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Creating Change protests not anti-Semitic

Allegation stifles debate, gives cover to Israel

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Creating Change, gay news, Washington Blade
Creating Change, gay news, Washington Blade

Protesters on Jan. 23, 2016, gather outside reception at the National LGBTQ Task Force’s annual Creating Change Conference in Chicago that was to have featured two LGBT rights advocates from Israel. (Photo courtesy of Andy Thayer/Gay Liberation Network)

Last week, the National LGBTQ Task Force held its annual Creating Change conference in Chicago. The Task Force, established in 1973, set out to build a future where everyone is free to be themselves in every aspect of their lives,” across a variety of issues including employment, healthcare, and basic human rights.

According to the conference program, Rea Carey, executive director of the Task Force, welcomed participants with these words: “That’s why we are here this week: to tear down ALL the barriers we face between us and true liberation — and to support and lift-up one another in spirit, camaraderie and love.” (Emphasis their own).

However, one particular event on Jan. 22 put these noble words to the test. A session with A Wider Bridge, a pro-Israeli LGBT organization, was challenged by protesters and cancelled over the organization’s cooperation with the Israeli government whose policies violate the human rights of Palestinians living under occupation. The cancellation of the event raised eyebrows, prompting a barrage of angry reactions and accusations of anti-Semitism against the protesters and conference organizers. For instance, Slate Magazine’s LGBTQ blogger ran the headline “The LGBTQ Left Has an Anti-Semitism Problem,” an OUT magazine headline notes that the protests were “pure anti-Semitism,” and 90 LGBTQ activists signed a statement to Carey describing the protests as “anti-Semitic” and “dangerous,” posing the following question: “where do we as a progressive social movement go from here?” A cursory search of news surrounding the event brings up 80+ articles of similar views. For her part, Carey released a “crystal clear” statement: “the National LGBTQ Task Force wholeheartedly condemns anti-Semitism and anti-Semitic statements made at any Task Force event including our Creating Change Conference,” promising a review of the event and improvements to cope with “the challenges of a growing attendance.”

The Blade’s own Mr. Kevin Naff shared his opinion in an account of his own experience with A Wider Bridge, Israel, and Palestine. Yet, despite his coolheaded appeal to ensure that all voices should be heard, including critical ones, Mr. Naff reaches a similar conclusion: the protests were offensive and anti-Semitic.

Were they?

I do not believe so. Instead, I believe the repeated deployment of anti-Semitism against those who criticize Israel and the wide arm of organizations it works with is both unsophisticated and demeaning. In fact, the charge of anti-Semitism is merely an iteration of a larger force that has dominated the Israeli-Palestinian conversation in the U.S. It’s the kind of force that unleashes itself almost by default at any hint of strongly grounded criticism of Israel. It’s called civility. As Steven Salaita puts it in his work, Uncivil Rites, civility is a regime that always has difficulty accommodating systematic critiques, let alone expression of those critiques in unfashionable manners. Of course, the protestors were disruptive, uncomfortable perhaps, and so is every bit of the goals the Task Force seeks to accomplish, or any “progressive” civil rights movement for that matter. Change, at least the effective kind, does not come with comfort. If that were case, then the history we know about many civil rights movements in this country and around the world would be a lie.

Perhaps one particular chant at the protests drove such strong disapproval, to the tune of challenging a deeply rooted and accomplished organization: “Palestine will be free from the river to the sea.” A superficial reading would invariably cause anyone who hears it to believe it means the destruction of Israel. Yet, most of the reactions fail to understand that the chant is equally applicable to an increasingly embraced idea: the one State solution, where freedom should indeed reign from the river to the see. Alternatively, as U.S. Ambassador to Israel put it, we are left with a single state with two standards of adherence to the rule of law, one favorable to Israelis and one unfavorable to Palestinians.

Not only is the charge of anti-Semitism unsophisticated and incapable of grappling with the realities of the Israeli occupation of Palestine, it also does far greater harm than good. Nearly all the opinions assumed their views with the understanding that the session with A Wider Bridge should have been permitted to take place. I do too. But, unlike those opinions, mine is a view that does not find it necessary or appropriate to say that silencing the session is anti-Semitic. Rather, permitting it to take place would only be a commitment to the principles and ideals of the Task Force and Creating Change – something that is neither Semitic nor anti-Semitic.

