had been buzzing in the days leading up to the May 19 Illinois presidential primary with discussions about how to vote. Word spread of an effort urging those eager to protest Joe Biden’s unwavering support for Israel — which included many people in Cook County, home to the largest population of Palestinian Americans in the country — to participate in a write-in campaign, casting a ballot for “Gaza” rather than the incumbent president or any of his challengers. Jimmy Rothschild, an organizer with progressive Jewish groups in Chicago, told me, “The collective was moving towards this feeling of, I’m not ticking the Joe box.” By the end of the day,

more than 67,000 Cook County Democratic voters refused to choose between the candidates on offer. (How many wrote in “Gaza” or something else, or had simply left their ballots blank, is impossible to know because Illinois doesn’t count write-ins and blanks.) In Chicago, almost one in four Democratic voters rejected the incumbent, dubbed by the movement for Palestine as “Genocide Joe.”

Chicago-based activists had learned from a similar campaign organized in the state next door, Listen to Michigan, that pushed for “uncommitted” primary votes — a more unambiguous protest vote, since those votes are tallied by local election boards. Democratic primary voters in nearly half of the country can cast a no-confidence vote that is “uncommitted,” “uninstructed,” or a similar designation. The Listen to Michigan coalition tapped progressive networks and mobilized hundreds of volunteers to hand out fliers, call and text voters, and organize rallies at college campuses alongside student activists. The campaign won more than 101,000 votes, about 13 percent of all votes cast in the state’s Democratic primary.

To organizers’ surprise, they even won two delegates to the convention.

In Dearborn, the first U.S. city with an Arab American majority, and Hamtramck, the first majority-Muslim U.S. city,

“uncommitted” votes outnumbered those cast for Biden. But when polling locations closed in Michigan on Feb. 27, the first numbers to roll in came out of Macomb, Washtenaw, and Oakland, which includes one of the country’s largest Jewish populations.

The votes from these counties more than tripled Listen to Michigan’s goal of 10,000 votes. For many Arabs and Muslims, the war was at the forefront, but so too for many progressive Jews, students, people of color, and other core parts of the Democratic base. Rothschild explained, “Between myself and a lot of the people who I organize with, it is very close to the top of the list, if not the top of the list, of driving concerns.” Layla Elabed,

Listen to Michigan’s campaign manager, told me she was on the phone with her sister, Rep. Rashida Tlaib, when the numbers started coming in: “It was such an emotional time. I don’t want to cry about it.” She continued, “But we were able to accomplish something that I don’t think anybody expected us to accomplish.”

When I met with Elabed in May, she described her path to the Uncommitted campaign as rooted in her experience as a lifelong Democrat. Elabed’s father was a Palestinian immigrant who worked on the Ford Motors assembly line outside Detroit, a proud member of the United Auto Workers. Through him, Elabed and her siblings learned the importance of voting, of engaging in politics and doing so through the vehicle of the Democratic Party, which her father had taught “provided me and my community a voice at the table.” She has been volunteering and working in local politics since she was 12.

Last year Elabed had been organizing against utility rate hikes and power outages in Detroit. But after Oct. 7, it became hard, she told me, “to have conversations about holding our utility company accountable and not recognize that we need to talk about what’s happening to Palestinians.” In house meetings organized to talk about the energy company, the conversations just kept coming back to Gaza. She said that people were asking, “What do we do in November? How can we vote for somebody like Joe Biden who’s complicit in this genocide, but we can’t vote for Trump?” Many people were feeling deep disillusionment with electoral politics, betrayed by the Democratic Party, and saying that they would not vote come November. In those conversations, Elabed recounted, she would respond, “We cannot do that. We cannot have that be the way we’re going to build any power. This is not the way that we can actually accomplish anything for Palestinians.”

In the weeks that followed, Listen to Michigan gave rise to an Uncommitted National Movement. In nine states, those complaints received over 10 percent of the vote.

Nearly a fifth of primary votes in Minnesota went uncommitted, sending 11 more delegates to the DNC. Another 29 percent voted uncommitted in Hawaii,

and in Wisconsin a similar “uninstructed” vote totaled more than twice Biden’s margin of victory over Trump in the state in 2020.

Elabed believed that she and other leaders of Uncommitted were doing “the most democratic thing that we could ever do” by making their voices heard in the ballot box. They were not naïve about the ability to shift the Democratic Party’s leadership in the short term, but with hundreds of thousands of votes registered as uncommitted, they felt the wind at their backs — even more so after Biden stepped down as the party’s nominee and Harris initially exhibited a more open posture toward the Palestine movement. Some Democratic Party insiders thought that the current morass might be tied to Biden’s personal commitments and ideology. Tariq Habash — the second Biden administration official to resign over its Gaza policy and a supporter of Uncommitted —

told me in August that based on private conversations, he concluded that it seems “like there is a willingness to actually address the failed policies” by the vice president and those around her.

