Unbiased?

When I was studying my Masters degree, the unit on Peace Journalism had a significant impact on me.  Our lecturer, former BBC Journalist Jake Lynch, explained that wars are increasingly fought as much through the media as on the ground. How do journalists tasked with informing the public about war navigate truth telling amidst nationalist propaganda? How do they find the right balance of professional detachment and human compassion? And how do they decide when to provide analysis and when to simply present the facts?

We learnt that in war/violence journalism, otherwise simply known as Journalism, a situation is presented as having 2 sides or parties, both seeking to "win". It often ignores context and history, and tends to demonise the other, reports reactively on physical violence after it has happened, focuses on elite peace-makers and gives names of the "other" evil doers while dehumanising those most impacted. There is a convention in structuring war journalism where both sides should be represented in the article or media piece, so that the reader/viewer has the experience of: "On the one hand xx, on the other hand yy. In the end, who really knows. You decide. I'm Jake Lynch, BBC news".

One significant weakness of war journalism is that it ignores power imbalance, positioning two seemingly equal parties up against one another as if we are at a football game. When we had the marriage equality plebiscite in Australia, it was often considered "fair" to include both a LGBTQI+ advocate and a religious conservative in the same discussion panel. Seems "unbiased" to have both sides represented, right? But, in a country that ended up voting overwhelmingly for marriage equality, why did we need to continue to give equal voice space to religious conservatives who have historically held the microphone anyway, and have caused significant emotional harm to vulnerable people?  

With the current situation in Gaza, I see all the same hallmarks of war journalism cropping up again. The media in the first days since 7th October was using language that positioned Israel and Hamas as two seemingly equal parties, failing to acknowledge that one of the two has the support of powerful allies, and has the most military might. It was as if 7th October was the "start" of the war and nothing that happened prior mattered. There is also the "atmosphere of doubt" about who is to blame for the hospital destruction, and our own Government endorsing the flying of the Israeli flag colours on the Opera House. There was significant pressure to condemn the actions of Hamas, but not the same pressure to speak out about the lives lost as a result of decades long military occupation and brutality. One of my Palestinian friends shared the image below, pointing to the ways that the media can present only part of a situation to create a false impression. 

In contrast, Peace Journalism looks for context, history and nuance. It notices and names structural violence and gives voice to the voiceless. It names all deplorable actions and evil doers. It explores and highlights nonviolent solutions. Stories of churches, hospitals and schools and how everyday people are desperately working to protect and care for civilians remind us of the compassion and courage and resilience of our fellow humans, re-humanising them. I also appreciated this article from an Israeli perspective, which understands the actions on 7th October as part of a much larger context. Breaking the Silence also shared about what they, as former IDF soldiers, were sent to do, and why they have courageously told the truth about harm they caused. 

When I returned from Palestine, I tried to incorporate these same principles into the stories I told. I met so many people who were engaged in their own nonviolent resistance against the occupation; Dar Zahran who opened up his family home as a museum in Ramallah to acknowledge and increase understanding about historical Palestine, the Nawaja family who continue the vigil on their land despite the regular threat of violence and home demolition, Gibreen, who took his sheep out to graze on his land situated on the other side of a settler highway as a statement of sumud (steadfast resilience) and the children who do their homework alongside the family sheep and goats, huddled in a cave to protect themselves from regular army incursions into their isolated home. They are all heroes in my mind.

Held

We sit nervously in the reception area, glancing around at all the community notices. A large framed photo of Albo looking victorious catches my eye, possibly from some election night or other. Then, with a flurry, the door opens. A small dog appears and rushes over to greet us, sniffing and peering into our bags. The Hon. Anthony Albanese follows laughing, and makes apologies for Toto. He then shakes our hands warmly before inviting us into his office.

