Two weeks ago I wrote an article laying out my experience at the Free Palestine encampment. My goal was to show everyone why we are doing what we are doing while putting to rest some misconceptions surrounding our movement. I also wanted our experience to be made public as a way of countering the administration’s troubling narrative, which has exacerbated the hate we have received from some of those belonging to the DU community. 

The most recent, and abhorrent, addition to the list of genocidal developments in Gaza centers on the Israeli invasion of Rafah. Rafah was initially designated as a safe zone for civilians from the indiscriminate shelling and bombing. Over a million flocked to this area for this reason, and they are once again on the move, creating yet another humanitarian crisis. The trauma as a result of these actions will outlive all of us. 

Actions like these are why we at the encampment cannot just pick up and leave. We cannot consciously operate knowing that our university, a school that each of us pumps thousands of dollars into, is contributing in some way to the massacre that keeps us up at night. We cannot sit and do nothing. Children in Gaza cannot even produce tears anymore when they cry due to dehydration. 

All that being said, the community we have created in the name of a free Palestine is a community that will remain for the rest of our lives. I have formed bonds with people who have taught me more than one can imagine. I have been re-conditioned to view the world in a way that even a critical education cannot do. I have also learned a lot about what dedication to a cause looks like, and the emotional and mental endurance it takes to maintain a 24-hour protest. 

Since the encampment started, I have made sure to show up every day, with some days being longer than others. One of my main contributions has taken the form of participating in night watch, where I make sure that those in the encampment are safe from outsiders who engage us with malicious intent. 

On many of these nights, I don’t go to sleep until 4 or even 5 in the morning. Instead, I stand wrapped up in warm clothes while drunk kids walk by and scream the occasional homophobic slur at me and my counterparts. But it is during these times that I have some of the most fulfilling conversations.

A lot of the conversations I’ve had focus on the issue at hand. Whether that be the comparative examples of settler colonialism or the way in which media operates to condition the U.S. population into complying with a genocide. Much of the discussions center around topics that intersect with the Palestine issue as well.

All in all, it takes a critical mindset to participate in what we are doing. It is for this reason that many of these late-night talks center on deconstructing and understanding the consequences of living in the society that we do. This can be intentional, but a lot of the time it is not. 

I hold an identity that is associated with the most privilege in society. I am a white heterosexual man, which means that society works in a way that makes my life easier. Most of the people I have these late-night conversations with do not share that same identity, and it is the discussions surrounding our lived experiences that have arguably taught me the most. It takes these personal connections with people from different backgrounds to understand what it means to be you in the world you inhabit. 

DU prides itself on being diverse, yet over 65% of the campus is white. When it comes to sexuality and gender, this area visibly lacks diversity as well. Yet when you set foot into the encampment, the diversity in identities is beautiful, and it is an aspect of our community that I deeply wish was present university-wide. I have always wanted to be in an environment like this, and it is peculiar that the second an environment as it emerges, the administration demonizes it and even puts its safety at risk. 

One conversation early on in the movement illuminated another way in which the encampment is deconstructing the way in which I have been conditioned to view the world. The fellow protester I was doing night watch with was from the American South as well, and somehow we ended up on the topic of how we as Southerners have been socialized into producing reactionary and unconscious micro-aggressions toward different communities.

We discussed how it takes a conscious and intentional effort to unravel these biases and to notice and reflect on these unconscious reactions when they occur. That being said, the encampment in a way has allowed these biases to be flip-flopped. The majority of those who have attacked us, verbally and in one case physically, are those who operate with the most privileged set of identities, just like me. Whenever this usual suspect walks by, I am automatically filled with a sense of anxiety surrounding their potential actions, while those who do not conform to that identity fail to produce the same feelings. 

To be clear, it is important to understand that all unconscious biases must be noticed. In noticing the new set of unconscious biases that have arisen during my night watches, I am better understanding my own identity and what it means to others who have always felt these types of anxieties toward white heterosexual men. These anxieties are real, and I am grateful that this encampment has taught me, through lived experience, the other side of the story when it comes to how society conditions us along the lines of identity. 

I say all of this because I have taken considerable time to read about social injustices, and have made sure to pursue an education in political science that gives me the toolbox to critically understand power dynamics. My professors have done a beautiful job in gifting me this knowledge, but it is the encampment that has shown me what power dynamics look like in an immediate and personal sense. 

The encampment has also shown me what it means to be dedicated to a cause, and what it takes to maintain that dedication. We are all participating in a 24-hour protest. This means that a lot of us are sacrificing things in our lives in order for our university to do the right thing. 

We are sacrificing time that could be spent on homework. We are sacrificing weekend nights that could be spent hanging out with friends. We are sacrificing precious time that could be spent with those who we love. We are sacrificing all of this because we know that if we don’t, we will feel worse knowing that attention would not have been paid to those who have lost so much more in Gaza. 

I now know what it really means to stand up for what you believe. With the encampment being over two weeks old at this point, I can truly express that the emotional and mental toll is real. The day before last Tuesday night, I was feeling down along with a lot of my fellow protestors. The administration would not listen to us, and instead, they continued to frame us as disruptive and anti-semitic. 

Come last Tuesday afternoon, that sentiment was even more biting. We had just gotten out of a meeting with the administration where they continued to not take us seriously. In an email that afternoon they stated “If participants choose not to voluntarily leave, the University will determine appropriate action to disband the camp.” It seemed as if the community we had created was about to be destroyed and with it our movement.

During this time, I was at the Korbel school viewing a powerful panel of Palestinian voices discussing their experiences and where society at large has failed in understanding their tragedy. Hearing some of their experiences of injustice, at their homes both abroad and here in the United States was unfathomable. As organizer and activist Linda Badwan put it, “as a Palestinian, no matter where you go, you take that with you.”

And it is the harassment and intimidation toward pro-Palestinian voices that led her to say “We are all Palestinians.” Professor Kareem Mattar brought this statement closer to home, mentioning the bill that just passed through the House with a 320-91 vote, expanding the definition of anti-semitism that ultimately includes criticizing the state of Israel. 

I ran from this event back to camp as it seemed the movement was over. I had even begun taking down my tent, before realizing that there were more faces than usual and that more and more people were popping up. It did not take long until that number rose to the hundreds, and I very quickly realized that more people than I previously assumed cared about what we were and are doing. I had to hold back tears when I saw everyone come out to make sure that our movement would carry on. 

That night I also learned what our movement meant to counter protestors. Many were there with the hopes of seeing us get abused by Campo or the Denver Police. They treated our movement as a spectacle and drank beers and smoked cigarettes while screaming at us or occasionally running through the encampment. They used our cause as an excuse to get drunk on a school night and showed their lack of care for the community by discarding their empty drinks on the lawn in front of the library.

All of these experiences, in the name of a Free Palestine, have taught me more about myself, the community I inhabit, and even the world at large when compared to what the brilliant classes here have to offer. I don’t use that comparison to diminish the quality of the education I am getting but rather to show you how much this community has done for me. Furthermore, the administration should strive to foster the kind of community we have created in the encampment. 

If you feel as if this is the community you have always wanted, come to the lawn in front of the Academic Commons so that we can all continue to scream Free Palestine together.