MarcGopin.com

By Cheryl Duckworth

Perhaps one of the barriers to global citizenship education has been a fear that one must necessarily choose between two identities—being either a citizen of one’ s country or a citizen of the world.  In light of the increasingly nationalist and xenophobic dynamic observable in many countries over the past decade, challenging this false choice is urgent. Peace educators and global citizenship educators must make the argument that one can be both a citizen of one’s country and a citizen of the world.
I would even go further to argue that in today’s increasingly interconnected and increasingly armed world, the U.S. needs global citizens more than ever.  What is a global citizen and why does her country need her?
A global citizen has a secure and multifaceted identity.  What this means is that no one particular aspect of his identity (race, class, religion, gender) dominates the others.  Research on identity suggests that this is a kind of “inoculation” against extremism.   When someone has a monolithic identity, they are much easier to mobilize to violent conflict.  Ervin Staub’s chapter in Ashmore’s volume on social identity and conflict (2001) makes this point powerfully through examples from Rwanda.
A global citizen is cross-culturally competent.  She has developed an awareness of her own cultural blind-spots and biases and can apply this to avoiding (or at least resolving) misunderstandings that can often occur in intercultural contexts.   A global citizen would be aware of the inherent social violence seen in video games in which players shoot at Mosques and minarets in Austria, and would feel a responsibility to speak up.
A global citizen understands, I would argue, the rapid and increasingly interdependent reality of the 21st century.  Flowing from this, he understands that the most pressing challenges humanity faces today (environmental destruction, global terror, authoritarianism, poverty, the Great Recession) are inherently cross-border challenges.  They simply cannot be solved by one country alone.
This is not a comment on the strength or weakness of any particular nation.  Rather it is a comment on the qualitative nature of the problems the global community faces.  Attempts to address these problems unilaterally will be partial and therefore will ultimately fail.
This brings me to a final quality of the global citizen which benefits the “home country”.  A global citizen not only has the values and perspective which nations so urgently need right now, she has the skills to actually begin addressing these challenges.  She can resolve conflict, build relationships and problem solve in diverse contexts.  She can think in ways that are flexible, innovative and holistic, seeing how systems operate at a global systems level—without losing sight of local impacts and contexts.  (And she is probably multi-lingual.)
The more of these sorts of citizens a nation in the 21st century has, the stronger, the more agile and the more able to meet current challenges that nation will be.  Those who suggest that we must choose between one or the other—being a citizen of the U.S. (or any other nation) or a global citizen—are giving a false choice.  They are putting forward a framework that limits our human potential.

Published first at the Jerusalem Post
By Aziz Abu Sarah

There many reasons to be pessimistic and at times to despair about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Yet even when things look hopeless, hope has a way of appearing, offering a vision of what can be rather than what is. Recently, I caught a glimpse of this hope in an unlikely place – the Israeli health care system.

In December, I went for a routine checkup with my family doctor in east Jerusalem and received the news everyone fears – I had cancer. What had seemed like a small lump in my neck was in fact thyroid cancer – devastating news for someone in his late 20s. I was quickly scheduled for surgery and given a date of May 17.

I immediately called my close friend Dr. Adel Misk, a Palestinian neurologist from east Jerusalem. Misk works in both Israeli and Palestinian hospitals, treating Palestinians and Israelis alike. He referred me to his colleague, Dr. Shila Nagar, a Jewish Israeli endocrinologist.

When Misk referred me to Nagar, he was not thinking in the terms of Palestinians and Israelis, but rather in terms of which specialist could best treat me. He was not concerned about her religious practices or political opinions. He was only concerned about her track record as a doctor.

In the waiting room outside Nagar’s office, I could not help but notice how many Palestinians were there. It did not bother them that she was Jewish, just like Misk’s Jewish patients do not mind that he is Palestinian. All the stereotypes and fences of nationalist fervor were replaced with basic survival instincts.

I SHARED my thoughts about Israeli-Palestinian medical cooperation with Nagar, who told me a story of a Jewish friend of hers who had prostate problems. One night he was suffering from a painful blockage and went to the emergency room. The doctor on duty was an Arab woman. He was not pleased: It is doubly bad, he thought, an Arab and a woman. At first he refused to let her treat him; however, as the pain increased he changed his mind and called her in. Years later, this Arab woman is his permanent doctor and a close friend. This personal experience was Nagar’s example of how humanity (and physical necessity!) can overcome nationalism.