My friend and I are here to talk with our local Member of Parliament about the treatment of people seeking asylum in offshore detention centres. Of course, we mainly agree with Albo on these matters, but we came wanting to stress that there are alternatives to Australia’s very punitive policies, and to convey a message of hope about how Australia could be welcoming as well as pragmatic. We outlined the areas where we think he and his party have failed to speak up or take strong enough action to change policy. Then we presented him with a set of asks for the future. For me, this meeting was about holding our elected representative to account.

In advocacy work, we use the phrase “holding to account” an awful lot, but what do we really mean by it? When citizens hold their elected representative to account, I see this as reminding them that they work on our behalf, and that we have certain expectations of them. There's also an aspect of requiring a person or institution or government to accept responsibility for their actions, if they have fallen short of expectations. 

As I prepare for a humanitarian protection role overseas, I have become aware that a major part of the role of international civilian peacemakers is to bear witness to and stand firmly against harmful behvaiour in a context where human rights are denied and great injustices are done on a daily basis. These international actors hold an occupying force or a military dictatorship to account by reporting on abuses and being a very physical reminder that the international community has higher expectations of them. 

In all these contexts there is an underlying assumption that, as members of some sort of community, whether it is the international community or a community as local as Marrickville, there is a connection to and relationship with the other. In the case of Albo, it is our position as residents of his electorate that connect us with him. And while he didn't exactly agree to stand up tomorrow in Parliament arguing against offshore detention, he did promise to attend more community events in support of people seeing asylum, so that's a start. And he knows we'll be back if things don't change. For international contexts, it might be the trade or ally relationships that keep countries accountable to one another. The evidence seems to be that occupying forces behave a little better when international witnesses are present.

So, it would seem that I am a big believer in holding to account. But what about when the harm or hurt we have been witness to is even closer to home than Marrickville shops? Are we more reticent to hold our family members, colleagues and friends to account when they fall short of the social norms our shared community holds dear? Do we take the same effort and time to express hurt and disappointment, articulate our expectations, and outline a hopeful way forward when it comes to our nearest and dearest? Or do we just hope that the "not great" behaviour will just disappear?

I find it incredibly challenging to consider holding those close to me to account. I tend to find it easier to “hold” people in more conventional ways - hold them in my thoughts when times are tough, hold them tightly in my arms when I am happy to see them, and hold the space during group discussions so that everyone is heard. Yet, on the rare occasions when I have held people accountable for their actions, and planned for such a meeting in a spirit-led and intentional way, the outcome has usually been positive, at least for me. 

And it's not just me. Restorative processes have proven quite successful within the justice system in finding relationship-based resolutions rather than punitive ones. In this context the perpetrator listens as the victim explains the impact of the action on their life. A plan will be agreed which would help to restore the situation. An apology might be enough, or payment for damages, or an act of community service might end up being the agreed way forward. I’ve been told that it can be just as healing to be given the opportunity to apologise and make amends as it is to have one's story heard.

So, given that holding to account can lead to multiple changes and benefits, why are we so reticent to try it in our everyday lives? As my friend and I bid Toto and Albo farewell, and head out onto Marrickville Rd, I pause to consider what our various communities would look like if we did “hold” one another to account a little more often. And, what if we “held” others to account in the same gentle and loving way as we do the other kinds of holding? By acknowledging the humanity in the other while clearly articulating where expectations have not been met and harm has been done, it’s possible that beautiful and unexpected things will happen, and there might be growth and learning for everyone involved.

Tents, caves and other nonviolent tools

Part of the role of a Christian Peacemaker is to stand in solidarity with acts of nonviolent resistance. I was in Palestine with a group from Christian Peacemaker Teams to learn about their work. The first chance our group had to be actively engaged in solidarity with those calling for an end to the occupation was when we joined the Women in Black at a silent vigil on a street corner in the heart of West Jerusalem, the Israeli side of town. I was a bit nervous, as I had no idea what the police would do, what passersby would do, or indeed what the other vigilers would do. A group of armed settlers waving the Israeli flag were dancing and shouting on the street corner opposite us, and some of them came over to our corner and started arguing with anyone who would respond. The police and soldiers, on the other hand, pretty much ignored us, probably knowing that this particular nonviolent direct action takes place every week and never causes any trouble.

