Let’s talk Gaza and Antisemitism. (Yes, I’m afraid.)

To get to nonviolent resistance we need to have honest conversations.

One thing about this time that keeps me off balance these days is the never ending barrage of juxtaposed emotions. 

This week was no different. On Tuesday Kym and I celebrated our wedding anniversary with all six kids and a beautiful backyard meal of vegetables from our garden. This peace (and hilarity) was soon shattered by a barrage of bad news at the federal level and from the courts. Within days, the serious became the absurd with the ridiculous distraction of the Trump/Elon spat. All the while I felt fear mounting—in my family, in our community, across the nation and the world.  

By Friday, I was feeling a little overwhelmed and exhausted, but was glad to travel over to Winston-Salem to attend a wonderful conference hosted by the amazing civil rights organization Forward Justice. In the work to build a new resistance I heard anger, joy, and a deep spiritual commitment to justice. I felt replenished by old friends, enriched as I met new ones, and strengthened by conversation with mentors.

One of the main reasons I attended the conference was to take part in a workshop on nonviolent resistance. The practice of nonviolence is at the moral core of my activism and service, and I need to sharpen my skills in its application as I try to join all of you with building a mass popular movement for democracy. 

Engaging deliberately in nonviolent action feels urgent right now because I am afraid that we are headed into an era of political violence that the United States has not seen in more than 50 years. And, I don’t mean an era of protest – I mean true violence, physical conflict, harm, and even death. 

Among the horrors this week were the brutal attack on Jewish Americans in Boulder on the same day as Palestinians were brazenly gunned down while at a food distribution site in Gaza. It feels so clear that the violence we are aiding abroad is abetting a rise in violence at home.

The cruelty and harm in Gaza is plain to see, yet hard to believe. I struggle to watch a nation created as a response to centuries of persecution and the tragedy of the Holocaust apply such harm to others. I am consistently troubled by how this context is missing from most coverage of antisemitic violence in the United States. We cannot ignore the violence in Gaza as we consider the rise of antisemitism at home. Hatred and violence are never justified, but neither wisdom nor healing can come from an approach that willingly disregards the full picture.

Let me stop here to say that I know wading into this topic is risky for me. I am doing so as a challenge to my own thinking, my own willingness to speak on deeply controversial issues, and my long held aversion to engaging in any public way about Israel and Palestine.

Twice I have thought deeply about running for Congress. One of the reasons I will never do so is my commitment to nonviolence. The complex history, prolonged violence, and seeming intractability all drive me away from any responsibility for foreign policy on Israel and Palestine. And I never want the power to vote for any war. 

Even thinking about writing this email has made me fearful. I know it will upset and offend some people no matter what I say. Leaving this alone would be the easiest thing for me to do. I am leaning in against my fear precisely because I know that the avoidance of challenging dialogue lets the status quo persist. And in this case, the status quo is a dangerous cycle of violence. No one should be fearful to have an honest conversation when such harm persists.

So, what follows are simply my thoughts about how the current dialogue about Gaza and antisemitism has mired the left in troublesome ground. My belief is that if we do not address this albatross, it will threaten the foundation of the mass popular movement we need to build in the face of Trump authoritarianism. This conversation is both hard and necessary. I have heard from readers and read writers who have a different perspective than mine, but here we go…

First thought: All violence is to be condemned, all violence is not equal, we cannot ignore the full picture. 

Contemporary political commentary on the genocide in Gaza seems to prescribe an equal and exact accompanying condemnation of Hamas, October 7, and the continuing illegal holding of Israeli hostages. I abhor and condemn all of those things, and I desire peace for all people. And yet, requiring that these issues sit side by side in every instance feels artificial. I don’t hear the same demands for reciprocity when the focus is antisemitism or the hostages. 

Comparison or ranking of violent acts is a fool’s game. Violence, especially when deadly, is only a loss for all. It rarely does anyone good to set up competition between who has been harmed worse. So, my emphasis here is not to say that the Gaza genocide is worse than the violence perpetrated on Israelis. What is “worse” is not the point.

I know the application of the descriptor of “genocide” will seem to some as an implicit comparison. I reply that the magnitude of the violence, the deliberate deprivation of food and housing, the complete indifference to the harm to innocents like children and babies, and the extreme power differential of the parties demand an adequate descriptor. Those who insist on hearing an equivalence are avoiding the clear contextual differences.

The need to hear a both-sidesism response any time the Gaza genocide is brought up masks real harm and prevents real action. The U.S. should be ashamed of the harm being done in Gaza and the financial support we provide to war and subsequent death. Further, we need to name that the war is allowed to persist in part (not in full) as justification for the cycle of violence that Trump benefits from here at home. And above all, we need to be clear that being anti-genocide is not the same thing as being antisemitic.

So, I challenge all those who care about these issues to insist on a discussion of the whole picture. If you think it is important that Hamas’s violence be acknowledged when the Gaza genocide is discussed, then you should also agree it is important to acknowledge the genocide when new violence erupts. But we don’t have to mention both for either one to have validity.

Second thought: The rise in antisemitism is real. Trump’s use of the word to advance authoritarianism undermines that. 

A Jewish friend said to me recently, “I know in the very fiber of my heritage that there may come a time when my life is at risk.” I hear the deep fear, rooted in centuries of persecution, experienced through the persistent threat to Israel, and heightened by the contemporary rise of antisemitism in both language and violence. I believe her unequivocally.

That very real truth lies alongside Trump’s abuse of the term “antisemitism” as cover for his authoritarian actions—in particular his attacks on universities and his abuse of deportation as a punishment for free expression. Let’s be honest—does anyone think Trump is harassing Harvard and Columbia because of antisemitism? Or because they are educational institutions that help encourage education and discourse that is often antithetical to Trump’s authoritarian aims? I believe he wants to demonstrate his power so as to subject others to it. And we should have our eyes wide open that he is using this topic to try to divide those of us in the resistance. 

