During my undergrad education, I studied abroad in Israel-Palestine. A couple years later, I returned to live and work there for a year. I was working with an organization in Jerusalem which created space for Israelis and Palestinians to learn about reconciliation and form friendships with the person from the “other side.” While there were many impactful moments throughout my time there, there was one conversation in particular that has stuck with me and has deeply shaped my understanding of reconciliation.
I was living in Bethlehem with a Palestinian Christian family and one afternoon, I was sitting outside the family’s shop with their oldest son who was in his mid-twenty’s. I had just crossed the checkpoint from Jerusalem (a checkpoint he was unable to cross without special permission) and he asked me about the work I was doing. After I shared about the work this organization did and my role in it, he asked this piercing question: “Who is your reconciliation work really for?” He expressed his deep distrust in reconciliation work and his distrust in people like myself who came to this land for a short time and then left when it was convenient for us. He saw it as disingenuous and simply unhelpful. I was shocked and didn’t know how to respond. I knew there were tourists who passed through who were deeply problematic and disregarded the Palestinian perspective, but I had distanced myself from “those people.” I thought I was there to learn, to hear stories, and to help facilitate space for the work of reconciliation to begin.
However, upon reflection, this young man was right. Who was I to show up in his homeland and call for reconciliation? Even though I had extensively studied the conflict, I had not lived it. Even though I cared deeply for this place and the people, I could leave at any moment. What this man wanted was a good job, the ability to travel freely, and justice that had too long been denied his community. I could not offer any of those things nor was the work I was doing really addressing what this man needed. My identity of being a “good person” and having “good intentions” was questioned. My power and privilege as a white U.S. citizen became painfully clear. I began to grasp how good intentions in reconciliation work are not enough and can in fact be harmful. This experience led me to rethink what it means to engage in reconciliation and to closely examine whose voices are excluded from the conversation on reconciliation.
I had read the books about peace and reconciliation. I had taken the classes and participated in the workshops. Yet, I had missed the heart of the matter. I had intellectualized reconciliation and viewed it as something that had to be achieved and won. The conversation with this man taught me that reconciliation must be tangible, embodied, and indigenized. True reconciliation is not possible if we remain in the philosophical, theoretical realm and do not listen to those most affected by the conflict we are trying to solve. Here I was crossing barriers and checkpoints to work for peace, when this young man, most affected by the conflict and who knew the things that would make for peace, was currently walled off from the reconciliation conversation.
Our journey toward reconciliation must be led by those most affected, those whose day to day lives are most marred by conflict. Those who have lost family and friends to the violence of conflict, those who have lost jobs to the greed of conflict, those who have lost hope to the persistence of conflict. Those who cry for justice and will not settle for a reconciliation fabricated by the powerful and the privileged.
3 comments
This is really helpful thanks Hannah. What you say about reconciliation work not remaining abstract and theoretical is so important. I’ve been asked similar questions in my work and travels. It serves as a steady reminder to examine my intentions for wanting to “help” or engage in reconciliation work.
Hi Hannah. Thank you for this writing. I have come back to it several times and still don’t know if I can articulate my thoughts well enough to respond. But here I am. I have wondered similar questions about how we use our privilege. Jesus was exemplary in the way he stood with the oppressed – but how do we do it in a way that empowers them to walk their journey, in their way? Your post has prompted me to think about connecting Cynthia Bourgeault’s writings about centering prayer and the importance of doing our own inner work in regards to our ego and our awareness of our true motivations, with questions such as the one this wise young man posed. Thank you.
Oh Hannah! how true, how true.
It’s the harmed individual who determines how to proceed. We accompany. We listen. We follow and support. You have learned (and shared with us) how powerful it is to be curious and to inquire rather than to come in with answers.
I love your reflective nature about your encounter with this man. With humility and compassion you enfold the lesson that too often is over looked, especially from those of us who are living in a place of privilege. As you say, they do not (and should not) settle for a reconciliation fabricated by the powerful and the privileged.”
Thank you.