Learning Solidarity
I imagine writing this on the internet and a ‘friend’ saying, tolerantly,
‘But Dave, these people would also be on their phones if they could afford them…’. Perhaps. Maybe not. Maybe the reason they’re poor is that they’re not self serving, or cowards.
I’m here because I’ve been galvanized into action by what’s happening in Palestine. I was feeling very sad one day, regarding the people under bombardment there, but then I thought, Dave, what about all those people in need here, on your doorstep? If you care so much about people, about life, about justice, what are you doing to help those within arms reach? I opened my eyes on that day and began searching around for ways to help. This refuge serves those in my immediate community, so I got in touch and asked if I could volunteer.
I help carve the turkeys. I’m vegan and hate touching dead flesh but sometimes you just have to get stuck into things you don’t want to do in the service of others. Being vegan has taught me that life isn’t just about me. I realize that this sounds holier than thou but honestly I’m past caring any more what anybody thinks. I like to relay the news - as I'm doing now - but I really don't care what's thought of it, favorable or not. The only thing that counts for me is to talk straight, to gain the education that allows one to discern what the right thing is, and then to discover the opportunity to do that right thing. One of my dreams is to open a vegan soup kitchen but until that happens this is where my good intention stands today. If folks in dire circumstances want a traditional Christmas dinner to brighten up this festive period, and that's what I can help with, I’m going to get my hands dirty.
I’m grateful for the opportunity to talk and serve people I wouldn’t usually have too much contact with. Among other benefits of being here is that I like offering respect. I think offering respect where it’s due is an integral part of being human. I like bringing these gentle people their toast and coffee and saying ‘Is there anything else I can offer you Ma'am, Sir?’ Then seeing them smiling at the sentence, at the correct usage of the words ‘Ma’am’ and ‘Sir’. The words are much abused in the world these days. You hear the police or public facing workers say them a lot but so often with a harshness, just before they do something mean. I enjoy saying them properly to people who deserve it. I consider working in a restaurant so I can offer verbal respect more often but then I recall how most affluent people make me nauseous by implication, so it’s better I volunteer at a shelter like this. I can be more at ease with the whole exchange here.
Some guests have rolled out their sleeping bags in the space beyond the tables and are catching up on the sleep they didn’t have last night. It’s very hard to sleep on the streets. Freezing cold, and there’s often other people wanting to hurt you. Here it’s safe. People can relax.
I look at my phone to get the latest news on Gaza. The Israelis have bulldozed hospital tents, burying the injured alive. There are some more videos of atrocities. I don’t really want to watch but witnessing this pain seems the right thing to do in my circumstance. I’m not a disaster junkie, I don’t get my kicks from such things. But it was like this when Mum died. I was thousands of miles away watching on my phone. The paramedic held the phone at the other end. I didn’t want to watch but something said it was my duty to do so. Maybe to help Mum bear this burden. A sign of solidarity and caring.
A mother and daughter have been murdered inside a Christian church complex by an Israeli sniper. Mary and Jesus, they just killed them, I think. Of course they would. The governments and armies of Israel, America, UK, and just about every ‘modern’ nation seem to care so little about genuine religious belief, compassion, kindness, empathy, love, and culture. So blinded by money and power.
A lady I served earlier approaches to speak.
‘You’re from back home, down south,’ she nods.
‘And you’re from Leeds,’ I reply, noting her accent. She smiles like a girl 70 years her junior. Somebody has seen her! A word comes to me, ‘Mary’. It doesn’t register strongly but it’s there parallel to the moment, and it is insistent.
‘I’m Dave,’ I say.
‘I’m Mary,’ she replies.
Of course you are, I think. Why did I know your name before you told me? I used to know Mum was going to call or text seconds before she did. The odd thing here is that I don’t know this woman. Perhaps she has an open heart as I hope I do and we can communicate somehow without words. After Mum died, words were inadequate in summing up how I felt. There must be some deeper way of expressing ourselves; words fail on the really important stuff. I heard the great poet Benjamin Zephaniah saying something about this when he spoke of writing verse. He said, you always lose something of the thought when you write it down.
