In some way, my arrest by armed riot police on my own campus since the spring of 2024 wasn’t the most disturbing thing that happened to me. What’s even more disturbing is the experience of being cancelled by my hometown.
In June 2024, I was supposed to give two speeches in a series titled “Middle East History and the History of the Israel-Palestine Conflict,” the Public Library in San Anselmo, California, a long-standing home in San Francisco called George Lucas.
I grew up in San Anselmo on September 11, and vividly remembered how the Middle East’s stereotypes and misunderstandings were used to justify the Iraq War and discriminate against Arabs and Muslims at home. The moment was commonplace, especially Americans needed to learn more about the situation in the Middle East. So, I did it. I learned Arabic and Farsi and stayed in the area for many years. I received my Ph.D. In Middle Eastern history, he is now a professor at a public university in Colorado. I think teaching is a means of opposing false statements that create conflict.
But as the second lecture approached, I began to receive amazing news from the town of San Anselmo librarians. She told me a campaign to cancel speeches was so intense that discussions on how to respond involved elected officials in the town, including the mayor. I was warned, “Every word you say tomorrow night will be under scrutiny, dissecting and scrutiny of you and the library” and she has “cared about everyone’s happiness.” The speech was cancelled a few hours before the start of the plan.
Later I learned more about what happened. In subsequent town council meetings, the librarian described a harassment and intimidation campaign that included “increasingly active emails” and “coordinated face-to-face visits”, thus threatening her to feel they undermine the safe working environment for library staff.
In Middle Eastern studies, these stories have become routine. A few have received public attention – suspended coaches representing pro-Palestine student organizations to book rooms, or Jewish social movement scholars at Harvard University’s survey of presumed anti-Semitism. The professor lost his job or was fired. There is no protection even for tenure. These well-known examples are accompanied by countless others that may never be known. In recent months, I have heard tragic stories from colleagues: strangers appearing, attending classes and sitting in the back of the room. The pressure team contacted university administrators to ask them to be fired; FBI visits; racist hate mail and death threats flooded. Not surprisingly, a recent survey of teachers in the field of Middle East research found that 98% of assistant professors self-censored when discussing Israel-Palestine.
My experience is insignificant compared to professors who have lost their jobs and student protesters facing deportation or even deportation. It’s nothing compared to the academic health of Gaza, where Israeli forces systematically demolished the educational infrastructure and killed countless scholars and students. However, the contrast between my anal actions and the strong opposition they generated illustrates the significant breadth of censorship that permeates American society. Mainstream discourse is cleared not only by Palestinian voices, but also by academic voices. Most importantly, the censorship at home proves violence abroad. Americans are once again living in alternative reality with great consequences.
On October 7, 2023, it is clear that fatal revenge is about to occur. It is also obvious that there is no power to release Israeli prisoners, let alone “defeat Hamas.” I contacted my university media office and hoped to provide valuable background. I’ve never had a TV interview before, so I spent hours preparing for a thoughtful discussion. Instead, I was asked if this was “Pearl Harbor of Israel.”
OK, no, I explained. This is a tragic and predictable outcome of a so-called peace process that has been 30 years since, and with our complicity, all that has been done is nothing more than to expand the cover of Israeli settlements. When negotiations fail, violence breaks out. Only by understanding why people turn to violence can we end it. After the broadcast, I watched this story. Almost the entire interview was cut.
I accept or pass on to colleagues all interview requests I receive. But they quickly dried up. Instead, I started receiving hate emails.
Soon, I had to take the initiative to interact with the public. I held a series of history teaching on campus. The audience is attentive, but small. I contacted the local school district that previously provided course advice. I’ve never heard it. I contacted my high school alma mater and offered to speak there. They are too afraid of rebounding. Finally, I was invited to speak in two libraries, including San Anselmo’s. Everyone else rejected me.
In April 2024, the Denver chapter of Democratic Society students held another protest in their campaign to force the University of Colorado to break away from the company’s accomplice of the Israeli occupation. This event will be different. Speaking as a student, others raised their tents and initiated that would become one of the longest camps in the country.
There is no reason for panic. The camp will not interfere with classes or even block the sidewalks. Instead, it becomes a community space that is difficult to build on a commuter campus. It hosts speakers, prayer meetings and craft circles. However, when I left the teacher meeting the day after the camp started, I felt something was wrong. I arrived at the quadrilateral and found a group of armed riot policemen facing shorter rows of students, shaking hands.
