Editor’s Note: Student writers have chosen to remain anonymous.
The UCLA solidarity encampment for Palestine was attacked by counter-protestors on April 30 and swept by violent police intervention beginning May 1 after nearly two weeks of peaceful demonstration. Out of frustration with inconsistent and inaccurate media coverage, five UCLA students submitted testimonies from their final nights at the encampment.
Student 1:
“Flashbangs start. I learn to hear the sound of their deployment so I don’t startle at the explosion. I play a game with myself. Can I train myself to not flinch as the stun grenades deploy above us?. Nine, ten. I lose count.
Around 4:00 a.m. the barricade begins to go down. Blinding police flashlights illuminate the cloud of tear gas engulfing students. I will never forget this image. I hear a soft thud, thud, thud, thud, thud. A man walks by me, blood dripping down his head. Rubber bullets.
‘I don’t want to run away,’ I tell my friend. We position ourselves behind the wall we expect to go down next. I’m unsure where to put my hands on the back of the man in front of me. Are the police going to push or pull?”
Student 2:
“I remember checking my phone with what little battery I had left, surprised by how quickly time had passed. It didn’t feel like we were in a space where time was moving. I felt guilty thinking about how in a couple of hours I would be safe and comfortable in my bed, away from the danger. The ability to remove ourselves from danger at any moment is the biggest privilege we had that night. It truly was the smallest fraction of the inescapable torture, violence and pain being experienced in Gaza. Remembering this is what pushed me to stay inside the encampment.”
Student 3:
“There are many Jewish people who will never understand this, but defending the UCLA Palestine Solidarity Encampment last night until 5 a.m. was the most authentic way in which I have expressed my identity since October 7. October 7th paralyzed me in my fear and shame, but taking action this week was my pathway out of it. And now, every day that passes it feels evermore urgent that I be in a space that advocates for the end of a war being waged in my name.
Growing up, my Jewish and Israeli identities have been central to my self-formation. Over the past few months, I have watched horrified and heart-broken as an identity that I use to define my place in this world has been weaponized and used to justify mass killing. Every day that media outlets conflate Jewishness and Israel’s genocidal war on Gaza, I am stuck conflicted. I feel an intense instinct to distance myself from this identity that people are now conflating with war and violence. Do I give in? I used to wear a hamsa around my neck, but now I don’t. Not because I fear antisemitism, but out of fear that others will interpret it to mean I lack empathy for the Palestinian people. Somehow, pride in Jewish identity feels wrong at this time, but I know this isn’t sustainable for me.
There is a shame that creeps in and clouds my mind when faces and voices that look and sound like family defend violence that I can only consider horrendous. I don’t want to be associated. But I also don’t feel like I belong to a violent people. The Jewish people I know and love are people who care deeply for others and work to improve the world around us. They have taught me about empathy and about resistance. I know that these have been values of my Jewish culture for generations. So I’m prompted to consider, why am I allowing outside perspectives on my identity to paralyze me?
The most Jewish thing I can do at this moment in history is show up for another oppressed people. If I allowed my self-consciousness to be the factor that prevented me from advocating for the peace I know to be necessary, I would be doing my people an injustice.”
Student 4:
“They were only allowing people in who could be vouched for, so we waited as our friend inside came to get us. As we stood there, we looked to the left and saw a bus, on its roof a rotating swastika lit up in rainbow colors, as the driver of the van spoke into a loudspeaker. The extent of the chaos and disorientation is evident in the fact that the noise from the loudspeaker did not even register until someone pointed it out to me.
Entering the encampment felt like entering into a space of peace. The immediate sense of community was unlike anything I have ever experienced. My friends and I verbally noted how safe we felt inside the encampment compared to outside. I was not fearful of my safety whatsoever. The only sense of danger came from the outside. This feeling was not remotely portrayed in the media.”
Student 5:
“Our widespread commitment to ending the death in Gaza is strong enough that we dismiss minor differences in our individual approaches. The protests are not about abolishing a safe place for Jewish people to live and exist together. They are about divesting from a genocide and freeing people who have been in an open-air prison.
The beauty of the encampment is the creation of a microcosm where people of different religions and backgrounds live together not just peacefully, but joyfully.
There is an active effort in harboring a community, where instead of saying “You should go take care of yourself,” we say “What do you need to keep going?” This community demonstrates a world where we live outside the institutions built on the backs of the oppressed. I have never been more certain that this reality is possible. The encampment proved it to me and I feel so lucky to have experienced a communal love so radical.”
