The War in Lebanon: Jewish and Arab Students Reflect on Their Relations
Photo by Gunther Gamper.
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Perhaps more than anywhere else in the rest of Canada, the conflict between Israel and Hezbollah which took place this past summer spilled over into the streets of Montréal, becoming a prominent and explosive subject for its entire duration. How did the Arab and Jewish students of Montréal experience the political events? What tensions did they live through and what sentiments did they feel towards each other? Tolerance.ca® conducted several interviews with students and young professionals.
It was a summer characterized by rallies, tension and daily media coverage that continued to recount the ever-worsening situation in Lebanon. As September neared and students went back to school, the Lebanese conflict, concluded but as yet unresolved, remained fresh in many minds. Though the conflict was taking place an ocean away, its effects reverberated close to home.
Twelve people from a variety of backgrounds were interviewed. None were indifferent to the Middle Eastern conflict. Despite their differences, some shared remarkably similar experiences.
“It was very hard to be a Jew in Montréal this summer”
“It was very hard to be a Jew in Montréal this summer,” says one 28-year-old Jewish female graduate of McGill. “The tension was just so palpable.” She wasn’t the only one to have this feeling. Another 25-year-old, who graduated from the Université de Montréal, said that she’d never felt so uncomfortable being a Jew. “And it’s not like anyone is going to give me a chance to express my views on the crisis,” she says. “I felt like the media, particularly the French media, had little or no nuances when it came to Jews, Israeli or Jewish opinions.”
Do Arabs feel similarly? Leila, a 31-year-old Muslim graduate of Université du Québec à Montréal (UQAM) of Lebanese origin, tells of a hijab-wearing friend who, when camping in the Quebec countryside, was taunted by young men shouting “go back to your countries, we don’t want you here, we don’t want veils here.” Though no one else had a similar story to share, all agreed that discrimination against them exists—a growing trend since 9/11. “We’re in the middle of a bad PR run,” jokes Fadi, a 27-year-old student at Concordia. However, he admits that being an Arab and a Muslim can be difficult. Leila feels that since the events of 9/11 she is constantly having to prove that she is not a terrorist. “It’s very subtle though,” she notes. “You have to play your cards right or you could lose it all in a second.”
A 22-year-old Jewish graduate of McGill University, whom we shall call Michael, says that he feels Arabs exaggerate the discrimination against them. “What have they done in order not to be discriminated against?” he asks. “Instead of embracing people around them who aren’t Muslim and opening up to others, they’ve become more insular.”
“How horrible would things have been had the killer at Dawson been Arab?”
It is sentiments like Michael’s that Marie-Chantal feels the Lebanese-Israeli conflict has intensified. Since the summer, this 32-year-old Université de Montréal graduate of Lebanese Catholic origin admits that everyone is more on their guard—Jews, Arabs and the Canadian population in general—causing them to generalize and to increasingly perceive the other in stereotypical terms. “People see you and say, you’re Arab, you must be pro-Hezbollah. And all I can say to that is no, no and no. Imagine how horrible things would have been had the killer at Dawson been Arab.” Marie-Chantal is not the only one to have this feeling. Several of the Arab students interviewed mentioned that their first fear upon hearing about the Dawson shootings was that the killer might be Arab. None want to imagine what would have happened to them as a community had that been the case.
Judy, a 21-year-old Jewish student at the Université de Montréal, understands that many Arabs fear being victims of racial discrimination or prejudice. “I think that such racism is probable and also unfortunate,” she says, “but I do feel that this is a warranted reaction to the fact that terrorists today happen to be of the Muslim faith.”
As a Muslim, Leila feels that Western society is only willing to accept a certain type of moderate Arab. And the West’s perception of a moderate Arab country, she explains, is rather skewed. In Quebec, the Arabs’ place is precarious, adding that there is extra pressure not only on the Arab but also on the Jewish community. “People are very suspicious of them [Jews],” she says. “I think as a society we don’t like Jews so much.” For her, Jews are viewed in a different way than Arabs. “I think with Arabs it’s fear and with Jews it’s jealousy or the century-old suspicion or something. That’s universal I think.” She also sees a big discrepancy between how Arab and Jewish communities are treated and other communities in Montréal. “You always have to prove that you’re worthy of our support. And you have to be careful with everything that you do.” She points out that other cultural minorities are in no way similarly scrutinized. “What does it mean to be moderate? Is a Vietnamese not allowed to eat his food or go to his temple or hang out with other Vietnamese?”