The irony is that opinions rallying around anti-Semitism practically commit the same mistake: silencing and discrediting the protestors. In doing so, the harm is twofold. The other side is almost instantly excluded from the conversation, marked as undesirable or uninvited, and therefore it also stifles the conversation. For instance, in an exchange on Facebook, one friend commented on Mr. Naff’s opinion, “I stopped [reading] at the description of the protest as anti-Semitic and of “Palestine will be free from the river to the sea” as a “genocidal chant [that] is an overt call for the destruction of Israel.”

Finally, one illegal Israeli settler recently shared his thoughts on the matter, “there’s still anti-Semitism in America,” speaking about country clubs and neighborhoods in Chicago that exclude Jews. Yet, one rarely hears about this sort of anti-Semitism. It seems as though nowadays anti-Semitism only dominates the headlines in the Israeli-Palestinian context, especially when Israeli policies are criticized.

As the progressive movement works to recover from this episode, it would be wise to understand that scapegoating a tremendously painful past, one where anti-Semitism wreaked havoc and unspeakable horrors, would only reinforce the idea that all voices should be heard as long as they conform to the rules of civility. The issue is not about the Task Force’s ability to handle growing attendance; rather it’s about what it, and the progressive movement at large, will do when challenged by an increasingly knowledgeable audience about Israel’s human rights violations. After all, nearly a quarter-century of peace negotiations grounded in civility has nothing to show but stagnation or regressive change at best, surely not a change genuinely committed to the human rights of all.

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Commentary

Sexting with younger guy has me asking: How queer am I?

Reflections on LGBTQ life in 2024

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Jake Stewart is a recovering Hill staffer based in D.C. In addition to writing, he barbacks at the Little Gay Pub."

Once upon a time, not all that long ago, a man sexted another man. 

There were words. There were pictures. There were filthy questions and even filthier responses. You know, the way a good sexting convo ought to be, for those who dabble. 

One man was 33. The other, 24. And while it comes as no shock that I was the 33-year-old, it may be more surprising to learn it was the 24-year-old who grabbed the reins. 

What kinks you into? he asked. 

Shit – I didn’t know. I barely even bottomed before the pandemic, and now I had to know my kinks? 

I’m open, I replied, evasively. You? 

His response left me coughing: “Love musk sweat ws public group rough bb verbal bate edge roleplay and very open-minded.” 

Now I’m no prude (in fact, many would call me a downright whore) but this young man articulating his kinks and fetishes in such detail blew my mind. When did he learn what he liked? At 24, all I wanted was to top a guy and leave with as little communication or attachment as possible. At 33, I wasn’t sure what a few of the items he listed even meant.  

Perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised when young men — and the younger generation across the LGBTQ spectrum in general — have already figured out their sexual interests. I arrived in D.C. from Idaho in 2008 as a fresh-faced 18-year-old; I came out three years later in 2011. Attitudes toward queerness have shifted substantially since then, and these days it is undeniably easier for younger people to explore their sexual and gender identities (which, by the way, is fantastic). 

But this conversation left me wondering: What do I like? I haven’t sought out that many new sexual experiences, and while fetishes, kinks, and sexual desires can seem trivial, they’re inextricably intertwined with gender and relationships. If I can’t articulate what I like in the sack (or in public, if I dare), then how do I know what I’m seeking from a long-term partner, or if that’s even what I want? 

As soon as I came out, I thought my job was done. All I needed after that was to snatch up a cutie and settle down. Instead, my identity centered on building my career in politics, where sexual openness isn’t as appreciated. I, like many D.C. queers around me, moved here bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and ready to change the world for good. 

Then came a tough lesson: Just because I wanted to improve the world didn’t mean people wanted me to. I was inexplicably fired from not one job but two, and suddenly the do-gooder in me grew jaded. The career I dedicated years to was suddenly ripped from my hands, and I became so disillusioned I didn’t even want it back. Oh, and the cherry on top: My boyfriend dumped me two days later. 