The unexpected win of 30 Democratic delegates positioned Uncommitted organizers to orient the next phase of their movement around Cook County, where the Democratic Convention was scheduled to convene at the end of the summer. Uncommitted activists took their inspiration from the Mississippi Freedom Democratic Party (MFDP)’s delegation to the 1964 Democratic Convention, which sought to force the Democratic Party to commit to desegregation. The Uncommitted organizers developed two central goals. The first objective was to cut through the “pomp and circumstance” of the convention and to make sure that not a day of the DNC went by where Gaza went unmentioned by the media or inside the United Center. The second was to engage Democratic Party loyalists at the convention and create pathways for them into the movement, building a stronger coalition of forces that could push the party from within to cut aid to Israel.

Uncommitted delegates hold a press conference outside the United Center before the Democratic National Convention, Chicago, Aug. 22, 2024. AP Photo/Matt Rourke.

The Uncommitted delegation and supporters spent every day talking to other delegates, like the MFDP activists who had lobbied delegates day and night to win over sympathizers at the 1964 DNC. Uncommitted succeeded in

who were pledged to nominate Harris to sign a letter urging the vice president to promise an arms embargo and support a permanent cease-fire.

Some Harris delegates took shirts, pins, or “Democrats for Palestinian Rights” keffiyeh-patterned scarfs, and many said encouraging words to the uncommitted delegates.

“I didn’t meet any delegates who agreed with what Israel was doing,” Daniel Denvir, the host of The Dig podcast and the alternate Uncommitted delegate from Rhode Island, told me. “Not one, zero.”

Instead delegates’ views ranged from those who signed the letter and those who agreed but were unwilling to take a political risk to sign on to those who mistakenly believed that Biden and Harris were already doing as much as they could do to end the war.

The Uncommitted delegation also made a related, lesser ask: for a Palestinian American to be given a two-minute speaking slot. They engaged in weeks of negotiations with the party leadership, which waited until the penultimate night of the convention to answer no — the grim horrors ongoing for nearly a year in Gaza were not meant to ruin the “joy” and “unity” vibes ringing through the convention. Uncommitted responded with a sit-in on the pavement outside the

that recalled the MFDP’s convention protests 60 years ago, after the Democratic Party leadership continued to side with the racist, all-white Mississippi delegation, fearing that drifting from the status quo would dampen Dixiecrat turnout in November. Like today’s party leadership who ignored and silenced pro-peace voices, Lyndon B. Johnson characterized the 1964 convention as “a place of happy, surging crowds and thundering cheers” in his memoir. The “display of unity” he described did not include the freedom delegation.

At an Uncommitted press conference the following morning,

appeared via FaceTime, saying through tears, “We shouldn’t have to beg our own party to be heard.” Reiterating the importance of telling the stories of Palestinian lives lost, she said, “We are going to learn from those before us, from Emmett Till’s mother, who … made sure that casket was open so that no one could look away.”

When I followed up with Elabed on the phone in the aftermath of the DNC, she expressed a bittersweet sense of pride at what the movement had achieved at the convention. The potency of anti-Arab and anti-Palestinian racism was on full display — and not only through the suppression of Palestinian American voices on the convention’s stage, where the Israeli war facilitated financially, militarily, and politically by the Biden-Harris administration was rarely mentioned. Elabed described the crowd’s response to the heartbreaking speech by the parents of American Israeli hostage Hersh Goldberg-Polin, who was found dead in Rafah later in August.

His parents spoke of the desperate need for a cease-fire deal that would release the hostages and end the suffering in Gaza.

“In a competition of pain,” Jon Polin said, “there are no winners.”

Yet other Uncommitted delegates told Elabed that when the crowd started chanting, “Bring them home,” some delegates “started to point at our Palestinian American Uncommitted delegate and gesturing that they are somehow guilty or at fault.” The implication was reminiscent of the heights of anti-Arab racism following the Sept. 11 attacks, when anyone who looked Arab was seen as guilty of terrorism and a potential target for hate crimes. It was “incredibly heartbreaking — we’ve been playing the part of good Democrats,” Elabed said, pointing out that they mobilized many unlikely and first-time voters to support the Democratic ticket.

On its surface, the Uncommitted movement failed in its mission to shift the policy positions of the Harris campaign during or after the convention. The vice president’s team declined to meet with leaders of the movement in the weeks following the convention, and Harris has reiterated her

If anything, Elabed told me, “the more we try to move them left, the more they push right.”

Yet given the difficulty of the task — demanding an arms embargo challenges not only the American Israel Public Affairs Committee (AIPAC)

and the military-industrial complex but also a deep U.S.-Israel alliance that has been at the core of the American imperial project for decades — the movement’s gains were significant. If Uncommitted hadn’t been in Chicago, the genocide in Gaza would have barely been mentioned at the convention center or in news coverage. The delegates remained an irritant to the party leadership and its pep rally vibes.