Fast forward to the day of my surgery. In an ironic twist of fate, here I was, a Palestinian journalist, draped in a hospital gown covered in Stars of David. I was stressed and fearful. Yet none of these emotions had to do with the nationality of my doctors or the pattern on my hospital gown. I was afraid of the surgery, and the possibility of not waking up again. However, when I was brought to the operating room, I was again given another dose of hope.

I had two surgeons, a Palestinian Arab and an Israeli Jew. The anesthesiologist was an extremely experienced and competent Russian who joked with me until I fell asleep. My life was in the hands of an ideal team.

Meanwhile, my family waited outside. My wife and mother were both in tears, and later told me that a Jewish woman waiting for news of her relative’s surgery comforted them.

In the midst of the hatred, anger and bitterness of the conflict, you can still find glimpses of goodness. Unfortunately, this light often passes unnoticed. Yet it offers a practical example of the dream we all share, of a future where we can live safe and full lives without fear of injury.

My surgery went extremely well, and I recovered quickly. Moreover, through this painful experience I caught a glimmer of hope in what seems like a hopeless environment. I have many criticisms of Israeli policies and politics, but the functioning universal health care system in Israel and its ability to separate politics from medicine earns my praise.

This is not to say that the system is perfect. Like any future Israel and Palestine might share, there is the possibility of getting distracted by issues of insurance and bureaucracy. However, when it matters most, Israeli and Palestinian doctors share a commitment to human life regardless of ethnicity, religion or nationality. Moreover, when it comes time to choose doctors, we base our choice on who is mostly likely to promote human life. If only we voted on the same basis!

Unfortunately, I had to experience the health care system personally before being able to appreciate this example of what Israelis and Palestinians can achieve. Despite the pain and suffering, I am grateful to have discovered such a hidden treasure of humanity at its best.

When I was 18 years old, I had been in the United States for about a year–in this very foreign, interestingly different and rigorously individualistic culture as opposed to the social and group oriented pampering I was very much used to back at home, in Turkey. My engineering studies were not so interesting. I was more inclined towards reading philosophical works and engaging in deep theoretical debates about meaning of justice and truth. I changed my major from engineering to philosophy and so my second year in college began with a feeling of emptiness, lack of purpose coupled with loneliness brought by being a young boy away from home equipped with no survival skills such as cooking, doing laundry or taking care of oneself in general.

All of these factors contributed immensely to my introduction to Sufism. I needed a release, perhaps, a peace of mind from all the chaos and doubts I was living through; from all the pains of growing. Moreover, I was a seeker of truth in general, that is, I always wanted to learn the reality behind everything. That was the main reason I chose philosophy over engineering. Sufism took this urge to another level, grasping my attention by offering the hidden truths of the universe.

My studies of Sufism grew with me and with my life experiences. Sufism was with me as I was struggling with identity issues, as I was trying to understand the concept of “home” and most importantly as I was trying to find a purpose for my life. The single most important purpose in the life of a Sufi is to fall in love, as it is usually referred in Sufi literature, or to die before dying in Prophet’s own words or in more simpler words: to be one with God, to reach Tawhid–the ultimate state of Divinity of being one with the Universe and with the Great Spirit.

This, unfortunately, could not be my “job.” This process of maturation and reaching such understanding had to be “on the side” as I had to work. Being the person who chose philosophy over engineering, I clearly wanted do something I believed in rather than getting a job just for the purposes of monetary income. I thusly searched for a purpose, a guidance in Islam. It did not take me long to come across the word “peace” more than hundred times in Qur’an and so verses such as the ones below were my beacon of light in my complete state of confusion:

“(As for) those who believe and do good/peace, surely they are the -best of men.” (98:7)

“Except those who believe and do good/peace, and enjoin on each other truth, and enjoin on each other patience.” (103:3)

Hence, in my quest to devote myself and my life completely to God, I decided to study and do what is regarded as the most nobel cause in Qur’an: ways to make good/peace.

After my undergraduate degree was completed in December of 2006, I went back to, home, Turkey, to await the fall term of 2007 to study conflict analysis and resolution in the U.S. Being away from home for almost five years, except for occasional holidays, reconnecting with my friends, with the land and with my house, even, was heavenly, to say the least. After all the revitalization home, I was severely anxious to come back to the U.S. –the place away from home where I had a chance to taste the most painful hurts life yet brought–to study. Yet I did. I came here and studied conflict resolution, and despite setbacks and disappointments, I will hopefully continue to study and contribute to peace away from home, with the hope of devoting my life to and being useful in a Divine cause. I can safely say, only my faith (and a few people who support me) gives me the strength to walk in this direction. It would be much easier and less painful to forget all the conflicts in the world and let go the sense of responsibility towards them, go back home and find a 9 to 5 job.