Once everything unraveled, I wondered: Was the me of the past the me I truly wanted? Or was I reflecting back what I thought everyone wanted me to be? 

Well, a few major meltdowns and an extended slut phase later, my life couldn’t be more different. I now work at a new gay bar in town to support myself, and I’ve given myself space to pursue the arts. This former straight-laced, type-A, tightly wound gay abandoned the safe track and he couldn’t be more terrified. He also couldn’t be more excited. 

But losing my old career also left an existential-sized hole in my identity. So, as I sexted this 24-year-old with newfound awareness of my limitations, I decided this must change. 

How? As I said, I work at a gay bar in one of the queerest cities in America. Now more than ever I’m surrounded by those who are LGBTQ and every shade in between. Why not learn from those around me, whether younger, older, or around the same age, but whose experiences are no less queer? Why not carve out time to have in-depth discussions and discover what the possibilities are? 

If being queer means to go against the established norms of gender and sexuality, then there’s still plenty of territory for me to explore. No longer can ‘bottom’ or ‘top’ be my only options. 

So, the purpose of this column – aptly titled Queer Quest – is to capture my exploration of queer identity. It’s not to teach you as much as it is to teach myself, and you can either learn alongside me or simply be entertained. At the very least, I’ll have a series of portraits on what it’s like to be queer in the mid 2020s. At most, I’ll have a better understanding of who I am as a queer person. 

Then maybe, just maybe, I’ll become a better sexter. 

Jake Stewart is a D.C.-based writer.

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Commentary

What will you do to make Pride safe this year?

Anxiety reigns among American Jews after Oct. 7

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(Washington Blade photo by Michael Key)

Each year, hundreds of thousands of Jews and supporters of Israel attend Pride marches. With a few exceptions, these spaces have always been safe and welcoming for the broader Pride community. 

But this year is different. 

For American Jews, anxiety reigns as we head into this Pride season. The appalling rise of antisemitism since Oct. 7 forces us to ask difficult questions. As many Jews increasingly feel alienated and excluded from progressive spaces, we’re left to wonder: If I wear a Jewish symbol, march with a Jewish group, or wave a rainbow flag adorned with the Star of David, will I be safe at Pride?

Even before Oct. 7, LGBTQ Jews had plenty of reason to feel trepidation about their safety at Pride. From blanket bans on Stars of David at past Pride gatherings to antisemitism on display at the recent Sydney Pride, too often Jews feel forced to choose between their LGBTQ and Jewish identities and hide their connection to Israel.

Since Oct. 7, terms like “apartheid,” “genocide” and “Zionism equals racism” are increasingly thrown around casually, often without a nuanced understanding of their impact or the realities they oversimplify. This rhetoric not only alienates but also endangers Jewish queer people. It makes us feel emotionally unsafe. It increases the chances that we will be physically unsafe as well. 

We must not allow the Israel-Palestine conflict to be imported into Pride.

I will always remember the euphoria of the first Pride rally I attended. I was barely 18 years old, in a crowd of people of all ages, races, genders and gender orientations — and they were like me. Queer. It felt safe. It was the first time I experienced that feeling of safety, and it will always stay with me. 

Like Pride events everywhere, it was a vibrant, colorful space for LGBTQ people to celebrate our true authentic selves, without fear or reservation.

But that feeling of safety wasn’t shared by everyone in my small New England town. I soon noticed a few people scattered throughout the crowd wearing paper bags over their heads, with eye holes so they could see but not be seen. I later learned that those faceless people were teachers who, in those days before civil rights protections, needed to protect their identities and their careers. 

They did not feel safe. Will Jews and those who are connected to Israel feel safe this year?

The history of Pride is a testament to courage in the face of adversity. It wasn’t long ago when attending Pride events was a defiant act against societal norms, where participants like those teachers faced tangible threats of discrimination, ridicule and even violence. Even today in some places, our queer community still navigates a gauntlet of hatred as we try to celebrate who we are.