Nonviolent direct action at Sheikh Jarrah

The same afternoon we joined another nonviolent direct action at Sheikh Jarrah, a Palestinian village in East Jerusalem that is being slowly demolished to make way for Jewish settlers. This was in a Palestinian part of town, so the reception from passing cars was much more positive, although one of our team did get egged by an Israeli passer-by. This nonviolent action consisted of local Palestinians, the regular suspects from the Jewish left, a few internationals, and a group of Orthodox Jews who carried placards against Zionism and against the occupation. It was completely peaceful. Afterwards, we visited a Palestinian resident who has had the front  section of his house taken over by settlers, apparently Orthodox Jews from New York. This man's family still lives in the back part of the house and has to risk abuse and harassment every time they walk past the front building, which the father built himself a few years ago. They had set up a tent in the front yard for their neighbours who had also been evicted by settlers, but the tent was confiscated.

Photograph of Jewish settlers settling in to another family's home

We heard more stories of demolition, dispossession and discrimination when we visited the Negev desert. Less than an hour out of Jerusalem the scenery quickly changed from tall buildings and multi-lane highways to desert stretching as far as the eye could see. As our bus soared down the highway, our guides pointed out the exquisite Palestinian architecture dotted amongst the little villages that we would occasionally pass by. Reaching into the heart of the desert, our first stop was a Bedouin family whose home was facing yet another order to move on.

Although they live in Israel and are Israeli citizens, many of the Bedouin communities who are Palestinian Muslims are being displaced in order to make way for a new Israeli settler village that is being built. While for decades they have been denied basic services and infrastructure such as roads, medical care, schools and garbage collection because they are “too remote”, the new settlement will have all these services, and a shopping mall what’s more!! Many have solar panels on their roof, which is a great way to demonstrate self-reliance. One guy told us that his camels had been stolen, and taken to an Israeli camel farm. Upon inquiry, he learnt that if he wanted them back he would have to pay for the food and accommodation they were given while under the care of the camel farm. He couldn’t afford the price, and so had to go home without his camels. He now buys milk from the camel farm, instead of selling it as he used to.

Although we visited Hebron, where the Christian Peacemaker Team house is located, our plans were changed due to a the political situation, which was compounded by a CPT team member being arrested and refused entry to Hebron for two weeks. Her crime? Posting a picture on instagram. Read this article for more detail, as it shows quite directly what was going on and what challenges the permanent CPT team members face. 11 young Palestinians were killed in Hebron by settlers and soldiers just in the week or so that we had been in the country. It was considered particularly volatile last October when I was there.

Most distressing was the murder by soldiers of a girl aged 17 years, who was going through the checkpoint at the Ibrahimi Mosque. Witnesses say that the soldiers accused her of having a knife. She became fearful and backed away, and then they shot her. We’ve heard that no knife was found, although the story from the soldiers is always that people have knives and are stabbing the soldiers. As far as we know, there has been no investigation or justice applied to the soldiers and settlers committing these murders, and the bodies have not yet been returned to the families. What many of us found most difficult to comprehend was the idea that a fully armed soldier would feel so threatened by the possibility of a teenage girl with a knife (assuming she did have one), that he would choose to kill her first and ask questions later. That the soldiers and settlers can act with almost complete impunity is equally unbelievable.

Boarded up shop fronts in Hebron

In the morning of our visit to Hebron, we were shown around by a well known activist. He pointed out the illegal Israeli settlements, the place where they had taken over a Palestinian school to create an Israeli school, and the chicken wire across the top of the souk to protect stallholders from the rocks or eggs that are thrown down by settlers. It was noticeable that many of the shops in the souk were shut, either due to the owners having been evicted to make way for settlers, or because they were just not getting enough business. While we were inside the Mosque, another two girls were arrested. People were incredibly relieved that these girls were not shot, but so nervous about the situation in general.