Allow me, very briefly, to talk about the understanding of the Divine that propels me to be on the path I am. To understand the idea of conflict resolution/peacemaking/non-violence in Islam (which is a tad different than the non-violence brought forth via Jesus), it is important to understand the concept of God according to Sufism.

Just like it is the case in other mystic traditions, Sufism refuses to seek the Divine only on the outside. Just like a 13th century Sufi Master who lived in Anatolia (contemporary and close friend of Rumi), Hacı Bektaş Veli, adequately put:

“Heat is in the flame, not in the pan

Miracle is in the mind, not in the crown

Whatever you seek, seek within yourself

It is not in Jerusalem, nor in Mecca, nor in Pilgrimage”

This is, perhaps, best explained by Ibn-Arabi, a 12th century Sufi Master who lived in Andalusia. In his masterpiece book Fusus Al-Hikam (The Ringstones of Wisdom), there are twenty-seven chapters, each dedicated to the spiritual meaning and wisdom of a prophet. In the first chapter, “Of the Wisdom of Divinity as Embodied in the Word of Adam,” Ibn-Arabi talks about creation and about the understanding of God according to Sufism. The first sentence of the chapter: “God, with His endless beautiful names… wished to witness His names one by one in an ever encompassing creation, and through this creation, He wished to disclose His secret to Himself… To do this, He created the Universe like a soulless body.” Ibn-Arabi further explains this in his own summary of the book:

“God only taught the Perfect Man His Most Beautiful Names and placed them within him… God manifests Himself to the heart of the Perfect Man, who is His vicegerent. Therefore, or because the world is like the body and the Perfect Man is like the spirit, it is said that the world is a “great man”, for just as man consists of a body and a spirit which governs it, the world is made up of these two, although it is larger than man in form; but this statement is only true on condition of the Perfect Man’s existence within it, or the world, for if he did not exist within it, it would be like a discarded body without a spirit… And He made him, or the Perfect Man, the sought-after goal and the desired end in the creation and maintenance of the world, like the rational soul, which is the goal in making perfect the body and harmonizing the natural and bodily constitution of the human individual.”

Here, the Perfect Man refers not only to the known Prophets that existed throughout the human history, but also to mostly unknown people who attained spiritual perfection through spiritual evolution who will exist as long as human race exists. To attain such perfection, as I have mentioned in the beginning, is the ultimate goal of creation and it is open and possible to every human being. That implies the potential to attain spiritual perfection exists in everyone and so does God’s manifestation both as outward–attributes–in the Human Form, and inward–the Self–in the Human Mind.

Such an understanding of Divinity means that every existence in the Universe, every piece of atom, is a part of a whole which is greater than its sum. Not only we are one with every piece of existence within the Universe, everything is just another manifestation of everything else. Every bit of being is essentially same: you, the reader, are just another manifestation of myself and vice versa, in another image, with another name. This idea is reflected beautifully in Qur’an:

“O mankind! We created you from a single (pair) of a male and a female, and made you into nations and tribes, that ye may know each other (not that ye may despise each other). Verily the most honored of you in the sight of Allah is (he who is) the most righteous of you. And Allah has full knowledge and is well acquainted (with all things).” (49:13)

What does this signify for people who strive for peace? Such implication bears a great ethical responsibility. We are surrounded, not only externally, but also internally with the Attributes and the Self of the Divine. This requires that we act responsibly and honor such presence. Since everything in the Universe is a manifestation and reflection of Self, it is simply foolish to try to hate or destroy someone; since the only thing we really hate or destroy is just another part of ourselves. In the words of Yunus Emre, a famous Sufi poet who lived around 13th century in Anatolia:

“Whatever you wish for yourself

Wish the same for the other

This is the meaning of four books

If there is any”

Yunus tells us if there is just one meaning to be learned from any teaching, any religion, it is the lesson of empathy. This can be, perhaps, the simplest, the most advanced and the most important basis from which we can derive a non-violent understanding from Islam or Sufism. In an interfaith dialogue or mediation, if we can create a safe space in which we allow a party to think what they want for themselves and make them contrast this to what they want for the other party, this surely would create a sense of internal tension on the basis of such understanding of morals.