There are more volunteers than last week. Good to see. The power and culture industry tells us not to care about one another, to put garden centre over community centre, to buy a leaf blower so as to annoy the neighbours every Sunday and destroy insects and other life forms whilst we do so. To watch Netflix and die a little as each new episode of propaganda teaches us to mistrust and fear and turn away from the world. To give to charity, but only at tax break time! Those who volunteer genuinely say no to all this erosion of the heart.
The priest blesses dinner, we wait tables, I enjoy saying
‘More gravy, Sir?’ or
‘Can I offer some cake, Ma’am? There’s a choice of lemon Madeira, marbled cookies, or crispy squares…’
A volunteer plays Christmas carols and swing classics on a keyboard. Many older people smile and rise to dance when he begins 'Fly me to the Moon'.
As the refuge prepares to close I have one last glance at my phone before I head downtown for the demonstration. The Israelis have fired a rocket into the Convent of the Sisters of Mother Teresa in Gaza. The convent is - was? - home to 54 disabled people. The equipment they need to survive is destroyed. Yet another atrocity that our governments - and the majority of those I used to call friends - will ignore.
Most of my friends are vegans, yogis, and artists. And the vast majority have not spoken out against the ongoing genocide. I was bewildered and saddened at first by their inaction but then I recalled how they’d been during previous tough times when a strong opinion needed to be voiced. They’d always stayed silent! This was what they did. I felt foolish to have taken so long to see them for what they were. I’ve cut ties with most of them now, life is too short to spend it mixing with those who differ so radically from you in core values. They take up space that could be populated with friends yet to be met. People who see life more like I do. Yet still, I want to yell in their silent faces
‘Vegans, what happened to all life being precious? Do you just mean that when talking about farm animals, and not fellow humans who don’t look like you?’
‘Artists, what happened to our role as social commentators? Are you just now morons who get paid to spray-paint city walls whilst the sun shines? Or produce vacuous art or poetry to titillate those rich enough, corrupt enough, to support you?’
‘Yogis, do we not stand with the oppressed, on the side of truth and justice? I strongly believe that if you don’t then you’re not doing yoga, you’re just stretching as you look the other way.’
What is it you care about? Do you even think of ‘justice’, and what it means in this age? Will the Israeli sniper who murdered those innocents in the church be tried for their crimes, and pay appropriately? Will every Israeli involved in this genocide in any way receive the death sentence, or a lifetime in prison, as they should? What about our politicians who know what is happening yet think only of business, what will be the justice enacted on them? What about those of you who turn the other way from afar, what will justice look like in your case? When you confront your god, do you expect them to give you points for ‘trying to be objective and hear both sides’, or because you succeeded in fooling your soul into starting to read the story from the middle, rather than as near the beginning as possible?
When your kids ask you in many years what you did during the 20’s, as you may have asked your own parents what they themselves did during the 60’s, how will you face the reality of your betrayal? Will you use your children as a flimsy excuse and say ‘I kept quiet for you, if I’d have spoken out I’d have been fired, or ostracized’? You allowed millions to die and our culture and sense of meaning to be extinguished just so your kids could have a better life? A better life? By who’s reckoning?
It’s just over an hour walk from church to the US consulate, where the demo will begin. We have a good subway here but I like to walk to the city on days when I don’t work out properly. It’s a 12km round trip, good exercise for a rest day. I’m wearing my keffiyeh scarf and my interactions are more pleasant as a result. I like exchanging friendly nods and words with my sort of people - that is, anybody who looks like they’re not a fully paid up rabid member of the patriarchy. Before I started wearing this symbol of solidarity, walking through the city was a lonely enterprise. I can’t blame people, I’m a 6ft older white guy who dresses like he’s just walked out of a Scandinavian sailing advert. I choose my appearance yet understand I can’t expect oppressed people to see me as anything other than a collaborator if I present like this. If it looks like a duck, walks like a duck, then…
Yet with the keffiyeh around my neck it’s different. Eyes smile from under hijab, 2 East African ladies ask me directions, a young white punk rocker approaches and asks if I’m heading to the demo.
‘I’m James,’ he says, ‘let’s walk together.’
