Democracy Sometimes

If Only
Tonight the Lesbian/Gay/Bi/Trans Alliance of the Jewish Community Federation had a panel discussion entitled "Current perspectives on Israel: A forum to listen, learn & question". The description said that the panel would discuss "the war in Lebanon, the context in which it took place, … local Progressive, Pro-Israel and Anti-Israel responses, and how LGBT Jews can be supportive of Israel within this environment." The speakers were an Israeli army captain, a representative from Brit Tzedek v'Shalom (the peace group started by Marcia Freedman as an alternative to that "ultraleft" Jewish Voice for Peace) and a woman named Natalie Zaituni, a Lebanese Jew whose work is "bridging the gap between the Arab and the Jewish worlds."

QUIT! decided that since we are presumably part of what they mean by "Progressive Anti-Israel responses" we would ask to participate in some way. I emailed the organizers asking if we could have a speaker on the panel, or at least a literature table. I got a response from someone named Bonnie saying that the panel was full and there would be no room for a literature table. She wished me "and my family" a Chag Sameach (happy holiday), leaving me to reflect on the sad state of a world where even gay organizations are all about family. I guess that should have been my tip-off that I wasn't going to have any good interactions with the organizers of this event.

Our efforts at dialogue rebuffed, we considered our options and decided on a minimalist approach. We decided some of us would leaflet out front and a couple of us would RSVP as attendees, figuring we would listen and see if we felt moved to contribute something to the discussion. I wrote a flier that said in part, "LGBT people who are truly progressive have to choose. You cannot be progressive and support a country that has two sets of laws for its citizens, depending on their nationality.…You cannot be progressive and support a country which openly discusses ethnic cleansing as a possible solution to its 'demographic problem.' You cannot be progressive and support a country which, according to the commander of a rocket squadron, 'covered entire [Lebanese] towns in cluster bombs' and illegal phosphorous shells in a campaign he calls 'insane and monstrous.' You cannot be progressive and deny the right of the millions of Palestinian refugees to return to their homes."

Deni and I got there about 5:30 (the event was to start at 6:00). There were two guys in suits out front, and a host of security guards hovering just inside the glass doors. We figured it was early, but someone was negotiating entry so we ambled over there.

One of the guys out front had a clipboard, with the names of registrants for the event, and the other had a really bad toupee. As soon as the guy with the toupee caught sight of our stack of tasteful pink fliers – mind you, we hadn't even thought about giving one out yet – he nudged Mr. Clipboard and pointed, then walked over to us and said, "You have to leave." We asked why.

"Because you're on private property. Get out."

We pointed out that we were on a public sidewalk. He insisted that no, the Federation owns the sidewalk. He went away for a second and came back saying, "Someone said you were arrested here the other week." I admitted it, but pointed out that Deni hadn't been. He said we had five minutes to leave or we would be arrested. I said he should go ahead and call the cops.

Naturally, his intense reaction had the effect of making the lone event attendee who was there at that point much more interested in us than she had been. She had declined our leaflet initially, but now she deigned to look at it.

"I don't understand," I said to Mr. Toupee.

"Don't talk to me!" he snapped. He was seeming vaguely familiar. Oh yeah, he reminded me of some of the ultrahostile soldiers I sometimes ran into at checkpoints in the West Bank.

"What's your goal?" I asked somewhat whinily.

I was truly baffled. I have to say, that in my long activist lifespan, this is absolutely the fastest I have ever been threatened with arrest for intending to hand out fliers. Even at Concord Naval Weapons Station and Vandenberg Air Force Base, they have generally left us alone to leaflet people outside.

"My goal is to have you arrested," he answered.

We asked the woman waiting to go inside what she thought about that.

She thought for a second. "I'm going to take the Fifth," she said.

Less than five minutes after we had arrived, a patrol car drove up. Presumably, the JCF had alerted the cops that they might have a problem and to stay close by. The middle-aged cop said to Deni and me, "Let me go park my car legally." We agreed that we wouldn't want him to get a ticket. When he had parked, he came up to us and asked what we were doing.

