Why I Can't Be at Banner Drop Any More

What responsibility do we have to the communities we are advocating for,  to the justice we say we seek, to the people who are actively engaged in fighting for the survival of their families and their lives, when the spaces, the actions, and the efforts we make are co-opted by those who seek to harm and destroy those same spaces, actions, efforts, and people?

Some may say it is important we “talk” to each other, that we try and “understand” each other, and that we don’t have hope of “getting along” if we don’t try.

But I have no need or desire to understand or get along with anyone who believes in and upholds the dehumanization of the Palestinian people, who thinks genocide is justified, who believes these last three years of violence, atrocity, murder, forced starvation, scholasticide, ecocide, the bombing and destruction of people, land, life, vegetation, homes, cities, memories, culture, –and so much that is beyond my ability to comprehend or adequately express– is righteous, should ever have happened, let alone continue.

And I don’t think we need to “talk” with the people who want to kill Palestinians. I think we need to find a way to stop them from killing Palestinians. 

If you are in Bellingham, you may have seen the group that comes together on the pedestrian bridge over Alabama Hill on Wednesdays. The “Banner Drops for Palestine” have been a mainstay of my life and community for a long time now, and I remain grateful for the friends and allies I have found there, and the support they have given the families in Gaza who I have tried to connect them to. But as much as it saddens me to say this, unless something changes, I will not be returning. 

Last week, I stood on the bridge in the rain and tried to explain to everyone why I could not come back, why I could not put the table that I set up each week with photos of the families, my beloved friends in Gaza, next to a man who has begun coming to the bridge at the same time as us to proudly display his Israeli and American flags, flags of the two countries responsible for the murder of Palestinian men, women, children, infants, and families; flags of the countries whose governments are trying to destroy Palestine and who are responsible for the ongoing genocide of the Palestinian people.

Some may say (and some did tell me), that this man believes he is right, just as I “believe” I am “right,” as though being against apartheid, occupation, and genocide is merely an “opinon” of which to give equal weight as that of supporting occupation, apartheid and genocide.

I don’t want to understand why someone justifies, supports, and wants the genocide. I want the genocide to end. I don’t want to talk about how to protect the people who are responsible for the killing and oppression, or how to make sure their rights are honored. Their well-being is not my concern. I want them to stop the killing and oppression. And I want freedom, justice, and safety for those who are being killed and oppressed.

And for me, this is not a matter of “opinion” or a “viewpoint” that needs to be debated. There is no debate to have.

Some may say (and some did tell me) that this man has “every right” to be on the bridge alongside us. It always fascinates me whose rights are upheld and defended, and whose rights are ignored and denied. Whose rights are worthy of recognition. And whose rights are not even countenanced, beyond empty rhetorical statements that lack any substance when what is required is any action that puts the rhetoric to the test, any action that demands alignment with centering the marginalized instead of upholding the rights of those already in power.

In the context of making sure this man had his “rights” respected, what had appeared to be a space that centered Palestinian justice was transformed into a reflection of  a dynamic common to the dominant culture, something that I still hope will change but I fear is still too far from changing. What I thought was a place to center Palestinians, what to me had been a community space for expressing solidarity with Palestine and its people, with all oppressed and occupied people, was transformed into something different with the addition of this self-proclaimed “proud zionist” and his flags. 

And I think there are those who think that standing alongside this man, trying to talk with him, welcoming him when he begins ranting about “October 7th,” sharing our community produce with him is fine. And maybe you are reading these words and you think it is fine?

But I don’t. I can’t. I cannot be in proximity to someone like this, especially when ever-present in my heart and along-side me in my every thought are the people I care deeply about, the people who are still in Palestine, both those who I know personally and those whom I may never know. I cannot not subject them to this harm in a space that is supposed to be for them, especially when every other space has already been taken from them. To do so literally sickens me and caused me to become ill.

For me, Banner Drop wasn’t just about visibility; it was also about community. And it was about honoring the people we claim to center. And finding ways to help each other keep going. It was about inviting others in who are committed to justice. And for me, personally, it was also about supporting the families in Gaza who I have introduced to this community.

Our community on that bridge was small. There should have been more of us, especially after all this time. But still, I felt a certain kind of strength when we were together. The Wednesday Banner Drops had for me, over time, become a very significant place of refuge and support, and it was something many friends in Gaza also knew about and drew strength from, even occasionally sharing messages specifically intended for Banner Drop attendees. It was also a place where committed friends here locally would pass on their own messages and weekly contributions to the survival funds for the families in Gaza.

But this has changed. And I cannot stand shoulder to shoulder with someone who is advocating for Israel. I cannot share apples with someone who is a genocide-supporter. And I will not be in community with someone who upholds dehumanization, violence, and genocide. And I cannot bring the families I know and love in proximity to someone who is so dangerous.

And I wish there were more people who understood and felt this way, and I am also very grateful to those who do, to those who have either altered their actions or who are grappling with trying to figure out a response that aligns with the original intent and goal behind this community action. I am grateful to those who understand that sometimes remaining the same in the face of change is not being steadfast; sometimes it is perpetuating harm and upholding power.

May we truly be the change we want to see in this world, as we try to find our way through this darkness. I will miss what I once had at the weekly Banner Drops, and I will keep searching for new ways to be, find, and grow community. And I hope that those of you who were supporting the families with your donations there will make new arrangements with me for doing this despite my absence on the bridge. Because of all the things that should change, our support of the families is not one of them.