“We’re friends for other reasons”
Photo by Gunther Gamper.
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For 21-year-old Malek, a Muslim Arab student at McGill, the conflict in Lebanon did not affect her friendships with Jews. They remain durable, and have to be if they are to survive the ever-present Israeli-Palestinian situation. Marie-Chantal explains that she and a Jewish co-worker constantly exchanged e-mails about the conflict. “But one of the first things I told her was listen—I know in advance that we have different positions or opinions.”
According to 23-year-old Danny, a Jewish student at Concordia, this conflict was different from the Israeli-Palestinian one in that it brought in people who aren’t normally involved. “There are Jews and Arabs in Montréal who are friends and never talk politics. And then a situation like this crisis comes up and tensions arise,” he explains. He, too, did not feel that his friendships were affected, adding that he had met many of his Arab friends through discussion groups and dialogues. “We know where we stand. It’s the same person at the end of the day.”
“Still another way of keeping friends is to avoid talking about the conflict all the time. We’re friends for other reasons,” continues Danny. Yet Walid, a Muslim Arab at McGill University, feels differently. “I like to think I’ve made good [Jewish] friends and not just acquaintances or school pals in university.” He feels that precisely during this time, he and his friends should have been discussing the conflict instead of avoiding the topic. He knows his Jewish friends were affected by the conflict and held strong opinions on the matter. But Walid was saddened that his Jewish friends could not broach the matter with him. ”Imagine people who’ve never seen each other, who live in countries with no diplomatic relations, imagine how they must feel, how much harder it is for them to conceive approaching the other—and that’s what’s scary, that’s really what scares me.”
“Everybody got considerably more patriotic”
On the streets of Montréal, the conflict was felt by some more than others. Rawan, a 21-year-old Muslim Arab student at Concordia, felt that everybody got considerably more patriotic and argumentative. “I guess that is normal during such situations,” she explains. “I suppose the feelings stem from frustration at being unable to help your people.” Judy felt extra tension in the Montréal area, but added that she might have been more sensitive to it due to her own feeling of involvement. She felt that those with views opposite her own were particularly vocal and visibly active with respect to the crisis. She couldn’t help but notice the number of Lebanese flags that appeared throughout the city and the chants she heard from passing vehicles on Montréal streets commending the Hezbollah. “While I feel that support for the Lebanese victims of the current war is justified, support for a noted terrorist organization is extremely unwarranted and unethical,” adds the 21-year-old Jewish student.
Vanessa, a 23-year-old Jewish graduate of Concordia University, felt that the conflict was all people spoke about. And she kept being reminded of the conflict, even when out on the trendy St-Laurent Boulevard, where she would see Arab men holding Lebanese flags and protesting. “On Saturday nights we had to be reminded of this!” she exclaims.
Yet for Lebanese Canadian Marie-Chantal, the flags were never meant to symbolize anything more than a plea for awareness and for ceasefire. She didn’t want Lebanon to garner media attention for three days and then be forgotten. She was one of the first to go out and buy a flag, she says, for the first time ever identifying herself as Lebanese in any way other than cultural. She removed the flag, however, when she read that some were interpreting it as support for violence.
Most of those interviewed feel that rallies do not achieve anything, and few actually attended one. Bracha, a 21-year-old Jewish student at McGill, explains. “Rallies aren’t my thing. I would go to a rally that supports non-war, like a vigil, but I don’t like the way rallies are conducted, they’re too politicized.” Meanwhile, Danny questions whether rallies are practical at all. “They don’t bring people closer, they don’t bridge the gaps between people. The divides remain—it’s just not productive,” he says.
“We were supporters of a ceasefire, not of Hezbollah”
For Marie-Chantal, rallies are the only way for the government to hear her opinion. What troubled her about the rallies she attended was something else entirely. “I can understand why Arabs here sided with Hezbollah, though I disagree with it, but why on earth did ‘pure laine’ Quebecers support it? Why did I see them marching on the streets? That I can’t understand. And every time we go to a rally we end up marching next to Hezbollah, whereas all I wanted was for the war to end. All my sign said was ‘cessez-le-feu’ (ceasefire). But if I go away, I leave the floor to Hezbollah supporters.” For Leila, a 31-year-old Muslim Arab and graduate of Université du Québec à Montréal (UQÀM), that feeling was shared: “Our goal was just to get a ceasefire, to get the killing to stop,” she says.