We have a pleasant interaction and then go our ways as we join the crowds waiting to march. I walk among nurses and doctors, reading their placards, all demanding a release of the 110 healthcare workers in Gaza that the Israelis have kidnapped, a ceasefire, and an end to the occupation. I'm with them, and also with those here who also shout for an end to the patriarchy, fake democracy, and lies. I suspect our efforts are futile and that the genocide will stop only when the business deals have been achieved, yet I don’t know what else to do yet - apart from boycotting certain companies who help Israel - so here I am. I’m hoping I’ll learn other courses of action as I spend more time with groups like these.
Most of my friends are vegans, yogis, and artists. And the vast majority have not spoken out against the ongoing genocide. I was bewildered and saddened at first by their inaction but then I recalled how they’d been during previous tough times when a strong opinion needed to be voiced. They’d always stayed silent! This was what they did. I felt foolish to have taken so long to see them for what they were. I’ve cut ties with most of them now, life is too short to spend it mixing with those who differ so radically from you in core values. They take up space that could be populated with friends yet to be met. People who see life more like I do. Yet still, I want to yell in their silent faces
‘Vegans, what happened to all life being precious? Do you just mean that when talking about farm animals, and not fellow humans who don’t look like you?’
‘Artists, what happened to our role as social commentators? Are you just now morons who get paid to spray-paint city walls whilst the sun shines? Or produce vacuous art or poetry to titillate those rich enough, corrupt enough, to support you?’
‘Yogis, do we not stand with the oppressed, on the side of truth and justice? I strongly believe that if you don’t then you’re not doing yoga, you’re just stretching as you look the other way.’
What is it you care about? Do you even think of ‘justice’, and what it means in this age? Will the Israeli sniper who murdered those innocents in the church be tried for their crimes, and pay appropriately? Will every Israeli involved in this genocide in any way receive the death sentence, or a lifetime in prison, as they should? What about our politicians who know what is happening yet think only of business, what will be the justice enacted on them? What about those of you who turn the other way from afar, what will justice look like in your case? When you confront your god, do you expect them to give you points for ‘trying to be objective and hear both sides’, or because you succeeded in fooling your soul into starting to read the story from the middle, rather than as near the beginning as possible?
When your kids ask you in many years what you did during the 20’s, as you may have asked your own parents what they themselves did during the 60’s, how will you face the reality of your betrayal? Will you use your children as a flimsy excuse and say ‘I kept quiet for you, if I’d have spoken out I’d have been fired, or ostracized’? You allowed millions to die and our culture and sense of meaning to be extinguished just so your kids could have a better life? A better life? By who’s reckoning?
It’s just over an hour walk from church to the US consulate, where the demo will begin. We have a good subway here but I like to walk to the city on days when I don’t work out properly. It’s a 12km round trip, good exercise for a rest day. I’m wearing my keffiyeh scarf and my interactions are more pleasant as a result. I like exchanging friendly nods and words with my sort of people - that is, anybody who looks like they’re not a fully paid up rabid member of the patriarchy. Before I started wearing this symbol of solidarity, walking through the city was a lonely enterprise. I can’t blame people, I’m a 6ft older white guy who dresses like he’s just walked out of a Scandinavian sailing advert. I choose my appearance yet understand I can’t expect oppressed people to see me as anything other than a collaborator if I present like this. If it looks like a duck, walks like a duck, then…
Yet with the keffiyeh around my neck it’s different. Eyes smile from under hijab, 2 East African ladies ask me directions, a young white punk rocker approaches and asks if I’m heading to the demo.
‘I’m James,’ he says, ‘let’s walk together.’
We have a pleasant interaction and then go our ways as we join the crowds waiting to march. I walk among nurses and doctors, reading their placards, all demanding a release of the 110 healthcare workers in Gaza that the Israelis have kidnapped, a ceasefire, and an end to the occupation. I'm with them, and also with those here who also shout for an end to the patriarchy, fake democracy, and lies. I suspect our efforts are futile and that the genocide will stop only when the business deals have been achieved, yet I don’t know what else to do yet - apart from boycotting certain companies who help Israel - so here I am. I’m hoping I’ll learn other courses of action as I spend more time with groups like these.