It might seem from this report so far that everything is doom and gloom. The situation is grim, but we experienced the most wonderful hospitality, and had conversations with some incredibly inspiring people while in the Palestinian Territories. After our brief visit to the CPT office and rooftop tour of Hebron, we had lunch with an impressive Palestinian woman who lives in the heart of the souk. She served up a traditional dish called Upside Down Maqloobeh, with an adapted version prepared for the vegetarians, and served cups of tea and Arab coffee. On the way back, we stopped at the Al Aroub refugee camp, just outside of Hebron. One of our team members had friends in the camp, and they welcomed us into their home and we shared more tea, more coffee and more delicious food.

Palestinian hospitality in a refugee camp outside Hebron

Our trip to Bethlehem began with a visit to Wi’am, the Palestinian Reconciliation and Conflict Transformation Centre where we heard from folks about a range of conflict resolution initiatives in the local community. There are projects to foster self-esteem amongst young Palestinians, address gender based violence, and also bring young people from opposing soccer teams together. They had originally begun providing traditional mediation and conflict resolution to the local community before it was legal to establish Palestinian NGOs. Some of us reflected that there was a mix of optimism about the success of the programs and pessimism about the overall situation. We noticed a lot of this same weariness and hopelessness in many of the Palestinian groups we met that our tour guide said she had not seen before. It’s difficult for people to see a peaceful end to the occupation when things are so tense right now.

On our return from Bethlehem to Jerusalem we were in a public bus full of Palestinians. Amid the chatter of young people on their way home from work or school, the bus cruised past the villages and came to a standstill at a checkpoint. As has become the norm, all the Palestinians on the bus were required stepped off when we reached the checkpoint. We were told that there was no need for us to get off the bus, as we are foreigners, but we explained that we wanted to do so in solidarity. Sure enough, though, when we reached the front of the queue the Israeli soldier who had checked the bags of every Palestinian before us simply asked if we were enjoying our stay. Our bags were not searched at all. This is just a very simple example of how Palestinians are treated as second class citizens while foreigners and Israelis are given special treatment. Some of us began reflecting on how groups like Christian Peacemaker Teams use this privilege to stand in solidarity, to get in the way of violence and to bear witness to injustice.

Probably the most encouraging aspect of this trip was the visit to the Tent of Nations, a 100 acre farm on land which has been continually owned by the Nassar family for almost 100 years. Unlike many Palestinians, this family had paperwork relating to the official legal title for the land that they own, and so the Israeli government was not able to kick them off their land, as has happened to so many other families. This family has continued to face a number of hurdles, however, as new laws have refused permission to build new dwellings, and they have been denied access to water and electricity.

A large pile of rocks blocks the main entry road to the farm, a very physical representation of the obstacles people face in retaining ownership of their land. Yet, they have found creative ways to resist. They have installed solar panels, begun to capture their own rainwater, built composting toilets, and all their dwellings are caves rather than formal structures (because caves are not prohibited). They continue to find creative ways to resist the settlers and government who are trying to steal their land, and bear witness to the idea that “existence is resistance”.

Entrance to the Tent of Nations farm

Our final supper together was appropriately held at the Jerusalem Hotel which is a haven for activists while simultaneously serving delicious Palestinian food. As the resident cats encircled our legs and made pleas for any morsels that might be sent their way, we began passing around photos of our loved ones; grandchildren, parents, partners, nieces, nephews and siblings. Perhaps this was our way of recognising the importance of human connection and love. Despite living under occupation, the Palestinians we met showed us such warmth, hospitality, and summud - strength and resilience. Family is incredibly important to people, and we began to see that solidarity is sometimes as simple as sharing a cup of strong coffee together. As we return to our respective families and friends, it will be incumbent upon all of us to decide how the connections we have made over here will influence our lives. Many of us committed to join the BDS movement, share stories amongst our networks, and perhaps return one day.