It’s crucial to recognize that within the Jewish community, there is a wide spectrum of views on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, including many who are deeply committed to advocating for Palestinian rights. In fact, many of the 1,200 innocent Israelis murdered on Oct. 7 were Zionists who devoted their lives to reconciliation and peace with their Arab neighbors.

We are at a pivotal moment, one that demands action: What can we do to ensure Pride remains a safe space for everyone, including Jewish participants?

It’s imperative that Pride committees around the country proactively address these concerns. They must implement training programs focused on de-escalation and fostering an environment of understanding and respect.

As individuals who stand in solidarity with the values of Pride, each of us must consider our role in this effort. Will you march alongside those of us who feel vulnerable, offering your presence as a shield against intolerance? Will you engage in dialogues that challenge the importation of external conflicts into Pride, advocating instead for a celebration that unites rather than divides?

The true test of inclusivity at Pride lies not merely in welcoming a diverse crowd, but in ensuring that every participant feels safe and valued. If we remain indifferent to the vulnerabilities faced by Jewish queer people this Pride season, we will fall short of the very ideals of inclusivity and solidarity that Pride stands for.

Just as we expect schools to protect trans and nonbinary students like Nex Benedict, we have a responsibility in the LGBTQ community to ensure that people can carry an Israeli flag or a Palestinian flag, wear a yarmulke or a hijab and be safe.

As we look forward to this year’s Pride, let us commit to making it a space where safety is not a privilege afforded to some but a right enjoyed by all. Let’s engage with our local Pride committees, advocate for comprehensive safety measures and stand in solidarity with those who feel at risk. 

Only then can we celebrate the true spirit of Pride, rooted in love, acceptance and the unwavering belief in equality for all.

Ethan Felson is the executive director of A Wider Bridge.

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Opinions

How to protect your sobriety on St. Patrick’s Day

Celebrate with a supportive friend and carry a mocktail

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Sobriety can be challenging, whether you overcame alcohol or drug addiction or chose to abstain from alcohol for a healthier life. Holidays like St. Patrick’s Day can serve as a reminder of the past or could be looked at as another day. 

Many celebrate St. Patrick’s Day sober, as there are generally family-friendly gatherings, community events, or even sober celebrations. If you have concerns about your sobriety, there are practical tips you can use to protect it on St. Patrick’s Day. 

For instance, remind yourself why you are sober, and don’t do it alone. You can still have fun and celebrate but do it with other sober people. Everyone has their reasons for stopping drinking; remind yourself of those reasons and hold yourself accountable.  

Know your triggers; it doesn’t matter if you are a recovering addict or have removed alcohol from your life. Be cautious around possible triggers that pose a challenge. Most people in this situation choose to skip the bar and find something fun to do or go to a sober St. Patrick’s Day celebration. 

Keep a non-alcoholic drink or mocktail in your hand. People will not bother you to ask if you want a drink if you already have something to sip on, like a mocktail. This also leads to planning how to say no. You will encounter social pressure if you go to a bar on St. Patrick’s Day. It’s unavoidable. It’s wise to practice ways to refuse alcohol. 

Finally, if all else fails, take a walk outside if you feel overwhelmed. The most straightforward solutions are usually the best. Remove yourself from any situation you know will lead to relapse. This is also why it’s essential to be with a sober friend or loved one; there is accountability and someone to lean on.

The benefits of being sober are plentiful, along with the numerous health perks, such as better quality sleep, more mental alertness, and lessened anxiety or depression. Yet, there is one benefit that is not necessarily always spoken about. 

Being sober on St. Patrick’s Day or any day removes all chances of impaired driving. Unfortunately, days that promote heavy alcohol use may increase the chances of drunk or drugged driving. For example, in Washington State, impaired driving has been involved in roughly half of fatal crashes for decades. In 2022, 52% of traffic fatalities involved an impaired driver, according to the Traffic Safety Commission. 

Moreover, drivers ages 21 to 30 make up one-third of impaired drivers in fatal crashes, and another 20% are ages 31 to 40. If you are celebrating St. Patrick’s Day sober, take the necessary precautions and look out for one another. If you choose to consume alcohol, drink responsibly, know your limits, and do not drink and drive.

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