Moreover, a very significant concept in Sufism is the idea of “cleaning your own house.” Ones palace needs to be dust-free so the Sultan can take its seat. This metaphorical speech refers to the aforementioned falling in love. To accept and welcome God completely to one’s heart, it needs be purged of ego, desires of money, fame or evil. Prejudices, hate and violent thoughts are considered as manifestations of ego and since God’s purity and perfection does not allow for even the slightest bit of ego, a devotee cannot fulfill his or her desire to unite with the Lover when he or she even has a conception of “other.”

Achieving the ideal of Perfect Man (which can be translated more accurately as “Fully Matured Man”) requires a constant attention and tending to the aforementioned garden of heart, to keep it clean, so that flowers of Divine love and unity can bloom. This concept brings us to the idea of spiritual evolution and finally to the understanding of non-violence in Islam.

Spiritual evolution, according to Sufism and also according to other esoteric traditions, occurs through conflicts: conflicts within ourselves and conflicts with other people. Both of these conflicts drive us to make important moral choices which either contribute or hinder our spiritual evolution towards our goal. To build upon the rather pacifist understanding of non-violence introduced by Jesus, which is “turn the other cheek,” Sufism advocates to block the hand trying to hit you, but do not hit back. That way, not only we prevent harm coming our way, but we also prevent the other to do an action which would hinder his spiritual evolution. Such understanding of non-violence allows both parties to mature spiritually and can be used to create space for reflection for one’s actions.

It is not in the interest of any Sufi disciple to convert or force such heavy philosophy or morals unto anyone else. It is thus unthinkable to introduce and use these ideas as “Islamic” or “Sufi” for mediation or for conflict resolution purposes for anyone who does not feel attached to them. On the other hand, the moral core of the above theology–empathy and spiritual/personal growth–is also at the center of many other philosophies, whether religious or not (although mostly atheist, existentialism, for instance, cheers the same principles). These principles, thusly can be the underlying philosophy of a practitioner. Through his work, he may try to achieve spiritual maturity both for himself and others who are involved.

This book is a strong critique of the Middle East from an astute observer who has been a passionate critic of the West’s policies in the Middle East, no neocon. Worth reading.

What’s Really Wrong with the Middle East?
By Patrick Seale

[Brit Whitaker, author of What's Really Wrong with the Middle East] has travelled widely in Arab countries and was Middle East editor of the Guardian newspaper for seven years. He evidently knows the region intimately. His strength, in researching this book, is that he has not restricted himself, as most journalists do, to seeking the views of political leaders and government officials, but has instead moved outside the strictly political sphere to interview a great many thinkers, academics, students, opinion-formers, bloggers, and ordinary people in many countries across the region. He has looked beyond Arab regimes to society as a whole. That is the originality of his book.

So, in a word, what does he say is wrong with the Middle East? In chapter after chapter, he dissects the “stultifying atmosphere where change, innovation, creativity, critical thinking, questioning, problem-solving… are all discouraged.” And that is not the end of it. To this list he adds “systematic denial of rights that impinge on the lives of millions: discrimination based on ethnicity, religion, gender, sexuality or family background; inequality of opportunity, impenetrable bureaucracies, arbitrary application of the law; and the lack of transparency in government.”

You can read the entirety of the article here.

I am not a fan of Sheikh Qaradawi. I think his response to violence in the name of Islam was extremely disappointing in the first decade of the twenty-first century, and I have not seen him as helpful to a peaceful and just settlement of the Palestinian/Israeli conflict nor toward the development of a more tolerant form of Islam. He has consistently refused so far many overtures from a variety of Jewish rabbis to engage him. Put bluntly, he only seems to have rejected suicide terrorism as illegitimate when thousands of Muslims were dying at the hands of other  Muslims. In other words, he found his moral compass on jihad when it was affecting his own group.

That having been said, the fact is there are many parallels in the Jewish world to rabbinic leaders who refuse to engage Christians and whose Halakhic interpretations are entirely intolerant. They too will often only care about the moral implications of violence or abuse when it hits their own.  In some ways, this is the defining characteristic of religious militancy.

That is why I find this latest work from Qaradawi interesting. It is a subtle analysis of the concept of jihad in all its aspects, and I think it aids in the process of defining jihad in more precise terms that will undermine extremist uses of the concept for the sake of political ideology and simple criminal behavior. This is something to be encouraged for fundamentalist leaders. The same would be helpful from Jewish fundamentalist leaders, for example. Tell me what you think.