A white man approaches our crowd with that sort of frightening North American smile that says he lives in a shallow society dangerously obsessed with dental and all things surface, and that he knows he’s protected no matter what he does. He has a skull cap that suggests he is Jewish, and a banner that says ‘Free the Hostages’. It makes no sense. The Israelis murdered 3 Israeli hostages yesterday because they thought they were Palestinians, that’s how much the Israeli state wants their hostages back. Not to mention the thousands of Palestinian hostages held by the Israelis themselves. Does he mean those should be free? No, of course not. He’s just trying to cause trouble. So we ignore him, and he gets more smiley-aggressive as a result. Bumbling around like a chimpanzee with a distemper-induced fear grin, all the while keeping one eye on the nearby gang of Toronto police, knowing that they’ll rescue him when we react. Inevitably somebody pushes him away. People here have just come off long hospital shifts, they’ve relatives who have been murdered by Israelis, they can be forgiven for not wanting to deal with vile Zionists. The police step in, push our crowd about a bit and lead the trouble maker across the road, where he stands with his sign, sharing jokes with a laughing black cop.
A black cop! It’s bad enough that somebody who should know better has joined the cops. Even worse that he thinks it’s ok to joke with this maniac in full sight of those he’s trying to agitate. Then I reprimand myself. You’ve read James Baldwin, Dave, you understand that it’s essential to not just read books but implement what they’ve taught you. So interpret the scene again.
I survey the cop, now he looks like somebody who’s humouring the white man’s impersonation of a decent human being. He’s probably been playing this part all his life. Want to escape a kicking? Laugh at the dumb jokes. Want a job? Go along with all the lazy, racist, reasoning, and low brow conversation. Keep that smile going no matter what and the boss might allow you crumbs from his table.
Some of our group cross the road and hold their Palestinian flags in front of the troublemakers banner so as to obscure it. The police half heartedly try to stop this, they beat one of us up last week and it was caught on video so they’re probably a little wary of following standard procedure this time around. Eventually the Zionist is asked to leave.
We walk and chant, we stop and chant, we stop and hear speeches from healthcare workers who‘ve been penalized here in Toronto for condemning Israeli aggression. Zionists fund a significant part of our healthcare system through donations and in return they expect our society to look the other way when they commit genocide. Same goes for our cultural life. Recently the Art Gallery of Ontario dismissed their only indigenous curator for making pro-Palestinian remarks, because they were told to get rid of her by an Israeli-Canadian group. Our society is infected with Zionism, it is rotten with it.
I leave the march at the top of University Ave and watch as the few thousand chant their way along College St. If the media mentions this at all they’ll say we were a few hundred. I’ll post a video later that tells the truth as I’ve witnessed it. It can seem like the truth isn’t worth much these days, the media would have us believe that with their constant adoration of half truths and lies, but I’m certain it is. It’s how I was raised, to tell the truth as I discern it. So now I try.
Regardless of the truth, soon the media will start to change, I believe. We’re at that ‘stage of the news cycle’. Reports will begin to surface that will be more understanding of the Palestinian cause. Interviews with liberal Israelis that attempt to show that they too are reasonable people, despite what their government and armed forces appear to be. Business deals will have been finalised and the idea of peace and fairness will be needed. Many will forget, and forgive, what is going on now. Many, that is. Not me.
Why are our affluent and influential just making smart arguments and excuses? Why don’t they do something real, like visibly demonstrate against injustice, audibly shout for equality, and physically serve the needy? So many act as if word play is enough. What place do these old words and meanings have now that our leaders have first killed them then resurrected them in their own image? To oppose Zionism is now an act of anti-Semitism. Clearly it’s not, and clearly to suggest so is an attempt to destroy meaning. But the leaders say it to be so, and now we either accept their lies, or reject and rebuild meaning in the image of truth. I say, reject and rebuild.
It can seem so depressing, all this betrayal and self interest. At these marches, though, you see another side of society. The pure solidarity on show, coming from such a wide variety of people, feeds the soul. Here is proof that there are some real humans left in the western world who could choose safety yet instead decide to choose peace and justice. It is heartening.
Why are our affluent and influential just making smart arguments and excuses? Why don’t they do something real, like visibly demonstrate against injustice, audibly shout for equality, and physically serve the needy? So many act as if word play is enough. What place do these old words and meanings have now that our leaders have first killed them then resurrected them in their own image? To oppose Zionism is now an act of anti-Semitism. Clearly it’s not, and clearly to suggest so is an attempt to destroy meaning. But the leaders say it to be so, and now we either accept their lies, or reject and rebuild meaning in the image of truth. I say, reject and rebuild.