As the number of people attending rallies in front of the Israeli consulate increased, Judy notes that there was increased tension and vocalization of respective agendas. “Gone,” she says, “are the days of ‘silent’ rallies.”
The war, a setback to Arab-Jewish relations on campus
Though Judy tries to refrain from having political conversations with Arab classmates, feeling that it will only add further friction, Bracha sees university as a place where students should set a precedent. “I feel there are always people who will continue to vocalize their political views and who will be active on campus doing just that. But I think this is an opportunity to go one step further and say we’re not people who believe in war, in injustice. There are people like me who want to have intellectual debates. Instead of being out on the streets like militants, we should go to class. It’s not the picket line here. If you want to voice your opinion, do it in class where it belongs.”
Few others have such an idealistic view of campus life. Bara, a 21-year-old Arab student at Concordia, believes that Arab-Jewish dialogue will be set back. “I feel that this is a shame since Arab and Jewish students had taken a big step in improving their relation at Concordia last year,” he explains. Rawan, too, doubts that there will be as many Arab-Jewish initiatives on campus this year.
Fadi sees a silver lining amidst these views. Though the conflict in Lebanon created real tensions, it might encourage people to gather to express their views. “While I have my strong views on this issue, I believe it is always good to bring people together no matter how much conflict is going on.” Otherwise, he says, people tend to come up with their own theories on what happened, and slowly these theories turn into facts which remain unchallenged and become progressively more extreme.
Leila understands that communications are hard but feels that an effort needs to be made. “You need to tell me that you think I’m wrong and I need to tell you that I think you’re wrong,” she says. She adds that the faster people get to know that there are gradations in Jewish opinion, that there is Jewish sympathy for Lebanon, the better it will be for Arab-Jewish relations.
Marie-Chantal feels that the only way to stop stereotypes from becoming ever more entrenched is through a conscientious, if difficult, effort at dialogue. Otherwise, she feels that Jews, Arabs and the general population will become alienated from one another. The initiatives will have to be concrete, she says. “You have to be able to measure the progress”.
“We should focus on that which really connects us, here in Montréal, as humans”
Indeed, Michael, who was involved in several dialogue groups in 2005, says that none had any follow-up. “Maybe they weren’t all that successful,” he admits. He feels that both Jews and Arabs should meet on a point that does not focus on the Middle East and suggests the creation of an inter-religious social justice committee such as meals on wheels. “We should focus on that which really connects us, here in Montréal, as humans.”
It is hard to say how realistic this initiative might be, particularly as most of those interviewed agree that establishing true dialogue in the coming months will be difficult. “It is a shame,” says Bracha. “We’ve created an ‘other’ and now we’re fighting the ‘other,’ but there doesn’t have to be an ‘other.’” Leila has a similar viewpoint. She particularly dislikes being asked to repeatedly affirm where her loyalties stand. “And it’s too bad,” she says, “because I think it’s this sectarianism that perpetuates everything in the first place. I can understand how the victimized feel closer to the clan.” She warns that it is important to be aware of this and to try and keep things in perspective, making sure not to get into the “us versus them” mentality. “We’d be more objective about the conflict if we could separate ourselves from that identity.”
Rachel, a 26-year-old Jewish graduate of McGill, isn’t optimistic. “I would love to have a rosy, glass-half-full comment to add,” she says, but until an entire generation is re-educated she doesn’t think it will be possible. Malek is more hopeful. “Put historically, maybe this conflict won’t be so bad. Germany and France fought for centuries over territory. Maybe what seems like the never-ending Israeli-Palestinian conflict will, in a larger historical context, seem relatively short.” Michael has an equally uplifting view. “I don’t like the word bridge-building. It’s a matter of finding those bridges. Jews have lived in Syria and Lebanon for centuries; those bridges were built centuries ago. Now it’s just a matter of finding them.”
This article is part of a series on the diversity of values and religious beliefs in colleges and universities and is presented with the financial support of:
* Walid Sharara and Danny Iny with Tolerance.ca contributor Miriam Rabkin.
** Walid Sharara and Danny Iny with interviewor Miriam Rabkin.