Sheikh Qaradawi and the Concept of Jihad
By Nour Scardina

Al-Qaradawi has developed a principal theory in contemporary Islam, from which all his views and stances emanate, and to which he tirelessly calls, widening its appeal and marginalising its opponents – that is the principle of Islamic Wasatiyya or moderation. This was inspired by the verse in the second chapter of the Quran, “And thus we made you into a middle (wasat) nation”. Thus, he presents Islam as the middle position between opposing and conflicting rigid positions; as the middle ground that brings all together, – a middle position between materialism and spiritualism, between individualism and collectivism, between idealism and realism, etc.

Starting from this wasati viewpoint, he presents all his ijtihads in all aspects of Islamic thought, including his ijtihad on the question of jihad, as revealed in his latest book “The Fiqh of Jihad: a comparative study of its rulings and philosophy in light of the Quran and Sunnah”. This study was described by its author as one which “took several years of continuous work, and occupied his thought for decades”. The fruits of this work are presented in a momentous book of two volumes, in which he puts forward, from the wasati perspective, his views on this critical issue, elaborating his theory on jihad, which he hopes will contribute towards forming consensus on this grave matter. The book springs from the conviction that “it is dangerous and wrong to misunderstand jihad, to shed inviolate blood in its name, to violate property and lives and to taint Muslims and Islam with violence and terrorism, while Islam is completely innocent of such an accusation. However, our problem in such grave matters is that the truth gets lost between the two extremes of exaggeration and laxity.”

Read the rest of this article from The Palestinian Telegraph here.

This is an important unnoticed piece that helps piece together the corruption of power during the Bush years that led to the Iraq debacle. It deserves study to help solidify democratic checks and balances to avert this in the future. Democratic systems require constant vigilance in order to checks and balances to work in ever changing circumstances.

Pentagon Office Home to Neo-Con Network
By Jim Lobe

An excerpt from the article:

The Office of Special Plans (OSP), which worked alongside the Near East and South Asia (NESA) bureau in Feith’s domain, was originally created by Defence Secretary Donald Rumsfeld and Deputy Secretary Paul Wolfowitz to review raw information collected by the official U.S. intelligence agencies for connections between Iraqi President Saddam Hussein and al-Qaeda.

Retired intelligence officials from the State Department, the Defence Intelligence Agency (DIA), and the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) have long charged that the two offices exaggerated and manipulated intelligence about Iraq before passing it along to the White House.

But key personnel who worked in both NESA and OSP were part of a broader network of neo-conservative ideologues and activists who worked with other Bush political appointees scattered around the national-security bureaucracy to move the country to war, according to retired Lt Col Karen Kwiatkowski, who was assigned to NESA from May 2002 through February 2003.

Read the rest of the article from the Inter Press Service News Agency here.

This is an interesting discussion between two thoughtful Jews, Erica Brown and Jeffrey Goldberg, who cannot fathom why Jews, religious Jews, have given birth to so many ethical scandals of late. I sympathize with much of their analysis, except one elephant in the room that is always left out: a modern Jewish education focused on defense of a country, Israel, rather than a set of values that are non-negotiable. That has turned away millions of Jewish kids who look to liberalism or Buddhism instead for peace, quiet and nonviolence, and it has made a mockery of Jewish ethics. You can’t teach hate of billions of people, Muslim or Arab or Palestinian, and expect people not to sell kidneys, torture animals, and destroy foreign workers’ lives. The human psyche does not work that way. And this is an overwhelming reason for the sorry state of Jewish religious life.

Rush Limbaugh and others have been quick to associate the President with the swine flu and all other ills, it seems. Apparently this is a convenient way for Obama to get his choice for Director of Health and Human Services quickly appointed. The reality of this hate radio is shocking.

I have been thinking long and hard for many years about Richard Hofstadter’s famous essay, “The Paranoid Style in American Politics“. This is one of the most important essays in American history by one of the most influential and insightful of America’s historians.

Here are some critical quotes:

American politics has often been an arena for angry minds. In recent years we have seen angry minds at work mainly among extreme right-wingers, who have now demonstrated in the Goldwater movement how much political leverage can be got out of the animosities and passions of a small minority. But behind this I believe there is a style of mind that is far from new and that is not necessarily right-wing. I call it the paranoid style simply because no other word adequately evokes the sense of heated exaggeration, suspiciousness, and conspiratorial fantasy that I have in mind.