Worried about what will happen next, I joined the student with two colleagues and sat down in the hope of reducing the situation and avoiding violence. The police surrounded us and stopped any escape. They themselves are then surrounded by teachers, students and community members who are clearly angry at their existence. We sat in the sun for nearly two hours as the chaos whirled around us. Protesters cleaned up the tent to show compliance. No difference. Forty of us were arrested, zipped and jailed. I was charged with interference and intrusion. Others face more serious charges. I was detained for more than 12 hours until 3:00 am.
The arrest backfire. As police left, protesters returned, and the influx of community support. I visited the camp regularly for the next few weeks. I talk about Iran’s history when the threat of war with Iran is imminent. When the activists organized their own graduation, they invited me to provide the opening address. I talked about their achievements: They took real risks, made real sacrifices and faced real consequences to do the right thing. Camp became the place where I could speak the most freely on campus or where I left.
Although the camp ended in May, the prosecution did not. The city offered me an extended prosecution, which means that if I did not violate the law for six months, the matter would be removed. I’m not going to be a seasoned offender gently, so the deal effectively makes everything go away. I refused. Accepting the offer will prevent me from challenging the legality of the arrest and I am determined to do my best to prevent the armed riot police from repressing peaceful student demonstrations. This is a matter of principles and precedents. A civil rights lawyer agreed to represent me for free. I will fight the charges.
During my pretrial hearing, I learned more about speaking in San Anselmo. The local ceasefire group provided the town with a free information request, which generated hundreds of pages of emails. Two days before the talks, a local resident sent a “all-out deck” email asking for a coordinated campaign for my speech, “hopefully cancel it.” A weaker recipient forwards the message to the library, providing an internal view.
Condemnation raised a version of me that I didn’t know. These letters rely on allusions and misrepresentations. Many people claim I am a “family” or accuse me of anti-Semitism, and they always confuse it with criticism of Israel’s policy. Some people are concerned about what I might say, not what I actually said, while others are misleading me. The feed for the campaign comes mainly from media reports on my arrest and videos about my school opening address, both out of context. One claimed the speech was “a violation of multiple federal and California regulations.” Another claimed I “seem to promote ongoing violence” – the lawyer used the term “seem” to betray the lack of evidence behind the allegations.
Perhaps the most popular statement is that I am biased and an activist, not a scholar. My use of my term “genocide” seems particularly offensive to my opponent. But genocide is not a title, it is an analytical term that represents consensus in my field. A survey of the Middle East study, a survey conducted within weeks of the speech, found that 75% of people viewed Israel’s actions in Gaza as “genocide” or “a major war crime similar to genocide.”
How many people are shocked against the idea of an October 7 attack in the context of the background. One even calls it an “insult.” But context is not a reason. Putting events in a broader framework is at the heart of historical research – in fact, that’s why history is important. If the twists and turns of the event do not explain violence, it can only be understood as a product of an intrinsic quality, i.e., some people or groups of people are inherently violent or uncivilized. Paranoid dominates without context.
I did everything I could to fight back against the censorship campaign. After reading the library’s email, I contacted journalists on several local news outlets to inform them about the incident. No follow-up. The only report ever released was written by an independent journalist about alternative journalists.
In the weeks leading up to the trial, I wrote a column asking for the allegations to be abandoned. I noticed that the protest was completely peaceful until the police arrived. I asked our students, especially our undocumented students or students of color, how they feel safe on campus when authorities respond to peaceful demonstrations by calling the police. I send the article to my local paper. I’ve never heard it. I send it to one second. Then there is one third. No one responded. It has never been published.
In October, the prosecutor dropped the charge against me. Official dismissal orders say they do not think they have a reasonable conviction. Now, I have joined the civil lawsuit against campus police, hoping that it will make the authorities think twice before turning to police to arrest student protesters.
Scholars in the Middle East are inevitably bound. The activist space is the only space that is open to us, but when we use it, we are seen as biased. We invite us to share our insights only if the self-appointed gatekeepers of traditional wisdom think there is no basis. If we condemn (or even just name) the genocide that manifests before our eyes, we will replace and silent. Logic is looping and impenetrable. It is also a poison to body politics. It depends on the absurd conception of objectivity, giving privileges to the power of truth. This Catch-22 is not a novel creation of the new government. The most important institutions to create are the social pillars that ostensibly committed to the pursuit of justice – the press, the courts and the colleges themselves. They limit the boundaries of respectable discourse until they are comfortably arranged in the ring road consensus. Instead of facing reality, they became the apologists of the post-truth world of genocide and architects. They got nothing from Iraq. Nor do they want it. They don’t want to know the Middle East.
