Trigger Warning: Mentions of violence on the Palestine Solidarity Encampment at UCLA.
I attended the Palestine Solidarity Encampment with the idea that this is the best I could do for the people of Palestine. To physically show up would be my best shot at being an ally and an activist for the Palestinian struggle. And I still believe this to be partially true. After experiencing the events unfold in front of me, and enduring the trauma of physical attacks of myself and my peers, I believe my activism can come in different levels. That activism can come in different forms, and be more nuanced from person to person.
Having my physical self on the front lines with my friends as we held together a human barricade while being violated by zionists forced me to reflect on why I was truly there. While currently being in the stages of processing and reliving what I experienced, I know I need to reflect on what solidarity I was providing by being in the encampment.
First and foremost, I was at the encampment for the sake of Allah. I packed my overnight bag with the intention of changing actions with my hand. To be physically present, to me, meant that I was showing up because there is strength in numbers–and I felt as if I had to be one of those numbers. I began questioning my reason for being there when the attacks by counter-protesters began. As my friends and I were pepper sprayed, physically attacked, and being pulled apart, I questioned why I chose to stay, and why I encouraged my friends to stay in the previous hours. To that, I had to keep reminding myself that I was there because ultimately it was already written, Allah wanted me there. If I was not meant to be there, Allah would have made a way for my friends and I to get out earlier, and I should not question what Allah has ordained. I believed I was playing a crucial part in protecting my brothers and sisters, and I still believe that to be true. Holding that human barricade for over an hour was my purpose. Because those experiences will never leave me, I can only benefit from reflecting on them.
My activism on that day was to be there: to be a body showing up for the larger cause. The first day I spent in the encampment was the day that it was attacked. I had such an amazing day in the encampment. I met so many new people and was shown love and care. People served us lunch and dinner, I spent time with my friends doing homework and listening to my friends present their MSA election speeches, and even met Saint Levant and Anwar Hadid. To say the least, I had a really good day. To my knowledge, the chaos began around 10:37 pm on the night of April 30th. I had just come back from the restrooms at SAC with a friend. I remember walking back into the encampment after showing the stamps on my hands and the wristbands we were wearing to the volunteer security before entering Royce Quad. I was planning on staying the night in the encampment and had just broken this news to my mother who residing over 350 miles away. This was my first day back in LA after spending the weekend back home in the Bay Area. That whole weekend, I was planning to stay a night in the encampment, but I decided to keep that from my family; I just didn’t want to worry them.
I heard the noises as my friend and I walked in, and I held her back from going back to our tent. I told her to wait as my heart began to race. Our tent was only about 10 feet away from where the attacks occured. I knew that even if we wanted to leave, we would have to go towards the tent to grab my friend who was still in there as well as our bags with our personal belongings. We began to head toward our tent while trying to comprehend what was happening. When we arrived, my friend was being held by another. Her words sounded out like a broken record with so much panic. While her voice was shaking, she was hysterically laughing and kept saying, “They’re breaking in; we have to leave, we have to leave…” all while people around me were yelling that they needed help to hold the line bordering the encampment as it was being directly attacked. Honestly, a lot of what I remember is still blurry, and there are black spots in my remembrance of the events. To be frank, the next thing I remember is hearing yells, screams, and chants as myself and my two friends held the metal barricade as skunk spray went off. We continued to hold the metal bars with plywood zip tied to the top as a man in a white purge mask took a bat to the wood right in front of us. We were choking and crying as we held onto that metal for our lives. I remember smelling the pungent scent, and shortly after I recall the burning sensation from the spurt of pepper spray–we barely had a second to recover between the releases of the two. There was a brother from the community who was able to flush my friends’ and I’s eyes out. He was there one second pouring the water on our faces, and in the next he was gone as all the men were being called to go in front of the barricade to protect us and the encampment. There was wood in front of the barricade that we were holding, but this wood prevented us from holding the barricade with full force, so we had to move it. My friend moved the first one, and I picked up the last two pieces and put them in front of the metal as an extra barrier. I know if I didn’t have the adrenaline in me, I would not have been able to pick them up with just my own strength. After we moved the wood, our hands were back on the barricade, making sure it wasn’t torn down by the attackers. As we heard the chants of “Free, Free Palestine,” my friend looked at me and told us to recite Ayat Al Kursi and the shahada. At that moment, we knew having the shahada on our tongue would be the best last words for us. We continued to hold the barricade with our bodies when we noticed that all the wood was battered down by the attackers, but Subhan Allah, the one piece of wood protecting me and my two friends, was still standing. I truly believe there were angels holding that piece of wood up in front of us. If we were to be exposed, my friend and I would be the only two visible hijabis, and I’m certain we would have been directly attacked if we were spotted.
