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Returning to the kibbutz: A journey of heartbreak and hope

Hamas militants attacked Kfar Aza on Oct. 7

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Kfar Aza, Israel, after Oct. 7, 2023. (Photo courtesy of K.T. Colin)

Editor’s note: WDG, the Washington Blade’s media partner in Israel, originally published this commentary.

BY K.T. COLIN |Ā In 2019, my first encounter with Israel was through the lens of a sponsored Birthright trip. I embarked on a three-week journey, traversing the diverse landscapes from the northern regions to the eastern territories and finally to the arid southern desert. I had the opportunity to visit different communities within Israel and Palestine. Amidst this exploration, I spent an unforgettable three days and two nights in a kibbutz situated near the Gaza border. The memories etched in my heart were ones of unbridled joy, resilience and the harmonious coexistence of the desert dwellers ā€” an emotional tapestry that forever imprinted itself on my soul.Ā Coming from an Iraqi heritage, I viewed these expressions of coexistence through a lens shaped by my own region’s history of conflict and diversity.

As I recall the Shabbat dinner at the kibbutz, the air resonated with the sacred call to prayers (Adhan) from a nearby Bedouin Arab-Muslim town. The juxtaposition of cultures and faiths was a poignant reminder of the shared humanity that bound the Jewish and Arab Israelis in this region. It was a journey that transcended the ordinary, leaving an indelible mark on my consciousness. Filled with memories of peace and unity, I returned, only to confront a reality far removed from my cherished memories.

Fast forward to last month, when I returned to the Negev Desert, specifically to Kfar Aza ā€” one of the 22 kibbutzim targeted by Hamas on that fateful day, Oct. 7, 2023. The once vibrant oasis, brimming with the light of life, now stood shrouded in the darkness of war-induced death and destruction. The very bench where camaraderie blossomed in 2019, while sharing a moment of connection with an Israeli companion, lay reduced to ashes. The thriving pathways, once bustling with life, had metamorphosed into haunting reminders of blood and rubble. The faces that animated Shabbat gatherings, weaving tales of peace advocacy between Palestinians and Israelis, were now conspicuously absent. In the wake of Hamas’s brutality, no entity ā€” be it human, animal or plant ā€” escaped unscathed. The aftermath resembled scenes from an apocalyptic movie, a tableau of sensory deprivation dominated by the stench of death and the echoes of destruction. This destruction, while uniquely harrowing, echoed the all-too-familiar scenes of conflict from my childhood in Iraq, underscoring the universal tragedy of war.

Kfar Aza, Israel (Photo courtesy of K.T. Colin)

While my roots trace back to Iraq, a land marred by wars and the brutality of conflict, the devastation witnessed in Kfar Aza struck a chord that reverberated with the echoes of my past.Ā My personal journey, from witnessing Saddam’s reign of terror to observing the aftermath in Kfar Aza, underscores a broader narrative of resilience and the enduring hope for peace.Ā Born during the Iraqi-Iranian war, my father’s absence for the first six months of my life spoke volumes about the toll of conflict. The invasion of Kuwait and subsequent wars entrenched the narrative of war as an unwelcome companion in our daily lives. Memories of the U.S. invasion in 2003, the ensuing civil war, and the subsequent loss of rights for women, secular individuals and LGBTQ+ members further underscored the harsh reality of conflict.

Yet, Kfar Aza was a unique chapter in my journey, revealing a form of malevolence that transcended my prior experiences. In their assault, Hamas meticulously targeted specifically peace activists who wanted nothing but peace and prosperity between Israelis and Palestinians, sparing no atrocity in their pursuit. This was not just about taking lives; it was a heinous assault on the very prospect of peace. The evil that unfolded reminded me of the forces mentioned in the Quran ā€” Yaajooj and Maajooj ā€” entities of pure malevolence against whom even Alexander the Great erected a wall, according to Muslim prophecy.

My upbringing in Iraq, under the shadow of Saddam Hussein’s dictatorship, fanned the flames of anti-Semitism. A once diverse Iraq, home to 165,000 Iraqi Jews, witnessed their forced exodus through decades of genocide. Subsequently, Christians, Yazidis and Sabbea Mandaeen fell victim to ethnic cleansing orchestrated by dictatorial regimes, Nazi pogroms, Iranian militias and ISIS. The slow erosion of tolerance and coexistence occurred methodically, propelled by hate campaigns championed by Arab nationalists and later fueled by Islamist movements, plunging Iraq into its darkest era.