As historian and authoritarianism expert Timothy Snyder recently wrote in an outstanding essay: “The notion is that antisemitism is such a problem that we should accept obviously authoritarian policies to combat it. But will authoritarianism help Jews? And is this particular policy of deportation in any way designed to support Jewish Americans? This seems unlikely to be the motivation of those who made the policy.”

Jewish friends have helped me understand that the juxtaposition of real antisemitism against Trump’s misappropriation makes it very hard for many people to fully express what they are feeling. Hearing their personal struggles to disentangle these realities helped me see the challenge of the public dialogue as well. 

Still, I believe we must continue to struggle through this morass, because I know what happens when we don’t. When words fail, they are expressed in emotions. When emotions fail, they sometimes are expressed in violence.

Third thought: Violence abroad and at home only serves to advance authoritarianism. 

Trump frequently uses rhetoric about both real and perceived violence to justify his own actual violence. The persistence of the Gaza genocide makes it harder to unmask his abuse of the term antisemitism. His handpicked targets for speech suppression allow him to justify the infliction of bodily harm via state violence and deportation. All of this is taken straight from the textbook for authoritarian rulers.

Trump authoritarianism leans heavily into obviously racialized divisions. White South Africans v. Apartheid; White “Real Americans” v. Non-White immigrants; American and Israeli Jews v. Arabic Gazans. Consider how the “v.” in all of those pairs can so easily stand for violence. All the while, he ensures that his white supporters evade accountability of any type. And you know he lacks sincerity, because none of his actions provide a pathway towards less division, healing, or peace.

The application of power through violence, cruelty, and division predictably results in violent responses. It is frightening to me when I hear people tag speech as “antisemitic” simply because it questions violence. Authoritarians have always used violence to provoke violence to justify even greater violence. I see this cycle already advancing, and believe it will accelerate without an alternative path. We must not contribute to it. 

Final thought: Grace, debate, listening, and love are required for healing and resistance.

I don’t have all the answers to end this painful cycle, but I do know that to break past Trump’s abuse of these horrors we need to renew our commitment to giving each other the grace to explore the full picture, and set aside our reflexive judgments. 

One of the most profound statements I heard at the conference on Friday was the suggestion that the muscle we need to flex most in the moment is that of apology. At first glance that might seem counterintuitive—are we really the ones who need to apologize right now? But when I thought about it more, I understood. It isn’t so much apology as admission of wrong we need to practice, but rather everything that goes into an apology and subsequent repair. Imagine yourself apologizing—do you feel vulnerable? Do you feel uncomfortable? And then after repair—are you washed over with love? Do you feel a new strength? And finally, do you believe that by strengthening and using your apology muscle, you can help heal our world by modeling this action for others?

It is with that state of mind that we need to enter current debate. We need to be vulnerable but also brave. We do not have to agree, but we do have to stay engaged. We can’t be afraid to surface hard truths. We need to speak up when it might feel uncomfortable. And as others do the same, we need to have the grace to hear them out. We need to take the time to truly listen and learn. I am sharing my perspective, but I am not insisting on it as the only perspective.

And so, let me offer my own apology. First, I apologize for how long it has taken me to speak up on this issue. I am always fearful that my words can hurt, and especially that they will hurt people already suffering from historic oppression—in this case, both Jews and Palestinians qualify. I also know that failure to speak up clearly here is in many ways complicity, allowing both antisemitism and genocide to continue. I also apologize that I have been prickly with those who have approached me to “speak up.” I know how painful this time is for many and how hard it is to discuss this gracefully. What can I do to repair my harm? How can I best take the next step forward with you?

I hope that if we can channel this more forgiving and compassionate energy, our popular movement can help break us out of the violent cycle and proactively build a nonviolent movement. One with ample opportunity for people to channel positive, nonviolent energy, replace their fear with hope, and offer healing to all.

I plan to write to you more about how to do all of those things in future messages. I am not likely to return to the topic of Gaza in these emails, but I do have more to say about the application of nonviolent resistance to authoritarianism. 

What you can do this week

• Flex your apology muscle. Try being vulnerable. Have a deep conversation. Take any action that challenges the cycle of violence.

• Call Sens. Tillis and Budd: Keep the pressure on to get them to reject the MAGA Murder Budget. The Trump-Musk fiasco has blown open the possibility of killing this terrible bill. We have to continue to drive the wedge. In particular we have heard Sen. Tillis might be persuadable that we need to keep clean energy credits–these credits support so much industry in North Carolina, particularly in the Western part of the state where we simply cannot afford to lose jobs. Tell him you appreciate his efforts and he needs to stand firm on this issue. 

• Join me on Saturday for the June 14 No Kings Nationwide Day of Defiance. I’ll be kicking off the Hillsborough event and then head to the one in Chapel Hill.

• Contact Governor Stein: Encourage him to veto two anti-immigrant and pro-ICE bills that are likely to be on his desk by Thursday. While you’re reaching out to the Governor, send him thanks for advancing this smart approach to cannabis legalization.

• Find Joy: Our garden is transitioning from spring to summer. Kale, lettuce and root crops are giving way to tomatoes, tomatillos, zucchini, eggplant and peppers. As we harvest the last of our crops we are enjoying some recipes like smoked carrots and beet carpaccio. 

• Find more joy: It’s the end of the school year! Our kids are all glad to be winding down. Will graduates from high school this week. The other younger kids are all excited for the transition into summer with slower days (and for the parents less time looking at Powerschool!). For us this time means more outdoor family dinners and yard games. Our favorite: Glow-in-the-dark bocce balls. 

Onward,

Graig