One year on: Arab Americans confront the reality of U.S. complicity in Israel's genocide

[Editor’s note: In the past year, we’ve witnessed people get fired from their jobs, suspended from their schools, and doxxed and harassed for their vocal support of the Palestinian people. Harsh law enforcement measures and police crackdowns were also employed at demonstrations and university encampments calling for a ceasefire in Gaza and an arms embargo on Israel. As a result of a rise in the US’ criminalizing of dissent, some of our sources agreed to speak with Raseef22 on the condition of anonymity. We have therefore changed their names for safety concerns.]

This is not the first, and, given its repetitive history, probably not the last, time the United States has caused grievances among its Arab communities. The US’s involvement in the Middle East has been ongoing for years. However, the Biden administration’s almost unconditional support of Israel since Ocober,7 2023 amid its genocide in Palestine, and its attacking Lebanon, Syria, Yemen and Iraq, hit Arabs different.

As the genocide in Palestine continues, surpassing a year, Arab Americans are navigating a complex landscape of grief, anger, escapism, and activism in response to the US’s policy. For many, the escalating violence strikes at the heart of their identity, their communities, and their understanding of justice in the world. Raseef22 spoke to several Arabs, from different generations living across the US, who find themselves torn between their ties to their countries, and the life they have established in a country which perpetually meddles in them.

“It feels like we lead double lives. The normality of life around us [in the US] and the interactions we have to have with people who sometimes don’t even know other US states, let alone other countries, requires some kind of detachment from the news and the constant struggles of our people back home. We must function like normal beings, when we really are mourning 24/7,” says Syrian journalist, Leen al-Faisal, 31.

Yearning to be living elsewhere, Egyptian American psychologist Joud*, 26, says “living in the US amid a genocide is physically and emotionally draining. There were days when I wished I was living back home, in a community where I wouldn’t have to be surrounded by media that belittles the deaths of humans. I wouldn’t have to prove what basic human rights are.”

Four main American Sunday morning news shows covered and debated the “Israel-Hamas war” for the past year without speaking to a single Palestinian or Palestinian American, with the exception of one interview, in turn “promot[ing] an anti-Palestinian agenda for Washington,” according to a survey. Nonetheless, the ongoing atrocity in Gaza is broadcasted on social media for all eyes, ears, and hearts to watch. So far, over 45 thousand people have been killed in Gaza, and 1.9 million, 90% of the strip, have been displaced.

“The ongoing situation in Gaza has deepened my connection to my Arab heritage, fostering a greater sense of solidarity with Palestinians and the broader Arab world. At the same time, it has highlighted the complexities of navigating a dual identity as an Arab American, where my cultural heritage and civic responsibilities sometimes feel at odds due to U.S. foreign policy.”

Arabs in the United States live everyday in fear. One of the earliest hate crimes since the Palestinian-Israeli conflict reignited was the fatal stabbing of Wadea Al-Fayoume, a 6-year-old Palestinian American living in Chicago. In the first six months of 2024, the Council on American-Islamic Relations (CAIR) documented 4,951 complaints of anti-Muslim and anti-Palestinian discrimination, a 69% increase compared to the same period in 2023.

“It made me feel unsafe knowing that my neighbors may think I deserve to die just because of my ethnicity or religion,” says Ahmad, 32, an Egyptian professor who applied for jobs in Europe in consideration of moving there.

At their workplaces, countless Arabs, and non-Arabs, have been discriminated against or reprimanded for speaking up against Israel and the US’s support of it.

“I feel alienated. I live in a country with freedom of speech [guaranteed by the constitution], but I do not feel free to speak my mind at all,” Ahmad admits, after having to be investigated by a committee when one of his work colleagues accused him of being antisemitic. The committee concluded that there was no evidence to the accusation. However, he now refrains from expressing his opinion online.

On October 7th, 2023, Eman*, 32, who worked at one of the legacy media companies in the US at the time, received a mass email advising all employees to avoid talking about politics, so as not to ‘polarize’ the workspace.

“I never directly address my views on Gaza [...] in fear of putting my career on the line,” says Joud, who has also had regular therapy patients refuse or cancel meetings since October 7 because of her Arab identity.

Egyptian American Sawsan*, 62, finds it challenging that her children do not understand that their opinion “could be disastrous for them, even though they are just as entitled as any human who is born in this country to stand up and scream.”

“A major reason for choosing to live in the US is the lack of fear that I had hoped for [my children],” she continued. “Granted, it was a young lady’s illusion.”

To find solace amid the reality they live in, many Arabs have turned inwards, strengthening their ties with their communities. In cities across the United States, Arab Americans have mobilized in unprecedented numbers. Protests have filled the streets of Dearborn, Brooklyn, and Los Angeles, where communities chanted for a ceasefire and held vigils for the lives lost. Social media has also become a critical tool, with hashtags like #CeasefireNOW and #FreePalestine trending, as Arab Americans share stories, footage, and calls to action. Pro-Palestinian student encampments and protests across university campuses were also focal points of the ceasefire movement.

“I found myself gravitating more towards the Arab American community and activism groups for spiritual and emotional support. Feeling that I am not stuck alone in the bubble of grief was validating, [even though] it would never ease the pain,” Joud said.

Egyptian American academic Mahmoud* agrees. “The ongoing situation in Gaza has deepened my connection to my Arab heritage, fostering a greater sense of solidarity with Palestinians and the broader Arab world. At the same time, it has highlighted the complexities of navigating a dual identity as an Arab American, where my cultural heritage and civic responsibilities sometimes feel at odds due to U.S. foreign policy.”

This ubiquitous grief is compounded by a sense of helplessness. Calls from the public, as well as from progressive Democrats, for the Biden administration to condition US military aid to Israel have been falling on deaf ears. In November, the US Senate rejected a bill that aimed to block a US weapons sale to Israel, an effort led by Senator Bernie Sanders.