My school days were marked by compulsory flag-greeting ceremonies, ostensibly patriotic but laden with hate. The chants of “Death to America; Death to the Zionists; Death to the Jews” echoed through the air, fostering a culture of animosity. Arabization and Nationalism classes further fueled this bigotry, leaving an indelible mark on impressionable minds.

The recent horrors in Kfar Aza echoed memories of a similar brand of terror perpetrated by Saddam’s regime ā€” the Fedaeen of Saddam, a precursor to Hamas’s brutality. The parallels were chilling ā€” beheadings, brutal punishments and a reign of terror continued even after the fall of Saddam, as they joined Al-Qaeda, leaving a trail of atrocities in cities like Fallujah and Ramadi.

As I witnessed the devastation in Kfar Aza, the echoes of war in nearby Beit Hanoun, Gaza, resonated hauntingly. The pain echoed from both sides ā€” the Israeli people enduring Hamas rockets since 2015 and the Palestinians suffering daily under the same regime. My heart shattered for the children left orphaned, the LGBTQ+ Gazans now without shelter or life-saving medications and the vulnerable girls and boys exposed to the horrors of Human trafficking and rape. The theft of humanitarian aid by Hamas left many without food and water, and the lip services to Palestinians by Arab and Muslim majority nations, painting a grim picture of a future hanging in uncertainty for those who survived.

Despite the deep scars of conflict, both in my homeland and here, I see glimmers of hope that guide us toward a shared future. I have endured the darkest chapters of conflict in my past, and I hold onto the belief that one day this war will end. I dream of a future where Israelis and Palestinians coexist in shared spaces, attending the same schools, dining at the same restaurants and dancing in the same nightclubs. Having witnessed such unity among Jews, Druze, Muslims and Christians in Israel, I pray for a day when this reality extends to Gazans and Israelis in the Negev Desert. The journey towards peace is arduous, but the human spirit, resilient and compassionate, holds the promise of a brighter tomorrow.

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Commentary

Boarding the Celebrity ASCENT in Barcelona

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Barcelona, Spain (Photo by Brian K/Bigstock)

Itā€™s that time of year, and I am in Barcelona to board the beautiful Celebrity ASCENT for what I hope will be another memorable 13-day transatlantic cruise back to Fort Lauderdale. It is my annual trip. First, itā€™s two fun days in a city I love. Barcelona is a wonderful walking city, with great food and people. I look forward to seeing many friends I often see only once a year on this annual cruise, and to meeting new ones. This year there will be about 80 people in our group who all book with my travel agent My Lux Cruise, based in Texas. Over the years, owners Scott Moster, and his husband Dustin Ruffatto, have become good friends. I have suggested a couple of trips to them, which they then planned. Turns out they were popular. One was last yearā€™s trip to the Galapagos where we had 32 in our group, on a ship with only 100 people. Then we have our upcoming cruise in June of 2025, a 12-day round trip from Southampton, England, on the beautiful Celebrity APEX, to the Norwegian Fjords and the Arctic Circle. I canā€™t wait for that one as it has been on my bucket list for years. It is my understanding we have about 100 already booked on that trip. Now on this yearā€™s transatlantic I decided to pamper myself a little, and upgraded to the Retreat, the fancier part of the ship. 

I will be boarding the ASCENT on Saturday, Oct. 26 and will arrive in Fort Lauderdale at 7 a.m. on Friday, Nov. 8. Yes, I will be away for the election, but I have voted. I also reminded all the other Americans going, to do the same. I will be in Bermuda on Election Day. While I am staying positive Harris and Walz will win, a number of us have discussed whether if the orange ogre wins, can we convince the captain to turn the ship around and head back to Spain. Again, I am sure the people of the United States canā€™t be insane enough to let that happen. 

