In This Is Love: Dispatches from a Popular University for Gaza

Today’s post is from guest contributor Lily (they/he/she), who is a doctoral student at a large Midwestern public university, where they research international institutions and queer studies. They have a background in interfaith organizing and social justice education, and are passionate about facilitating dialogue on how young people of faith can participate in movements for peace and social justice.

The liturgical readings for the 6th Sunday of Easter are available here.

“I have told you this so that my joy may be in you
and your joy might be complete.
This is my commandment: love one another as I love you.
No one has greater love than this,
to lay down one’s life for one’s friends
…This I command you: love one another.”
— John 15:9-17

In today’s reading from the Gospel of John, Jesus gives us a clear command: to love another as he loves us. As an adult convert to the Catholic faith, I’m continually struck by the central role love plays in driving the Church’s peace and justice work. If one truly accepts this teaching, it must radically transform how one sees the world and the sheer value we must place on each other’s humanity, especially as we, the LGBTQ+ community, respond to world events.

If everyone, absolutely everyone, is made in the image and likeness of God, that means that we owe, and should strive to give, each and every human being deserves the level of care that we profess to give to God. This is especially the case for loving those most marginalized by intersecting systems of oppression, which is challenging, central to our faith, and often heartbreaking. It asks us to live in solidarity with those who face unthinkable amounts of systemic and interpersonal violence.

I am writing today’s reflection from a Popular University for Gaza, as many pro-Palestinian student encampments are known. I’m struck by the immense love this student encampment around me represents. I cannot emphasize enough how beautiful a place this small tent city is, an alternative community of sharing and bounty where there is always free food, naloxone, COVID tests, period products, and art supplies. There’s also a liberation library, and, each day, folks give daily teach-ins on social justice issues. Community members check constantly on each other’s needs. This small tent city is becoming an incarnate community of love–one where all are welcome.

More queer people are here than I’ve met in my entire time in this city–and I have some suppositions as to why. For one, the fight for queer liberation is fundamentally intertwined with the struggle for a free Palestine. Resisting and challenging systems of oppression and discrimination is the core of both movements. Queer liberation fights against heteronormativity, homophobia, and transphobia, while the struggle for a free Palestine centers on resisting occupation, colonialism, and national oppression. Liberation for one group should not come at the expense of another, and the liberation of both cannot come without an end to global militarism, a common cause for freedom, peace, equality, and justice.

Further, there always have been and continue to be queer people in Palestine. On Queering the Map, a community platform, you find numerous posts from Queer Palestinians from the past few months. They tell their stories there to leave evidence of their existence before they’re possibly killed by the Israeli military. No one can tell the stories of Queer Palestinians better than they can, so I want to share with you some posts that I’ve found on the platform:

“I’ve always imagined you and me sitting out in the sun, hand and hand, free at last. We spoke of all the places we would go if we could. Yet you are gone now. If I had known that bombs raining down on us would take you from me, I would have gladly told the world how I adored you more than anything. I’m sorry I was a coward.”⁠

“I wish I could watch the sunset over Gaza sea with you. For one night I wish this occupation was no longer and that we could be free for once on our own land.”

“Being out doesn’t mean anything to me. I wish to see Haifa. I wish to see the village my parents had to leave. I wish to see my brother who got killed. I wish to be free, but my freedom is beyond being out– it’s being Palestinian, first and foremost. God have mercy on my brother and my Palestinian siblings.”

“Pls know despite what the media says there are gay Palestinians. We are here, we are queer. Free Palestine.”

We pitch our tents on grassy lawns, lead each other in song, and lock arms to protect our Muslim community during their prayer times when arrests have commonly occurred. Our love for our siblings being killed in Gaza brings us here. In solidarity with them, we set up this small tent city and demand our university divest from the ongoing genocide. We remember the doctors martyred for their care, the whole families erased from the earth, and the aid workers killed serving the poor. We choose love for one another above all else, inspired by these people in Gaza, including queer Palestinians, who likewise choose love.

Dear friends, Jesus’ call to love one another as he loves us—and to heed this call in our actions—is clear. Seeing this love in action can radically change your life, a truth known to queer folks forever. Visit a liberated zone on a university campus near you. Love is why many of us show up for the cause of Palestinian liberation, and I hope you will answer Jesus’ call by helping end the genocide in Gaza. As Pope Francis has said, “Enough, please. Let us all say: Enough, please! Stop the war.” I doubt it will be easy to continually choose love for the people of Gaza, especially in the current political climate, but we must–especially if we struggle for queer liberation.

—Lily, May 5, 2024