Amal Najjar
This temporary space, making friends and memories that we will remember, encapsulates this moment forever. This physical space is held up by donated and foraged materials consisting of pallets, plywood, school chairs, tables, tarps, burlap, and anything else to enforce a barrier, signifying that outside there is genocide, but in this space, there is resistance.
In this space, there are people who are beyond empty words but instead live by action. People who risk it all, grounded in the power of nonviolence, a right to protest, and a vision of something beyond the binaries of us and them. In this space, it is “we.” A unifying force of disruption for the goal of Liberation. A goal I have had my whole life. As a First generation Lebanese woman on my father’s side, I was raised Muslim in America. Navigating the world pre- and post-9/11 solidified my role as a caretaker of people and the planet through activism. I witnessed then, as I do now, the cultural narrative shift labeling Arabs and or Muslims as terrorists. Propaganda ignores the nuances, justifying violence and creating a false narrative suggesting that the Arab world is barbaric, inherently sexist, homophobic, and violent. In this space, we reject such accusations; we practice conflict resolution as we understand this is the goal of rEVOLution.
In this encampment, we are a disruption of the norm—a rejection of values rooted in harm, hate, and superiority complexes.
What is unique about the encampment at CSULA is that the students are primarily non-Arab and non-Muslim. CSULA is a predominantly Chicanx campus, as am I on my mother’s side. Recognizing the embodiment of allyship. Much of our struggles are the same. Many Arab and Muslim students are experiencing tremendous grief and fear. The lead organizer of mixed Arab descent has been working behind the scenes to protect their anonymity and honor their grief as their whole family became martyrs since October 7th. One day at the camp, an organizer announced that a student outside the camp in hijab felt both proud and scared to have the encampment at school. The organizer offered assistance walking the fearful student to her car; she shared her interaction and invited us all to be vigilant with our care for visibly Muslim students. Suggesting that something as simple as walking them to their vehicle is an act of solidarity. “We keep each other safe,” a statement said repeatedly in the camp and the group chat.
This encampment is all the theory I, as a Women’s, Gender, and Sexuality major, study in action. This is “the work”. Everything we learn in the safety of the classroom walls has led to this moment, the application of Queer, Feminist, and Abolition theory, disability justice, and community organizing all in concert with one another, giving life to a belief that Liberation IS possible, and the rEVOLution is now.
This encampment is the classroom, where we talk about rEVOLution and safety. Our commitment to education is now a homage to every school and every student buried under the rubble in the act of educide by the state-sanctioned violence of Israel.
This encampment disrupts the settler colonialist project, an example of alternatives being possible. I think the solidarity for Palestine movement is so powerful because it encompasses the intersectional struggle of Race, Class, Gender, Sexuality, Age, Ability, Religion, Colonialization, Capitalism, and Patriarchy.
In this space, we embody change, rEVOLution, and commUNITY, meaning Love & Unity are at the forefront of our work. In this space held up by resourcefulness, resiliency, an embodiment of amal, that’s Arabic for Hope we live in the future, a timeline less consumed by the politics of war and violence, and least that’s what we strive for.
The encampment is many things all at once, first and foremost, a disruption of the norm to have our demands as students met. These demands are disclosure, divestment, a boycott of all products and ties that take part in funding genocide and the military-industrial complex, and for CSULA to call for an end to the occupation and amnesty for protestors.
The encampment takes shape as a classroom, as stated before, a birthplace for ideas, new-found relationships, a ceremony, a kitchen, a memorial, and the indoctrination of the activists of the present and the future. After my parents split when I was 10, My single mom struggled to make ends meet for my siblings and me. School and activism gave me focus and alternatives to the hood. The encampment provides a tangible space to hold and use our individual, collective grief. Activism is a tool of Liberation, a tool to heal and be healed. The encampment has been the one thing in the last seven months that has given me hope, if nothing else, a healing salve on the guilt of privilege and our complicity. As an activist, Aunty, I am taken aback by the level of Discipline, Dedication, CommUNITY, and Courage of the new generation of activists.
On this 17th day, I am thankful to the President, who finally agreed to meet with us yesterday. As the Channel 5 news helicopter circled the camp, documenting our meeting with President Eanes, she proclaimed, “Peace is powerful; they would rather have this meeting going a different way.” In this world where violence is sanctioned and normalized, it is not lost on us how fortunate we have been. As we witness other schools being raided heavily with cops, counter-protesters, and violence, we cherish this time to embrace the worthy practice of Peace.