Knowing a lot of people on the ship makes life on board really pleasant. For those of you who have read my blogs before, and I will be writing a blog again this year, you know I have a set schedule on the ship. Up at 7 a.m. and have coffee, juice, and a bagel, delivered to the room. Then I open the balcony door, and write for a couple of hours. Then itā€™s off to the gym for an hour, have to work off that bagel, and then maybe meet friends in the Retreat lounge for a cappuccino. Then maybe meet some friends for a light lunch in the Oceanview buffet. Then itā€™s a tough afternoon of hanging out on the sundeck, and maybe even having a mudslide, or a strawberry daiquiri, if someone twists my arm. Am I getting you tired already from my exhausting schedule? Then itā€™s back to the room to relax and change for the LGBTQ happy hour, and then the big decision of the day. Dinner and show, or show and then dinner? Decisions, decisions. There are four regular dining rooms and six specialty restaurants. I anticipate trying them all during the cruise and will be writing about them. 

There are eight sea days and four stops during the cruise. The first stop is Alicante, Spain, and then the next is Gibraltar and a visit to its monkeys. Then itā€™s two days at sea to our next stop, Punta Delgada, in the Azores. Then four days at sea until we reach Bermuda. Then another two days until we dock in Fort Lauderdale. I actually love the sea days the best, just relaxing on the ship. I am hoping as always to do some interviews with the performers, and have an appointment set to interview the cruise director. With any luck I will get an interview with the captain. Interesting that even though my blogs, and interviews, have generated business for Celebrity, their PR department always makes things more difficult than they have to be. In referring to them I will borrow Tim Walzā€™s word, ā€˜weird.ā€™ Hope you will read and enjoy the blog posts over the next two weeks.


Peter Rosenstein is a longtime LGBTQ rights and Democratic Party activist.

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To West Africa with love

Thoughts on Ghanaian tradition, queerness, and Western imperialism

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A celebration of the life of a Queen Mother (Juabenhemaa) of the Asante Kingdom in Ghana (Photo by Zi Donnya Piggott)

You may know by now that Ghanaā€™s parliament has just passed one of the harshest laws against its LGBTQ citizens in West Africa. Many advocates, activists, LGBTQ people, and allies are still trying to process why and how this happened.

During this announcement a person Iā€™m closely tied to was in Juaben, Ghana. 

They were celebrating the life and passing of their grandmother, who happens to be a Queen Mother (Juabenhemaa) of the Asante Kingdom in Ghana. It was an elaborate two week traditional ceremony with both private and public events and was attended by thousands as well as the whoā€™s who in Ghana including President Nana Akufo Addo himself.

As a history major, a cultural enthusiast and Afro-futurist, I was excited to have first hand accounts with photos and videos of all the ceremonies and to see beautiful Ghanaian royalty and people in their decorated clothes, dress, dance, and tradition. While at the same time supporting my loved one virtually.

About four days into the two week ceremony, my person in Ghana texted me about a male dancer wearing traditional womenā€™s clothes, wearing makeup with a stuffed buttocks. They found it intriguing and was eager to share with me. In this traditional space, it was normalized and the cultural dancer continued to even dance with other men at the ceremony.

A celebration of the life of a Queen Mother (Juabenhemaa) of the Asante Kingdom in Ghana (Photo by Zi Donnya Piggott)

They reported to me that some of the young anti-LGBTQ Ghanian Americans at the ceremony were disgusted and confused. One remarked ā€˜What? Is this ‘Drag Race now?ā€™ as the colorfully dressed person continued to skillfully dance their traditional dance in honor of the Asante Queen Mother.Ā 

Four days later the anti-LGBTQ law passed through the parliament of Ghana, devastating LGBTQ Ghanians, advocates, allies, and diaspora. 

The bill now awaits the presidentā€™s signature to be enacted.

As I read through the 36-page long document called Promotion of Proper Human Sexual Rights and Ghanaian Family Values Bill of 2021, the basis document for this legislation, it includes repetitive emphasis of resistance to foreign imposition and the maintenance of Ghanaian values, culture, sovereignty, and independence and rejection of homosexuality. The document is a combination of the efforts of various groups including Christian organizations, Muslim organizations, family rights organizations, and the traditional chiefs of Ghana.

I found it interesting that there was but one paragraph that mentioned the importance of protecting the lives of LGBTQ people. Can you guess which one group (Christian organizations, Muslim organizations, Family rights organizations and the traditional chiefs of Ghana) was solely appealing to protect the lives of LGBTQ people in the bill?Ā 

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The National House of Chiefs, the group most steeped in Ghanaian historical and cultural tradition, made some attempt within the document to shield the lives of LGBTQ people from harm.