Game changers

The other night I attended an environment event that broke from the tradition I was used to. Instead of hardened old activists with long beards or short white hair, clothed from head to toe by Vinnies and getting together in some backwatery NGO over cups of fairtrade tea, it was held in salubrious, modern,  city offices, where people use the latest laptops, standing desks, and cupboards that double as white-boards. People sported short, hipster beards or flowing locks, fashionable clothes (although the t-shirts did promote causes of one kind or another) and there was beer!

After chit-chatting with some people I know and cruising past the food table, I settled myself into position on a chair that was within arm's reach of the hummous and bread. A confident fella with an appropriately passionate t-shirt, suitably hipster facial hair and a strong speaking voice began proceedings. After updates were given by various other folks who spoke of strategy, engagement and community organising hubs, we broke into pairs. Then, something unexpectedly familiar happened. Everyone was raising their hands and falling silent. Our leader announced that "hands up and we shut up" was the process. I followed suit with a slightly dropped jaw.

You see, the "hands up for silence" thing was familiar to me because it's what we do in Quaker gatherings. The idea for us is that whenever you see somebody with their hand raised, you raise yours and fall silent. It's actually kindof powerful. When everyone's chatting away over a hot cuppa, and somebody raises their hand, it normally only takes about ten seconds for a room of 300 people to fall silent. But then again, we Quakers like silence, right?! But I guess it grated on me that a uniquely Quaker practise had kindof been adopted by a quite different group of people. And, what's more outrageous? They didn't even credit it to us!! Sigh.

It reminds me of the time I introduced a well-loved game to a new group of friends. I explained the rules, ran through the process and before long everyone was enjoying themselves. They liked it so much, in fact, that they played it all the time, even when I wasn't around. I felt pretty pleased about this at first. My game was a success - yay!! But then, I noticed the group occasionally arguing over the rules and "telling" each other how it was supposed to be played. Nobody asked me about the rules anymore. They all had begun to feel such ownership of this game that they had completely forgotten that I was the one to have introduced it. The game, as I knew it, died, and another was born.

I have noticed a number of Quaker "habits", if you like, that have infiltrated activist groups and other faith communities. And, like my game, they have changed along the way. Concensus decision making pops up frequently, in a variety of incarnations. Lots of community building techniques are incredibly similar to those used by Quakers in their nonviolent training workshops. The Quaker "clap", whereby people demonstrate agreement by silently waving their hands in the air has also been "heard" around the traps, or so I am told. And, I even notice politicians talk of "speaking truth to power", which is a phrase originally coined by Quakers.

I suspect many of these habits have found their way into other groups because Quakers have introduced them. After all, Quakers are involved in activist groups, they serve on a disproportionate number of ecumenical committees, and were key players in the establishment of many of the organisations well-known in the human rights sector such as Oxfam, Amnesty, and Greenpeace. I guess I should be glad that the practices and beliefs that I hold so dear are out there being used in a very practical way.

But there's a part of me that feels a sense of discomfort. When the most powerful person at the most powerful NGO in the room talks about "speaking truth to power", or when concensus is almost forced upon people in a business-like manner such as "do we have concensus for this?, good, right, next" or when the silence thing is all about getting people to shut up, I wonder whether these practices being "misused" and whether some integrity has been lost.

So, what's the answer? One option is to run about screaming "you're not doing it right!!", but that wouldn't be very Quakerly, would it? Another option is to more quietly and gradually suggest that we do things differently. But, perhaps the best option is for me to get better at letting go. Maybe these non-Quaker folks have stuff to teach me. Maybe their incarnation of certain practices work for them, and combine even better ways of operating that I haven't yet been exposed to. After all, even though the new version of my game was different, it was still just as much fun to play.