The paranoid spokesman sees the fate of conspiracy in apocalyptic terms – he traffics in the birth and death of whole worlds, whole political orders, whole systems of human values. He is always manning the barricades of civilization… he does not see social conflict as something to be mediated and compromised, in the manner of the working politician. Since what is at stake is always a conflict between absolute good and absolute evil, what is necessary is not compromise but the will to fight things out to a finish. Since the enemy is thought of as being totally evil and totally unappeasable, he must be totally eliminated – if not from the world, at least from the theatre of operations to which the paranoid directs his attention. This demand for total triumph leads to the formulation of hopelessly unrealistic goals, and since these goals are not even remotely attainable, failure constantly heightens the paranoid’s sense of frustration. Even partial success leaves him with the same feeling of powerlessness with which he began, and this in turn only strengthens his awareness of the vast and terrifying quality of the enemy he opposes.

The enemy is clearly delineated: he is a perfect model of malice, a kind of amoral superman-sinister, ubiquitous, powerful, cruel, sensual, luxury-loving. Unlike the rest of us, the enemy is not caught in the toils of the vast mechanism of history, himself a victim of his past, his desires, his limitations. He wills, indeed he manufactures, the mechanism of history, or tries to deflect the normal course of history in an evil way. He makes crises, starts runs on banks, causes depressions, manufactures disasters, and then enjoys and profits from the misery he has produced. The paranoid’s interpretation of history is distinctly personal: decisive events are not taken as part of the stream of history, but as the consequences of someone’s will. Very often the enemy is held to possess some especially effective source of power: he controls the press; he has unlimited funds; he has a new secret for influencing the mind (brainwashing); he has a special technique for seduction (the Catholic confessional).

Hofstader’s essay is brilliant, but I disagree on one important point, namely that this is an especially American problem. This describes the fascist personality since the dawn of time, since the invention of accusations against the amazing Socrates, since the demonization of the Jew throughout European history, since the racism for thousands of years against people of darker skin, people from Africa, indeed a kind of odd desire to humiliate and destroy our African ancestors from whom we all come.

The bizarre nature of this kind of ethics, politics, and construction of the political self cries out for deeper understanding at the psychological level. Hofstadter himself notes this:

It is hard to resist the conclusion that this enemy is on many counts the projection of the self; both the ideal and the unacceptable aspects of the self are attributed to him. The enemy may be the cosmopolitan intellectual, but the paranoid will outdo him in the apparatus of scholarship, even of pedantry. Secret organizations set up to combat secret organizations give the same flattery. The Ku Klux Klan imitated Catholicism to the point of donning priestly vestments, developing an elaborate ritual and an equally elaborate hierarchy. The John Birch Society emulates Communist cells and quasi-secret operation through “front” groups, and preaches a ruthless prosecution of the ideological war along lines very similar to those it finds in the Communist enemy. Spokesmen of the various fundamentalist anti-Communist “crusades” openly express their admiration for the dedication and discipline the Communist cause calls forth.

I think that we have not begun to do enough diagnosis of this perennial scourge of human political organization. We note it, we study it, Hofstadter writes extensively on the anti-intellectual style of American politics. But, again, I think that a basic knowledge of ancient Greece, Chinese history, German history, will leave us breathless with the amazing capacity to suppress reason in favor of bizarre demonizations.

Then I think back to President Obama’s press conference last night, and I thank God for the day that his mother bore him. I thank God for every single time the man defers with humility and respect to ‘science’ and what science will help us understand about the virus, and about so many other complex issues.

I cannot imagine how the unprecedented number of simultaneously occurring crises facing the world would be handled by a less rational president, by someone even somewhat tainted by the “Paranoid Style in American Politics”. Perhaps someone else may be intimating a rounding up of illegal aliens from Mexico at this point of our state of understandable fear of the virus. We as a human species, I believe, dodged a bullet on January 20, 2009.

We Democrats are watching the Republican Party suffer right now, and it is so often the case that we do not address the deeper problems of the American psyche once we have victory at the polls. I applaud the few Republicans left, such as George Will, who are trying to reconstruct a principled, non-extremist core and base of the Republican Party. It is good for a country to have more than one party, I think.