Time and time again, advocates have purported that it is indeed the hatred of queer people that is an imposition. Yet they are Christian and family value organizations funded by the right wing organizations that claim to protect local culture and values but instead create divisions that threaten the livelihoods of their Ghanaian queer families.

It begs the question, What is so western about LGBTQ people?

If we are being completely honest, the language, culture and framework is certainly western. 

The expression of self was never demonized in many now erased cultures across the world but the idea and framework of queerness today is.

The LGBTQ movement is largely a western movement and culture. From the rainbow flag to its terminology. Today LGBTQ/queer is the language we use universally to describe people whose self and sexual expression is not mainstream.

During colonization, many cultural indigenous traditions were lost including the language we used to identify our family and communities. It was then replaced with Christianity used as a tool to control and restrict ā€” as it continues to do so today.

Indigenous Native Americans are fortunate to have retained their language and some of their culture. Their language of two-spirit makes room culturally for those Indigenous people we would call queer today.

There are countless examples of cultures within West African traditions and culture that have celebrated and have space and language for their ā€œtwo-spiritā€ people as described by the Native Americans or their ā€œDagaraā€ people as described by people from the Ghanaian neighboring country Burkina Faso.

That said, as a result of our erased cultures today, LGBTQ/queer is the language and culture we have globally adopted – obviously to the ire of those who donā€™t quite understand their own culture.

Regardless of language, culture or foreign imposition, there is no excuse for the hatred, exclusion, and persecution of any group of people ā€” period.

From Uganda in East Africa, Ghana, West Africa to St. Vincent in the Eastern Caribbean the sentiment remains the same where there seems to be a confusion around cultural identity and the clutching onto an idea of sovereignty in efforts to continue to resist years of colonial oppression, imposition, and trauma.

We havenā€™t even begun to discuss how Christianity, another colonial tool, has culturally divided us and has our societal progress in a chokehold.

However, as a futurist, it is not helpful to remain in a place of blame, anger and self pity ā€” it gets us nowhere. This is the hand that we have been dealt and we must work in various ways to build up our businesses and to nurture and grow families, communities, and our people.

And so I offer this piece to the brave advocates across various post colonial landscapes ā€” draw close to the cultures and identities from whence you came. Activists like Lady Phyll and Alex Kofi Donor have remained entrenched within their cultural tradition signifying that being queer identifying people and being African in identity and culture arenā€™t mutually exclusive. 

We ought to be bold in addressing and working with external groups ā€” the extremely tough and dangerous part of advocacy ā€” entering churches, parliaments, universities, and being visible and contributing citizens not only within local queer communities but outside of the silos and enclaves of our safe spaces. That visibility puts a human face and personality to our cause. We must be our own politicians. Building real relationships with folks who we may not always agree with but who we may see eye to eye with on other issues. Start showing up for other marginalized groups besides our own.

And perhaps Iā€™m blinded by the context of the advocacy done in little Barbados, perhaps itā€™s a safer place these days, an easier place to exercise this level of visibility … maybe.

What I do know is that we need to employ thoughtful strategy to our advocacy efforts because it was the strategy of the colonial powers that got us in this situation in the first place. 

And it will be our understanding of our own people and the application of strategic thinking that will get us out.

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On National Coming Out Day: No more silent compromises

Rejecting half-truths, embracing the whole me, and redefining my worth

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(Washington Blade file photo by Michael Key)

Though I’ve never lived “in the closet” over the years, I realized I hadn’t fully stepped out of it in every aspect of life. While I embraced being out, certain moments hindered my personal and professional growth.

Have you ever let someone assume something about your life, like having a wife or girlfriend, because it was easier than correcting them? Perhaps you thought, “I’m not in the closet, so it doesn’t matter.” But looking back, did it matter?

This question lingered in my mind for far too long. We must ask whether our actions reflect who we are or if we’re choosing a more convenient version of ourselves. When someone asked, “Is your girlfriend coming to happy hour?” I wasn’t offended, but I wasn’t being entirely authentic, either.

As a gay man, I found it flattering when people assumed I was straight. Was I accepting it as validation of my masculinity? Perhaps. But over time, I realized that allowing these assumptions to persist wasn’t as harmless as I initially believed.

I’ve been fortunate never to experience the closet. The unwavering support from my family, friends, and colleagues has empowered me to live authentically. 