It can seem so depressing, all this betrayal and self interest. At these marches, though, you see another side of society. The pure solidarity on show, coming from such a wide variety of people, feeds the soul. Here is proof that there are some real humans left in the western world who could choose safety yet instead decide to choose peace and justice. It is heartening.
I know that this will one day be over - at least in Palestine, those in power will ensure it continues elsewhere though, they need to create clients for their guns and aid - and those who've been silent will reappear. They’ll pretend they're allright human beings, despite their collaboration and betrayal. Others will need their money - and perhaps companionship - so they’ll accept them. There will be little justice. Our politicians and business leaders will remain the same slaves to power, money, and control, that they have been for decades. Some of them will write books and earn vast sums for after dinner speeches, and the powerful, soulless, minority will read and listen and consume without digesting.
Life will go on when for a great many it shouldn’t. I have a big heart. It can hold compassion, love, and empathy, alongside hopes for true justice. What is the difference between justice and vengeance? Maybe one is administered by a patriarchal judge and the other by a freedom fighter or an ordinary, decent, wronged, civilian. Of the two the latter is more valid for me at this time, but I can hold them both.
There’s some deep disgust alongside the love, too. I’ve read my Bible, my Koran, my Bhagavad Gita, my Rumi, my Descarte, my Voltaire, my Marx, my Orwell, I’ve travelled widely, and I’ve attempted to filter lessons offered through a discerning lens. I hope that I can hold several ideas within my mind’s eye at the same time; equilibrium, love, justice, and all the tricky baggage that can accompany them. Some spiritual people I know say there’s no space for ill feeling towards others. That’s just the patriarchy using spirituality as a method of control, obviously, but if one were to offer an answer to such propaganda it might be, then make some space. Do some mental exercise, make the heart of your mind and soul bigger to accommodate judgement for those who have broken the 'Earth Contract'.
At home I scroll social media. Somebody asks a question of all those demonstrating to help Palestine.
‘Will you stand beside Indigenous people now when they demonstrate too? So many of you haven’t done so in the past…’
I’ve a pang of anger. Part of me wants to feel righteous and untouchable for doing what I’ve done today. But I get control of that feeling after a few seconds and realise they’re right. I never bothered to find out about local indigenous political groups before, about what their demands were and where their demonstrations happened. I wasn’t at a stage where I could imagine myself getting involved. Now I can. I’m unsure how to start but I recall signs held by the indigenous people who often lead the Palestinian marches, and type their words into the search engine, ‘Land Back Toronto’...
Life will go on when for a great many it shouldn’t. I have a big heart. It can hold compassion, love, and empathy, alongside hopes for true justice. What is the difference between justice and vengeance? Maybe one is administered by a patriarchal judge and the other by a freedom fighter or an ordinary, decent, wronged, civilian. Of the two the latter is more valid for me at this time, but I can hold them both.
There’s some deep disgust alongside the love, too. I’ve read my Bible, my Koran, my Bhagavad Gita, my Rumi, my Descarte, my Voltaire, my Marx, my Orwell, I’ve travelled widely, and I’ve attempted to filter lessons offered through a discerning lens. I hope that I can hold several ideas within my mind’s eye at the same time; equilibrium, love, justice, and all the tricky baggage that can accompany them. Some spiritual people I know say there’s no space for ill feeling towards others. That’s just the patriarchy using spirituality as a method of control, obviously, but if one were to offer an answer to such propaganda it might be, then make some space. Do some mental exercise, make the heart of your mind and soul bigger to accommodate judgement for those who have broken the 'Earth Contract'.
At home I scroll social media. Somebody asks a question of all those demonstrating to help Palestine.
‘Will you stand beside Indigenous people now when they demonstrate too? So many of you haven’t done so in the past…’
I’ve a pang of anger. Part of me wants to feel righteous and untouchable for doing what I’ve done today. But I get control of that feeling after a few seconds and realise they’re right. I never bothered to find out about local indigenous political groups before, about what their demands were and where their demonstrations happened. I wasn’t at a stage where I could imagine myself getting involved. Now I can. I’m unsure how to start but I recall signs held by the indigenous people who often lead the Palestinian marches, and type their words into the search engine, ‘Land Back Toronto’...