During the duration of holding the barricade for about an hour, fireworks continued to go off. I remember hearing the first one and thinking that someone had brought a gun. I was convinced I was going to die and thought to myself how grateful I was that I already prayed Isha. I truly believed I was not leaving alive, and I was grateful that if I died, I completed my obligatory prayers for the day and would not have to answer to Allah not having done my fardh. Eventually, when we were slowly able to let go of the line, one by one, my friends and I rushed back to our tent to pack our essential items so we could grab one bag and go once we were able to leave. I was the last to pack up my items. At one point, I was standing in the tent when another firework went off. The loud bang triggered my hands to cover my ears as I fell to the ground and I screamed. I remember thinking at that moment that if I leave here alive, I will never be the same. I forced myself to get it together to get back and hold the line with my friends. Once I was back, we were there for around another 20-30 minutes. Finally, when we had the opportunity to leave, a friend of ours escorted us to our tent and everyone grabbed their bags. I went into the tent to get my bag. This is where my memory leaves me. I was told by one of my friends that I got into the tent to grab my bag and froze. I was sitting there for about 10 seconds without moving before my friend grabbed my bag on her own and clapped in front of my face.
“Anisa, we need to go now.”
The sternness in her voice must have snapped me out of it because I got up and we started running for our lives. We ran as more fireworks went off. We kept running through the tents without looking back.
We made it to the exit at Fowler, and Alhumdulilah, we were out. I found a familiar face and asked a brother to walk us back to my friend’s dorm, not before asking for my eyes to be flushed one more time. We eventually made it back to the dorms and watched the rest of the night unfold on the news while we were in a state of shock. Nothing felt real.
Although I got out without being severely injured, there were moments as fireworks were going off and I couldn’t open my eyes due to the pepper spray that went into them where I was choking through the gas and thought I would not leave the encampment alive. Going into the following day, I knew I could not mentally nor physically be at the encampment as we knew it was going to be raided and met with police violence. Rather, my friend and I decided to pick up our sisters who needed rides from campus back to their respective homes given Westwood’s unsafe environment. I drove my car from campus to Westwood through the night for 10 hours, going into early hours of the next day. Even though we were not in the encampment and were providing evacuation to those who needed it, we still had our fair share of encounters with zionists. There was one specific incident where a man in a garage circled mine and my friends’ cars before parking right in front of me. He got out of his car with a ski mask on and looked as if he was grabbing a baseball bat from his back seat. My friends and I were able to drive out before anything happened, but another evacuation driver was sleeping in their car. It was 3 am at this point, and we were all exhausted. The only thing that kept me alert was the continuous noise of flash bangs by the police. Ultimately, the driver was able to get out unharmed, but the moments of panic we all felt brought us back to the night before. Even though I was not physically there with my community in the encampment, in attempts to protect it from being taken down, I still believe I was doing my part, and can proudly say we helped get about 40 sisters back to safety in their respective homes that night. This form of activism for me means showing up but not putting my body on the front lines. Rather, I could be a support for those who were.
