O Brother, Where Art Thou?

A bizarre man came by Wednesday afternoon as I was tabling for Tikvah: Students for Israel. He wore BluBlockers manufactured during Kurt Cobain’s lifetime, a purple bucket hat, and black trousers with the fly proudly agape. He said he was born in Ethiopia, had immigrated to Berkeley in 1968, had joined the Black Panthers shortly upon his arrival, and had used and enjoyed great quantities of psychedelics in his lifetime; I believed him on all counts. He seated himself at the table and proceeded to talk continuously for around 25 minutes, telling me that “Israel” meant “god” in Ethiopia, and that members of the group should have faith that everything was going to be all right and work to make peace with the people in Students for Justice in Palestine. It was weird deriving nuggets of wisdom from the chain of blather, yet he noted that Israelis and Palestinians were brothers – a point which, I replied, people too often overlook. It made me reflect, though, on the last contact I had with SJP as a group.

Several Wednesdays ago, I was with a two or three other friends of Tikvah at the table, situated at the edge of Sproul Plaza, near the ramp that leads to Lower Sproul. While we were talking, the guys tabling for SJP began packing up and loaded everything onto their cart. As they reached the top of the ramp, all the stuff fell off the cart, and I (followed shortly by my friends) ran over to help them pick the table and chairs up. I certainly didn’t expect any thanks, but what I got instead was the coldest stare I’d received since I told my o-chem lab professor that I hoped I wouldn’t have to do lab on my broken foot.

In my eye, a rather half-assed stab at détente.

I’m certainly not tempted to jump to conclusions: I wouldn’t assume that that seething animosity is representative of the group as a whole, or necessarily, even of the individuals from whose eyes the thunderbolts of unrepentant frost emanated. Yet I’m inclined to point out from this particular incident that when I stood up to help them out, I didn’t do so in spite of their political stances: I did so without any concern for their politics, because that’s what I do for other people. I also wouldn’t feel compelled to draw attention to this in even so meaningless an arena as this blog, if it hadn’t been part of an unbroken chain of hostility I’ve encountered from members of SJP – on some occasions, even outside of moments of participation in the pro-Israel debate.

The Almighty and my parents have already teamed to provide me with the only two brothers I’ll ever really need. So if members of Students for Justice in Palestine decide to settle for treating my friends and I with the same basic decency I hope I treat them, I’ll be as satisfied as I will surprised.