I'm a Black American. I Stand With Palestinians—I Understand Their Trauma

Many use the word solidarity when describing a bond with friends, coworkers, and teammates, but I like to apply the word when describing a fight for shared interests between different types of people, whether it be the battle against racism, LGBTQ+ rights, and labor—solidarity speaks of unity.

"When one wins, we all win. When one dies, we all die." Those words from older activists echo loud today. As a Black man in America, I feel empathy for the people of Palestine. I stand with them.

Like millions around the world, I have been focused on the war between Israel and Hamas. What started out as a retaliation for the rocket attack by Hamas on southern Israel during the Jewish holiday Simchat Torah has turned into a barrage of gunfire, bombs, and the potential destruction of Gaza.

This has heightened antisemitism, Islamophobia, and for many, has given an excuse to continue the demonization of Palestinians. Social media is flooded with posts labeling them as terrorists and savages. Racists are using the Hamas attack to justify their hatred towards Palestinians and Muslims, similar to what happened after the September 11 tragedy.

As I watched the news and read reports about the conditions in Gaza, I said to myself, "This is another reason to be xenophobic and bigoted towards people in the Middle East."

I began learning about what I would refer to as "The Conflict" years ago. I would always sit with my Grandfather and watch news reports about the 75-year-old battle in Palestine. My family members would comment "It is sad what's going on over there. They are taking their land."

Later, I read The Case For Israel by Alan Dershowitz, as well as essays and interviews by Palestinian scholars and activists such as Zena Agha. I wanted to read "both sides" to get an understanding of what was happening.

However, the most impactful information I received was from Palestinians I met in real life. I asked them about "The Conflict" and they all told me a very similar story of being stopped by soldiers on their way to school, arrested for no clear reason, attacked, and having their homes ransacked because of suspicion of weapons.

While listening to these stories, I couldn't help but think: Although our struggles are different, this is what growing up Black in America sounds like. Cops pulling your car over for no reason, being searched on suspicion, constantly harassed about where you are going and what you are doing, and being treated and viewed as criminals just because of the color of your skin.

Historically, there has always been solidarity between African Americans and Palestinians. In 1964, Malcolm X visited the Gaza Strip and met poet Harun Hashim Rashid. They toured hospitals and refuge camps together and it inspired Malcolm to write a letter urging African leaders to support Palestine. The Student Non-Violent Coordinating Committee, or SNCC, published a newsletter called "The Third World Round-Up" which discussed life in Palestine and gave a different perspective vs. mainstream news.

The Black Panthers championed the Palestinian struggle in newsletters and speeches. More recently, Palestinian youth sent suggestions to Black protesters during the Mike Brown uprisings on how to withstand tear gas. While many Black activists bonded with Palestinian groups over the fight for human rights, another reason why so many African Americans are in solidarity with Palestinians is because we can see some of our experiences in what they are enduring.

When I think about the shared struggles of Black and Palestinian people, I think of trauma. One of the hallmarks of trauma is "Survival Mode," or thinking of safety exclusively.

I gave a speech a couple of years ago about "The Talk," a conversation Black parents have with their children on how the world will perceive them. We are not granted a childhood, and I often think about Palestinian boys and girls in that way, growing up in places like Gaza and the West Bank that are constantly at war.

Many Palestinian parents are not teaching them about sports or things to make a kid laugh, but how to survive—how to literally stay alive. Langston Hughes' Harlem starts with "What happens to a dream deferred," but for Black and Palestinian kids and adults, does the dream even exist? For me, growing up in a country that practiced systemic racism, it was hard to imagine life outside of that, and I believe that being born under an apartheid government would render the same thought.

Black American and Palestinian solidarity is not only rooted in struggle but hope, fighting, resilience, laughter, endless battling, sadness, and doing it all over again the next day. This is what I see for my Palestinian brothers and sisters trying to hold on to a land that does everything it can to make them let go.

This is why I cry for the deaths of Palestinian and Israeli people. This is why I do not refer to it as "The Conflict," but as "The Occupation." This why I have hope for and will continue to support Palestine as they fight to be recognized as people, human beings that deserve freedom and equal treatment as their Israeli neighbors, just as I, a Black man, will continue to fight for the freedom of my people in America. Our struggle is intertwined. When they win, we win.

LeRon L. Barton is a writer, author, and speaker.

All views expressed in this article are the author's own.

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