about Palestine. Or flat out losing it with anyone who tries to warp scripture to justify the massacre of fellow image bearers of God. 

The hypocrisy is stifling. 

Where is the outrage? Where is the lament for Palestinian sisters and brothers whose places of worship and very lives are being destroyed and have been for decades? What kind of Zionist cognitive dissonance conveniently ignores scripture's admonition for any retribution to be proportionate or to show compassion to the 'stranger in the land'? How can one so callously neglect what Christ declared to be one of the two greatest commandments; to love your neighbour as yourself? Any theology that leads you to devalue the humanity of another is not worthy of the name. It's heresy, and should be ditched accordingly.

I resist the arrogant, chronocentric framing of being on the 'right' or ‘wrong side of History’. This is simply a case of living out the love, truth, mercy and compassion we find embodied in our Lord and Saviour. It can't be a coincidence that Jesus speaks of Justice before He mentions Peace in the Sermon on the Mount. The former is a sina qua non of the latter, as we often hear.

That’s why I consider it providential – an instance of Divine Mercy – that I happen to meet a Christian at the October demonstration in London. Of all the 500,000 in attendance I could have stood beside, I am next to Miranda; an older Christian woman, member of the Labour Party (still, miraculously) and a fellow one-time supporter of Corbyn during his years as the party's leader. We remain in touch long after I return to Belgium. I suppose we’re both pleasantly surprised, not to mention grateful, to have found each other. God knows, I need the boost.