The scale of US military support for Israel is substantial. Since October 2023, the US has shipped more than 50,000 tons of weaponry to Israel. The US provides Israel with $3.8bn in annual military aid under a 10-year agreement that is intended to allow the latter to maintain a "qualitative military edge" over neighbouring countries.

“[Meanwhile] Americans are drowning in debt and student loans, our paychecks are funding weapons worth billions of dollars,” Joud adds.

Several people echoed Mahmoud’s sentiment to Raseef22. Palestinian American Sarah Awwad, 30, left her job to work for a Palestinian-owned healthcare company. “Knowing my tax dollars go to fund the genocide of my people, I decided to change jobs. I know I can't control where my tax money goes, but at least I know I'm not working for a Zionist company,” she says.

“As a taxpayer, it is deeply troubling to know that U.S. aid is being used in ways that perpetuate violence and suffering. This complicity makes it essential for citizens to demand greater accountability and ensure that foreign aid aligns with international human rights standards,” Mahmoud said.

Targeted boycotting campaigns against US companies that are believed to support the genocide has become one way to put pressure and exercise autonomy. “It makes me feel like it’s canceling out the taxes I have to pay,” Joud notes.

Awwad, like numerous others, has been continuously spearheading crowdfunding campaigns, specifically for families in Gaza. “Seeing the positive impacts keeps me going amongst all the negativity.”

Out with the Democrats and a belief in global justice

Financial aid has not been the only show of support from the US to Israel. The Biden Administration has vetoed four UN Security Council resolutions calling for a ceasefire in Gaza since October 7, 2023, the most recent veto occurring on December 8. Because of the effect of US foreign policy on the international stage, Ahmad “no longer has any trust in global justice.”

“[The US’s stance] strongly affected, not just trust in American institutions, but also in American ideals that we’ve been sold for such a long time…It feels like utmost betrayal,” al-Faisal says.

Joud agrees. “My trust in American political institutions has permanently vanished. It seems to me like a play in theaters, like politicians are handed scripts and scenarios to entertain the screens.”

A quarter of US military interventions between 1776 and 2019, out of America’s 400 wars, have been in the Middle East and Africa, according to a major 2022 study by the Military Intervention Project at Tufts University. As of October 2024, there are approximately 40,000 U.S. service members in the Middle East, spanning across at least 19 sites in countries including Bahrain, Egypt, Iraq, Israel, Jordan, Kuwait, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, Syria, and the United Arab Emirates.

With over 20 family members killed in Gaza in the past year, every time Awwad wrote to government officials, she got the same response: they will support Israel in “defeating Hamas and bringing home the hostages.”

In cities with significant Arab American populations, such as Dearborn, Michigan, the impact of US policy was palpable. Many who have traditionally voted Democratic changed their political allegiances, or did not vote at all in November’s Presidential elections. In her closing pitch for presidency, and in an attempt to appeal to Arab Americans, Vice President Kamala Harris promised to end the war in Gaza. Nevertheless, she struggled to maintain support among Arab American voters, which is believed to have had significant implications in her defeat in the Presidential elections, even though her Republican opponent is not necessarily a better ally.

On December 3rd, Trump, whose second tenure as the president of the United States is set to begin in January 2025, shared on Truth Social that “if the [Israeli] hostages are not released prior to January 20, 2025, the date that I proudly assume office as President of the United States, there will be ALL HELL TO PAY in the Middle East.”

After 9/11, US “counterterrorism” operations expanded around the world, with the Middle East being a focal point. The 2001 Authorization for Use of Military Force (AUMF) has been used to launch military operations in at least 14 countries. A quarter of US military interventions between 1776 and 2019, out of America’s 400 wars, have been in the Middle East and Africa, according to a major 2022 study by the Military Intervention Project at Tufts University. As of October 2024, there are approximately 40,000 U.S. service members in the Middle East, spanning across at least 19 sites in countries including Bahrain, Egypt, Iraq, Israel, Jordan, Kuwait, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, Syria, and the United Arab Emirates.

"But this [war] is not like all the other others before it, in the length of it, and how a lot of people are trying to keep it alive. The new generation, the TikTok generation, refuses to sleep on the job.”

Many believe that there is a role Arabs in the US can play in shaping US foreign policy towards the Middle East. Sawsan agrees that they must continue to try and embed themselves within the government, as “change has to come from within.” Representation in power to counter a US government that “is enslaved by AIPAC” is also needed, says Egyptian American engineer Lara*, 25. 

The response to the war on Palestine, however, is different from any other conflict Sawsan has witnessed. “The Iraq war lasted a long time and was totally unnecessary. However, we eventually got used to that it’s happening and the discontentment lost its steam,” she recalls. “During other Intifadas (uprisings), Palestinians were forgotten every time. But this [war] is not like all the other others before it, in the length of it, and how a lot of people are trying to keep it alive. The new generation, the Tiktok generation, refuses to sleep on the job.”

Always stepping out into the streets of New York wearing her Keffiyeh, Eman underscored the need to keep on taking up space and celebrating Arab culture through food, music, and events.

“Balancing my Arab and American identities requires constant reflection. I aim to use my American identity to advocate for justice and equality while staying deeply rooted in my Arab heritage by supporting my community and amplifying the voices of those affected,” Mahmoud shares.

Ahmad tries to bring up his Arabness in as many places as possible. Previously introducing himself using his middle name, which is more ambiguous, he started introducing himself as using his first name “to let everyone know I'm Muslim, Arab, and I am just as human as they are.” When the emotional toll gets too heavy, he resorts to escapism, fixating on working or distractions.

Meanwhile, Sawsan is “more medicated in order to be able to live with [herself].”