Having a family was, and still is, my guiding light. But by my late 20s, that vision began to fade. By my mid 30s, I saw family life, as a gay man, was a possibility, but I buried myself in building a company. I convinced myself that balancing family and business was unattainable since finding someone with shared values seemed impossible. But was it? 

As an entrepreneur, I’ve experienced the highs and lows of building something from scratch, always embracing challenges. Itā€™s easy when you love what you do. Like building a business, personal growth is shaped by what you choose to invest in and what you attract into your life. Despite my successes, something still felt misaligned. What was I doing wrong? 

I remember moments like vendors taking us to after-hours bars or strip clubs. I recall one instance at a national expo when a vendor took us to a female strip club. I’ve never enjoyed strip clubs, gay or straight; I’d instead host a dinner party. Early into the night, someone arranged a lap dance for me, and I jokingly asked if she could switch places with the security guy. We both laughed, but here’s the issue: I never told them why I got up and left, only her. At that moment, did I sell myself short? Would it affect our partnership? I wasn’t in the closet but wasn’t entirely out either.

Another moment came in my 30s when I was learning how to navigate dating. A friend suggested I downplay my career to avoid intimidating potential partners. I agreed initially but eventually asked myself: Why should I downplay my accomplishments to make others comfortable? By minimizing my worth, I wasn’t just being inauthentic; I was undervaluing myself and the hard work I put into it. What was I trying to attract into my life?

As my journey continued, I became increasingly aware of what I was inviting into my life. My personal and professional lives were out of alignment. When I opened an office in India, I came out to the local director before signing business documents. Why? Friends and colleagues struggle because their business partners don’t know their authentic selves, and I refused to let this happen. More importantly, I owed being genuine to myself.

Many of us create barriers between our personal and professional lives. While change can be difficult, I needed to align them. We believe we’re not lying because we’re “not in the closet.” But by not fully expressing our authentic selves, we hold ourselves back. For me, dismantling those barriers allowed me to transform what I was attracting into my life, personally and professionally.

Had I not become self-aware, I’d still be stuck in a cycle of inauthenticity, missing out on my full potential. Without changing my mindset, I would have continued letting others’ assumptions define me and limit my growth. I only began breaking free from that cycle by fully embracing my true self.

Even though I’ve never lived in the closet, I still fear what being this open might bring. But that’s precisely why I need to do it. My personal and professional allies have shown unwavering support, standing by me through everything. To those who have supported me on this journey, thank you, it’s now my turn to support others.

Authenticity isn’t just a choice; it’s essential for a fulfilled life. You must ask, you must act, and yes, you will fail and learn along the way, but that’s OK. Every time you act, you move closer to your authentic self. Embrace vulnerability and the discomfort of feeling exposed, it’s then you will begin to reclaim your strength.

To the person on the partner track who’s afraid to bring their partner to a company retreat: bring them! To the young adult worried about being kicked out of the house: seek local support; someone will help you! To the person fearful of losing their job because of who they are: quit! To the person who wants a family, look around; someone shares those values! If someone offers to set you up with a girl or guy, ask if they have a brother or sister, and you might get a date! To those still searching for the right partner, ditch the apps and be present! 

I kept my personal life “private” for years because I thought, “I’m not in the closet.” I’m not referring to social media; this is about deep-rooted beliefs that live rent-free in our minds, filtering our responses and decisions. While writing this piece, I mistakenly typed, “I’m not out,” perhaps it wasn’t a mistake; it was a sign. I am grateful those filters expired long ago and are now evicted for living rent-free.

We live in a world where mental health is still stigmatized. Small acts of inauthenticity can cause anxiety that spills into our professional lives. It makes us seem “off” and can lead to missed opportunities. Worst of all, you may feel trapped and remain silent.

It’s time to stop allowing these things to hold us back. We must discuss mental health, authenticity, and their impact on our lives. The journey isn’t about becoming someone new; it’s about shedding what doesn’t define you so you can fully embrace who you’ve always been.

As I continue my journey, I will do so boldly, out loud, and unapologetically. Note to readers: If you’re struggling, want to discuss this topic further, or just need a virtual coffee chat, feel free to reach out via Instagram, @gregorybarretta.Ā 


Gregory Barretta is a serial entrepreneur overseeing several companies, committed to mentoring, leading, and empowering others to grow.

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