When Marc Lamont Hill spoke at the UN in November 2018 and made a case to protect Palestinian Human Rights, he concluded with: "... a free Palestine from the river to the sea." Immediately, his speech was misinterpreted and he was fired from CNN as a contributor and spokesperson. Deep beneath the surface of the politics and the media revolving around Israel and Palestine, regarding where we stand today, is the fear of a word that represents what anti-imperialist academic and activist conversations demand: DECOLONIZATION.
Colonization and decolonization are destructive forces. Although colonization is seen by the oppressor as "making," it is "erasure" for the oppressed. All of the mechanics and psychology of colonization, which are so eloquently characterized in Albert Memmi's book, "The Colonizer and The Colonized", construct a narrative that deceives even the victims into believing the point of view of the advancing nation, even to admire the power and success of the oppressor. The oppressed also erase themselves. Self-censorship is common among people who have been condensed into reservations, bantustans, and occupied territories or driven into diaspora. But to ask to "decolonize" is to threaten what the taker has taken.
Finders keepers, losers weepers.
Perhaps fears of the concept of "decolonizing" stems from the interpretation that it calls for reversal and erasure. Can we undo civilization-scale, or further, global-level injustice?
Decolonization also demands of a weakened and defeated people to rise up, take a stand, and fight back to deconstruct what decades or even centuries took to establish, all the while in a system where the leadership and power structures are tipped in favor of the systemic injustices and maintaining advantages for the imperialistic program.
On my refrigerator in Chicago is a magnet with a photograph taken by Adam Sings in the Timber, Apsáalooke (Crow) photojournalist and filmmaker. He captured it at the opportune moment when Ojibwe dancer, Michelle Reed, posing in traditional regalia coincidentally walked past a woman shopping in the Loop wearing a Blackhawks t-shirt and carrying sports memorabilia. The contrasts in the image are captivating and provocative. His work is myth-busting. Native people live here, today. They are not cartoons of pioneer history and fetishized Halloween costumes. He calls this category on his Etsy page, "Indigenizing Colonized Spaces." Images like these are constructive, imprinting on the minds of the viewer a picture of modern people, living in this modern world while retaining and expressing their traditional culture. Colonized people can claim their place in today's world and envision a way forward without having to tear down the entire history or threaten the colonizers with removal.
Further, when I think of the history of my family and the Nakba, it is excruciating and painful, which doesn't begin to compare to the challenges faced by those whose daily colonization story is still being violently written. I am diaspora, a generation-removed, and even for me to consider how to reverse the trajectory against it all is self-defeating. Before we can activate decolonization, the ongoing colonization must stop: the settler pograms and settlement development. This aligns with U.S. policy on Israel.
Motivated by a reckless indigenizing fever dream, I asked, "Why can't Palestinians buy condos in the newly developed, planned communities in the Israeli settlements?" Can't Jewish and Palestinian residents reside next door like we do here in the 9th District of Chicago where Congresswoman Jan Schakowsky represents us in the House of Representatives? My mother always reminded me of how our family lived in harmony with their neighbors. They never designated Jewish, Christian or Muslim when it came to their life in Jerusalem before 1947.
Faith-washing is a vehicle for colonization that collaborates hand-in-hand with racism. The Rabbi at Efrat Settlement near Bethlehem held back his anger as he answered my question in front of my large travel group of Evangelical Christians on tour with the Telos Group and Willow Creek Community Church in October 2014. He asserted that Judea and Samaria are the Biblical historic land of his people and that it cannot be shared by Palestinians. Absolutely not, he said, Palestinians cannot live in the Jewish settlements. He continued to express his pride in their community programs, private pools, and beautiful landscaping while ignoring the fact that the water and electricity of the neighboring Palestinian communities have been restricted and diverted to provide all these luxuries for Israeli settlers. For Palestinians, black water tanks purchased from Israel, filled with groundwater from underneath their own properties, are installed on the roofs of their homes to provide running water. It is a vicious cycle of municipal and environmental injustice.
Seated in a circle in a historic Edgewater neighborhood mansion, activists from around Chicago introduced themselves. A retired entrepreneurship consultant who coached business leaders in the West Bank, a member of the Episcopal Church and leader of the Poor People's Campaign, and an employment discrimination attorney who is a Black for Palestine solidarity spokesperson/Methodist-church-lady-extraordinaire describe a few of the voices that shared their background in Palestine social justice. In the room are Palestinian Americans who juggle working from home and raising their children while serving as executive directors and board members of justice organizations. In tears, one Palestinian American woman expressed admiration and necessity for the work being done by non-Arab activists. She couldn't stay in the work because she was too heartbroken. My chest tightened remembering a recent collaboration to organize a recognition event. Our best advocates at times communicate insensitively. Even among the most prized influencers of progressive movements, there are times when colonial myths still influence the way Palestinian Americans are treated within these circles and it can be hurtful. I confronted the group by e-mail and then checked out. Decolonization work exhausted me.
Not long after I thought I threw in the colloquial towel, a curly and dark-haired college coed posed a question in a webinar to a panel on "decolonization" about their thoughts on "indigenization" as a creative force. A shadow lifted.
How do we create a future-forward picture of our people that respects the losses endured? Will indigenizing allow the perpetrators of military and imperialist violence to get off without repudiation or consequence? Orthodox Christians hold forgiveness as a supernatural process. We entrust God with justice and release others from our right to vengeance. This may lead to coexistence, and for me it's a freeing and spiritually sustainable idea, but it's easily accessible for a privileged diaspora Palestinian American. As an Arab American born in the United States, I not only live side by side with colonizers, but I am a participant and beneficiary of colonization. Like many Palestinian Americans, I have no legal way to return, to indigenize our ancestral home in the realest sense. Moreover, the diaspora's extended family who stayed may discredit my right to return. There isn't enough room for us all, especially under the encroaching occupation forces. Under all these circumstances, indigenizing in the modern context demands a wild imagination with fantastic creativity, and incredible persistence. Indigenizing confronts normalized colonial mythology powerfully. Indigenization is rehumanizing work. It asserts a place in present society with clear vision of the role of the dispossessed people, whether internally displaced or as part of a diaspora society. It is creative resistance that gives life, validates, and galvanizes hope.
