The beating of war drums

I have a friend who is Mexican, Jewish and extremely pro-Israel. She supports Israel’s agenda, justifies their aggression and has even served in the IDF. Her ardent support for Israel stems from a nationalistic and theological cultivation, but more profoundly, from a sense of desperation. Desperation for a Jewish state, an asylum from the perpetual anti-semitism she has to face and the general contrariety against Israel and its policies. While generally America is a nation that is supportive of Israel, in reality, she has to constantly stand up for Israel when the topic comes up in conversations, because for her it’s not about taking a stand on an external issue, it’s personal. It’s about having a place to call Home, and about members of her family and her community. In one word, it’s about survival. The same can be said for the Palestinians and their suicide bombers. Today, suicide bombing is synonym to terrorist, but to me, I’ve always viewed suicide bombers in wars as people who have nothing left to lose. I don’t support their choice, but I have to admit that I empathize with it. 

The Palestinian/Israeli conflict is one that everyone likes to put their noses in and have an opinion about, and this irritates her. Why, she asked, aren’t people worrying about the Sri Lankan civil war, the Kurds in Turkey or Kashmir? What is this obsession with the Jews and the Arabs?
Sure, war trends come and go, (Darfur is very in right now) but the Palestinian/Israeli conflict is, like fur or the pantsuit, timelessly trendy.  The point here is, while it is normal to sympathize with victims, if you are foreign to the conflict, how personal are you allowed to get? If you are not Jewish or Palestinian, is it fair to harbor anti-semitic or anti-Islamic/Arab sentiments and take sides?  But if people foreign to the conflict are not being personally attacked, why are they taking the war so personally?

When the invasion on Iraq happened in 2003, I was 19, living with a diverse group of students in an apartment in France. In the evenings we would get together to watch television. The invasion had just started and was being covered extensively in the news. Unconsciously, I was leaving the room every time a news program came on and was woken up to this fact by a planned confrontation by the other students. At the time, I was the only Arab student in the house. I was immature and youthfully egoistic. The general affairs of the world didn’t interest me much. But for some reason, I took this war personally. I couldn’t bear to hear about the atrocities happening to the Iraqis, or to hear them crying and screaming, let alone to see them carrying the bodies of family members through the streets towards the camera begging for help. I didn’t realize my sense of Arab compatriotism went so deep until the other students sat me and down and apologized for being insensitive about how this could affect me, because it was so close, because I was Arab. I didn’t question why I cared because I didn’t expect to care at all, but their confrontation made me understand a part of myself I didn’t know existed. I don’t know if being Arab is a valid enough reason to have such strong feelings about the Iraq War,  but the feelings were there and the attack was taken personally, and it wasn’t a stand out of duty or allegiance to the Arab nation, it was such a strong sentiment it overtook unconsciously, and by surprise.  

Six years later I continue to follow the Iraqis and their plight. I continue to care, but not with the same intensity. When I came across this account of an Al Jazeera cameraman who covered the battle in Fallujah, the fire that flared my 19-year-old heart was rekindled, and once again I feel an active anger against this war. How this man stood with his camera in the middle of it all, with an extra eye to magnify the butchering and destruction happening all around him, I will never understand, but will profoundly respect.