"Just leafleting," Deni said.

"That's fine, you can leaflet, you just can't block anyone."

He went to talk to Mr. Toupee, who argued with him but lost.

Now this is the third time recently that I've been in situations where the cops have been the voice of tolerance against civilians clamoring for my blood. It says something pretty scary about where our society's headed; I just haven't figured out quite what that something is.

So we stood there and handed fliers, or tried to, to the thirty or so people who arrived for the panel. We had lots of time to do it because they had more security than your average airport. (Speaking of airports, "Democracy Now!" this morning played a long clip from a speech by the late Gov. Ann Richards at an anniversary bash for the Texas Observer. She described trying to get through airport security wearing a body suit with three metal snaps across the crotch – it's really a must hear.)

As people arrived for the event, they would walk up to the door and tug on the handle, naively assuming that it was a building like so many hotels and government office buildings and the like where you can actually walk in. Finding it unyielding, they would then notice the two men blocking their path demanding to know where they thought they were going. They would give their names to Mr. Clipboard, and if he found them on the list, they would then hand over photo ID. The men outside would look at the ID for a while, and then pass it through the crack in the door and someone inside would do something with it and then they could go in one at a time and have all their stuff searched.

If you were not on the list, you couldn't go in. One woman showed up much more dressed up than anyone else, stammered a little over the name of the event, and said she hadn't RSVPed. She was summarily dismissed. I heard the two men talking about it later, and one said there was something wrong with her photo ID too. They were quite confident they had foiled some master plot there. What's ridiculous, of course, is that if you really were trying to get in for some nefarious purpose, you would presumably RSVP, as we did.

The other interesting detail was that there was another event taking place at the building as well, something about Holocaust survivors. The people going to that event didn't have to show any ID. I think they did have to give their names, but there was none of that waiting outside while their credentials were checked or getting their stuff all searched. I heard people say, "Holocaust," and then they were whisked inside without further ado.

Someone could probably sue them for discriminating against gay people, although actually, and ironically, it seems they discriminate against people who want to go to programs about Israel.

It was pretty clear I was not going to be allowed in the building. Tory (who had replaced Deni, who had gone to hear Amy Goodman speak) and I walked away and went to warn Mich, who was arriving late. Since she had a reservation, and since she had warmed up by getting into it with a woman on the bus who was on her way to a fundraiser for Israel, she decided to go inside for a little while. Tory and I repaired to the bar at Boulevard to wait for her. We had barely gotten our brandy separators when Mich appeared. When she handed over her ID, she said, one of the security guys said to the other, "Don't worry, I'll handle this." He told her that her reservation hadn't been confirmed. She insisted it had; she had gotten an email (I saw it, it said she was confirmed). He asked if she had a copy of the email with her, which of course she didn't. He didn't offer to let her check it from his computer. He accused her of lying, she accused him of lying and she left.

Two years ago, I was returning to Hares from Tel Aviv late at night and I was stopped on the road by four soldiers, who drew their guns and were very jumpy. The commander kept saying, "It's very unusual to see someone walking here" (Israeli Jews in the West Bank do not walk, they speed in bullet-proof cars, and Palestinians do not go out on the road at night). I had bought a tent for a friend and was carrying it rolled up in its bag and I guess it looked to them like it could have weapons in it. As I waited for them to finish checking my ID, I was palpably aware that these men with their machine guns trained on me were actually terrified of me.

Tonight I experienced the same kind of dissonance. The Jewish Community Federation is a huge institution with millions of dollars, all the security apparatus money can buy as well as instantaneous access to the SF Police Department. Not to mention that it’s the institution that my mother is right now raising money for. Yet they truly seemed scared of us, of words we have printed on pink paper, of the possibility that we might get inside their walls to speak about subjects they have declared taboo.

I tell myself that is because they are aware how fragile their position is, how indefensible, that if anyone hears the truth their apparatus will fall apart. If only.

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