But I have also become convinced that at some point in history we need to go after the paranoid style in politics and its fascist tendencies. Our American educational system is sorely lacking in the deep work necessary to secure a social contract based on shared public values and commitments. This is not beyond our capacity, and I am certain that the world’s security depends upon a powerful United States not slipping into the hands of Rush Limbaugh’s approach to the world.

More progressive thinking needs to go into a permanent shift of the American enlightened citizen, both rich and poor, intellectual AND non-intellectual, away from the politics of hate. We can disagree where disagreements belong, in the murky waters of moral ambiguity, when the use of force is justified or not, when abortion is right or wrong, how and when and how much to help the poor, along with dozens of other complex moral challenges. But we should think about what media, educational and social programs could  do to make the rage, anger, and paranoia that fueled so much of the anti-Obama campaign–and that still fills the radio waves–into something as unrespectable as Nazism has become. We have never attempted this as an American civilization. But it is high time.

A few days ago, the world commemorated Holocaust Day with memorials, moments of silence, and time taken to remember the lives of loved ones lost. For years this day has been a source of internal conflict for me as a Palestinian, so this year my wife Marie and I decided to hold our own memorial by doing something I have put off for a long time: we watched the movie “Schindler’s List.” It was my first time seeing the movie, which tells the story of a German man who risked his life to save hundreds of Jews during the Holocaust. Although it may seem strange for a Palestinian to take time out to remember the Holocaust, I felt it was an important step for me. I needed to connect with the pain of those who suffered, and I needed to go beyond nationality to acknowledge the loss of human life.

I must admit that growing up I did not know much about the Holocaust. As Palestinians, we simply did not learn about it. There was a stigma attached to it, an understanding that Israel would use the Holocaust to lobby for sympathy, then turn and use the sympathy as a terrible weapon against the Palestinian people. So when I was asked about the Holocaust, I always felt that defensive urge to say “It was not my fault! I suffered for it too.” Deep down, I think I felt that by acknowledging their pain, I would betray or marginalize my own suffering. Also, some part of me feared that if I sympathized with “the enemy,” my right to struggle for justice might be taken away. Now I know this is nonsense: you are stronger when you let humanity overcome enmity. However, it took me time to learn this lesson.

Many years ago, I decided there is no way I can understand and communicate with my Jewish friends if I don’t learn their history, their narrative, and their story. I decided that the Holocaust Museum would be the place to start my journey. My heart was racing as I crossed the threshold of Yad Vashem in Jerusalem. I began looking at the pictures and reading the stories with the distinct awareness that I was the only Palestinian there. As I walked through the museum, however, my self-consciousness was replaced with shock. I could not believe how denigrated men could become to commit such atrocities. How could racism strip men of all humanity?

A few days later, I shared with some of my Jewish friends about my trip to the Holocaust Museum. Many were surprised, and wondered what had prompted me to make such a visit. As I explained my reasons, I could see the walls that divided us crumbling apart. Yaacov, a Holocaust survivor, told me his personal story. As a young boy in Poland, he had been separated from his parents and forced to pretend to be Christian, praying the Catholic prayers and attending church. His father was murdered during the war. One of my best friends, Rami, described the horrors his father suffered in Auschwitz concentration camp. Again, my heart was gripped with pain and sympathy in hearing their stories.

Visiting the Holocaust Museum and allowing my friends to share their stories was pivotal for my relationship with them. I could understand where they were coming from. I could empathize with their feelings that the world is against them. The Holocaust had shaped their awareness of the world around them, and my understanding of this tragedy was important for them to successfully communicate with me.

This is why I decided to remember the Holocaust this year. Watching Schindler’s List, I was moved by the story to a degree that I cannot describe. It was impossible to fight the tears streaming from my eyes. The connection I made with those who suffered the Holocaust goes beyond nationality, religion or race; it was the connection of one human being to another in the face of universally understandable pain.

At the end of the move, Oscar Schindler was given a ring inscribed with the words “If you save a life you save the world,” a phrase from the Talmud. Today this statement stands true for all of those men and women active in bringing an end to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. But in my story, I want to deliver a message to the cynics, the hopeless, and the ones who have given up on the quest for peace. This message is also to the many people who have questioned the small grassroots initiatives, the meetings, the dialogue groups, the interfaith projects, the demonstrations, and protests against the killing of people, Arabs and Jews. If you can save one life, you are saving the world.