After about 50 hours of being in survival mode, I finally was able to just sit and reflect. The raids had already occurred, my friends were released from their arrests and doing alright, and campus was eerily quiet. To be honest, much of the next few days I can’t quite recollect. Reliving the days of violence took over my head. Jummah that week was a rough one for me. I thought that I would be okay showing up to campus, but as soon as I walked into Wooden where out on campus Jummah is held, I saw brothers and sisters who I saw get brutalized at the encampment. I saw bruised faces and dried blood still clotting on their heads as they were healing. This was the first punch in the gut, but I was still relieved to see people I haven’t seen since I left the camp. To be able to embrace them and know they were okay made me relieved yet anxious. Jummah began, and I listened to the khutbah and prayed salah. I was proud of myself for holding my composure because this whole week I have felt like a ticking time bomb, and I didnt know when and where, but I knew eventually I would not be able to keep it all together. Post-Jummah announcements began. Usually, half the people begin to pray their sunnah prayers and the other half sit and listen, but this time, everyone listened. No one got up to leave. The announcement was a reality check for everyone, and this hit me the hardest. This was our new present: we would constantly be in survival mode, watching our backs wherever we go.
Announcements finished, and I got up to pray Sunnah. I began to feel myself unwind at this point. I spent extra long in sujood hoping I could pull myself together. I finish my salah while wiping my tears off my face, and my friend notices me and hugs me from the side. I don’t remember every detail, but I remember I lost myself in this moment. I never wanted to lose it infront of my entire community, but I did. I had a panic attack that lasted almost an hour. I could not stand, could not walk, could not breathe or see clearly during this time. Two friends had to hold me up and carry me from Wooden to a friend’s car, where she graciously drove me back to my friend’s apartment. I was and am still so embarrassed that this happened in front of so many people, but I knew in one way or another, they were all feeling the same way.
I am still recovering, still allowing myself to feel and process what happened to my community, and still feeling the effects. I’m not good with big crowds or loud noises. I can no longer focus on my schoolwork the way I used to, and I find it difficult to speak in coherent sentences. Every day since the attack has just blended together. Even though I still face the aftermath of what has taken place, I will not allow it to stop me from being an ally. After this experience, I knew my activism would never be the same. I believe I am strong, but I now know my strength doesn’t include my body being in the front lines. I thought I was capable of putting myself in danger for the greater cause, but after experiencing it, I’m not sure I would do it again. However, that doesn’t mean my activism stops.
Activism requires all types of action. Activist who put their bodies at the front lines, activists who support supplying aid, activists who share information to keep people in the know, activists who watch from the side continuing to use dua and prayer, and activists who wake up in the last two-thirds of the night and pray tahajjud for the cause. All types of activists are necessary to create the change we want, and we have the great privilege in deciding what type of activists we have the capacity to be. I first thought that not being able to be there physically made me a coward. That because I got scared off by a sliver of the violence and oppression that Palestinians face on a daily basis, I was incapable of activism. However, I now know this not to be true. Living in the West comes with its own challenges, but at the end of the day, our choices are a privilege,and we need to use that privilege to do the best we can for our brothers and sisters who do not have those same privileges. In this current space and time, I’m using that privilege of choice and safety to be an activist in my own way. I want to be a support for those who put themselves at the front. To provide aid if that means a ride so someone can get from A to B safely. To continue to keep the people of Palestine in my duas, to wake up for tahajjud and continue to pray. To be a vocal ally, to make sure people never forget what is happening to my community. Activism is a privilege, and I want to do my best to make sure that doesn’t pass by me.
I’d like to think of activism like a garden of flowers. The garden is the community, and each flower symbolizes a different form of activism. The process of gardening illustrates the ongoing efforts, collaboration, care, patience, and beauty that is all needed to achieve meaningful and lasting change. I remind myself of the Hadith of the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him):
“Whosoever of you sees an evil action, let him change it with his hand; and if he is not able to do so, then with his tongue; and if he is not able to do so, then with his heart; and that is the weakest of faith.” (Hadith 34, 40 Hadith an-Nawawi)
Be an activist in any way you choose and that you are capable of being, but never forget the greater cause. We are capable of nothing if we do not use our dua and reliance on Allah.