Rain Down on Me

The first day of classes yielded few surprises – an endless mob showed up to watch President Obama be sworn in, and presumably because of the prevailing good mood, there were no protests against the situation in Gaza.

The second day of classes yielded few surprises – a vocal swarm staged a protest against the situation in Gaza.

This time, the demonstration took the form of milk-crate coffins draped in Palestinian flags to represent the Palestinian dead (evidently, someone forgot to inform the members of Students for Justice in Palestine that Muslims, like Jews, aren’t buried in caskets), along with the standard bevy of flags stapled to sticks and signs signaling distaste for the neighbors. On the whole, the response – essentially made up exclusively of Tikvah: Students for Israel – handled itself admirably, maintaining its presence while refraining from interfering with the demonstration’s line of visibility. Typically, this display of deferment of animosity was less than mutual, and though opposition and abuse are hardly new, it was still rather jarring, given how little time ago everyone arrived back in Berkeley.

Other than the rain, the day went by in standard fashion, featuring cameo appearances by UC cops and Dean of Students Jonathan Poullard, and various interchanges with Husam Zakharia along the lines of “Don’t hit me!” “Don’t hit me first!” Yet despite its familiarity, the ugly experience yielded a couple of important realizations. (I) That the vast majority of students at Berkeley don’t give a shit what’s going on in the Middle East. (II) That of those who do, those who demonstrate in support of the Palestinian cause don’t consider the rocket fire an act of reprehensible aggression, much less one of war. (III) That the vast majority of politically active young adults who use the term “apartheid” have no real idea what the term describes, or concern as to how despicable their abuse of that word is. (IV) That while this does not necessarily reflect on SJP or the composition of its members as a whole, a sizable number of students are members because their attitude towards Jews – be it one of fear, hatred, or whatever else – is an unhealthy one, which can most easily find a socially acceptable outlet under the group’s auspices.

Perhaps most striking was the realization triggered when among all the hubbub an a cappella group that had quietly assembled itself in front of one of the sets of coffins suddenly burst into a Stanford-themed rendition of Billy Joel’s 1983 smash hit “Uptown Girl” – a timely reminder that we’re just at UC Berkeley, where despite what the Free Speech Movement Café would have you think, no social activity that takes place is of any significance.

At 2 PM, SJP packed up their display and left, leaving behind no trace of their self-righteous indignation except outlines of their coffins left by the rain. It was oddly affecting: a perfect echo of the way that once the dead among their constituency are no longer of use to Hamas as ideological weaponry to pull sway in the international community, it becomes as though they’d never existed.

This image only hammered home the idea that despite how meaningless our clashes are in light of the bigger picture, as long as the fight continues in the Middle East, so too it must in Berkeley. Of course, we need to continue if only in the name of trying to prevent the spread of hate to more innocent passers-by; but even overlooking the sakes of bystanders, the dead that needn’t have died deserve better than this disingenuous, self-serving form of “tribute.” If doing what’s right and respecting the dead on the side I oppose politically means engaging an opponent grounded in hateful irrationality and intent on making my life miserable, so be it. Come rain or shine.