My challenge is this: Oscar Schindler regretted not doing more to save more people. He cried for not selling his car, his pin, and everything else in his possession just to ransom one more life. Governments, nations and even some religious groups donate billions of dollars for weapons, yet when it comes to promoting understanding, life, and coexistence, our governments and people are broke. I want us to consider, can we put a price on saving one life? Can we put a price on saving the world? It is vital to protect our values and humanity regardless of the cost we must pay for it. Oscar Schindler was able to save a thousand lives, and it was well worth it. How many lives can you save?

If you need suggestions for activities or donations you can contact me at azizabusarah@gmail.com

NOT FOR CHILDREN UNDER 18

Find the courage to watch the slow death of an unarmed demonstrator in Palestine. Shamai Leibowitz, veteran Israeli Jewish human rights activist in Pursuing Justice reflects on evidence of an Israel Defense Forces murder of an unarmed and un-threatening demonstrator in the Palestinian village of Bil’in. You be the judge.

Bil\’lin

Did you notice what a sunny, beautiful day it is in the film? Does it remind you of the day on the beach in Camus’ The Stranger?  The simplicity of killing, the natural beauty that can coexist with it and not be somehow implicated in a crime against humanity? Are you haunted by Biblical verses on oppressing strangers and God driving people out of  promised lands? Such warnings are a strange and timeless echo of history that screams back at the banality of murder that Camus depicts on the warm, sunny beach. Camus’ stranger, no love, no feeling at all, just the hot feel of the gun. The Bible’s stranger, hot with moral emotions, love, hate, oppression, consequences, outrage. Such wild exaggerations, both of them, Camus and the Bible, the Atheist and the God-intoxicated prophet. And then there is us.

As far as I can tell from years of interviews and studies, it would seem that the IDF considers nonviolent resistance to be an even greater threat to Israel than violent resistance. It is the only way to explain expulsions from Israel of leading nonviolent resistance activists, beginning decades ago with Mubarak Awad, at the same time that Sharon and others shut down the PLO and allowed Sheik Yassin to build Hamas over thirty years ago.

This is not surprising in the history of immoral occupations. Nonviolent, principled, moral resistance is far greater a threat to continued land annexation than is extremist rhetoric and violence. What is especially poignant in the Palestinian case is that between Israel’s tacit support for the extremists to the Arab world’s funding of extremist positions in Palestine it has left nonviolent democrats as orphans of history. But this is the responsibility of all of us, not the poor thirty year old man nonviolently protesting thirty meters away from heavily armed courageous soldiers separated from the protesters by barbed wire fences and trenches. At great risk to their personal safety they aimed at his chest and shot him with a high powered rifle in order to defend Israel’s right to exist. Watch him die, study the human exchange.

As I reflect on the rhetoric around Israel’s right to exist, I truly understand why it is such an emotional term for Jews. But I must say as an American that America has a right to exist–but not at the moment of Abu Ghraib. If I was a fly on the wall at Abu Ghraib and I could do anything to stop the massive torture of innocent young men randomly rounded up from around Iraq, if I could waive a magic wand at that moment and give back the thirteen colonies to England, I would. Anything to stop the degradation, the depths of human depravity and sin. I would gladly have British troops march into my home, charge me exorbitant fees for tea, and live with the fact that as an American I forfeited my freedom by failing to stand strongly for justice.

So I wonder about ‘rights’ of states to exist and the unconditionality of that. I am haunted by the conditionality of fateful deeds, the laws of cause and effect, and the odyssey of crime and its consequences. Crime has a life of its own, just as the events depicted in this video will have a life of their own. I certainly know that Palestinians are also paying a price for their actions in the past decades as they sought a way to regain their land, and fate has dealt them a heavy blow for both their tactical and their moral mistakes.

But the grand and seemingly invincible uniforms of the IDF soldiers in this film, their faceless superhuman image, it all seems weak to me in the face of the judgments of history. In the United States there are exceedingly powerful men who orchestrated the torture who are wondering what constellation of events in the United States may clear the docket enough for Congress and the American people to demand payment for what they did. The mighty who I feared just a few months ago have fallen.

A time is coming when there will be an answer to all of this, and it will be fateful. I do not relish the cycle of crime and its consequences. It leaves everyone as empty as Adam, Eve, and Cain, as they faced a world empty of Abel. There is no happiness in justice, only the tragic necessity of righting wrongs and evening out the sufferings of humanity.

There is a better way, however, and it is to be found at the side of those demonstrators in Bil’in. The greater their numbers and the more consistent their nonviolence and the more we join them the more absurd that violence will become. This is the way to create a new fate, a fate that is in our hands.