“The pro-war forces do not want us inside the DNC,” Abbas Alawieh, one of the Uncommitted campaign’s co-founders, said at a press conference. “They do not want us in Congress, they don’t want us in the White House, they don’t want us advocating from inside for what we want.” Yet Uncommitted activists continued to organize among party loyalists, coming out of the convention with a deeper coalition among elected officials, labor unions, racial justice organizations, progressive organizations, and Jewish organizations. Their intervention should be understood as a critical piece of a longer-term strategy to force a realignment within the Democratic Party — a goal that could take years to achieve.

This approach is not without its critics, and the refusal of the Democratic Party to feature a Palestinian speaker, much less promise policy change, fueled acrimonious debates about the way forward for the pro-Palestine left, with some arguing for defection to third parties, independent candidates, or abstention. Some Uncommitted delegates interviewed by Mondoweiss expressed frustration that the effort didn’t achieve more, feeling that movement leaders’ loyalty to the Democratic Party ultimately diluted their message and forestalled a more disruptive approach at the DNC. Does working within the Democratic Party lend tacit support to genocidal policies or surrender leverage to force them to the left? Or is continuing to fight for influence within the Democratic Party the most pragmatic way forward?

Signs at a Palestinian solidarity demonstration before the start of the Democratic National Convention in Union Park, Chicago, Aug. 19, 2024. Photograph by Alex Wroblewski/AFP, via Getty Images.

he initial vision of the Uncommitted campaign was outlined in a memo by progressive Democratic strategist and movement organizer Waleed Shahid.

Shahid was a spokesperson for Justice Democrats, helping to recruit and elect members of the congressional Squad: Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, Jamaal Bowman, Cori Bush, and Summer Lee.

For Shahid and other co-founders of Uncommitted, the movement is part of a struggle for the soul of the Democratic Party at a moment when the party leadership is increasingly at odds with much of its base on this issue.

 found that 77 percent of Democrats oppose sending weapons and supplies to Israel.

As Shahid explained to me, a coalition of progressive and pro-Palestine organizations and movements could eventually occupy a majority within the Democratic Party and push out or at least diminish the influence of AIPAC and the Israel lobby —

much as the civil rights movement did in forcing Dixiecrats out of the party. The alliance Shahid envisions would act like an “anchor group” within the party. That term was coined by political scientist Daniel Schlozman in 2015 to describe movements that have organized themselves to exert long-term influence on the establishment parties, such as the Christian right and the 

. In exchange, anchor groups offer the parties mobilizing or fundraising capacities to grow the parties’ bases. In the context of our two-party system, an antiquated Electoral College, and first-past-the-post elections, Schlozman argued, policy change takes place largely within the establishment parties. “We have a political system that is stacked against big change,” he 

 in a 2021 interview with The Nation. “And in this system, conflict largely takes place inside parties.”

As part of building a progressive and pro-Palestine anchor group, the Uncommitted movement’s overture to the party leadership was therefore an offer to turn out hundreds of thousands of pro-peace votes for the Harris campaign if it would commit to a policy change on Gaza. “Put me in, Coach,” Alawieh said on the podcast 

 after the convention. “Let me mobilize a community that you have left behind.”

The movement’s tremendous success at turning out uncommitted votes during the Democratic primaries proved its ability to mobilize Democrats while simultaneously highlighting the political risk of 

 promising a substantive policy shift. An August YouGov/IMEU Policy Project poll of Democrats in Arizona, Georgia, and Pennsylvania found that over a third of swing state voters said they would be more likely to vote for a nominee who pledges to stop sending weapons to Israel.

But an October Arab American Institute poll 

 Trump and Harris virtually tied among Arab American voters. The Muslim mayor of Hamtramck, Mich., has since endorsed Trump, and other frustrated Arab voters seem to be going that way.

Ultimately, Harris’s commitment to providing weapons unconditionally to Israel forced the Uncommitted movement to release a statement of non-endorsement on Sept. 19. For some within the Palestine movement, the statement didn’t go far enough; they want a strategy that would punish Harris at the polls. Given the Democratic Party’s maddening intransigence on Gaza, it’s understandable that many people would feel queasy about casting a ballot for Kamala Harris and are looking for alternatives. Her party takes left and antiwar votes for granted while celebrating war criminal Dick Cheney and other anti-Trump Republicans. Hassan Abdel Salam, a co-founder of the Abandon Harris campaign and a supporter of Jill Stein, 

 a Guardian reporter: “The former president prevented our families, our friends, our colleagues from entering the country. But the vice president killed them.”

But the United States’s two-party, winner-take-all political system makes it very difficult to punish Democrats without aiding Republicans. As Alawieh put it, “I have family that is currently in Lebanon, seeing people around them at grocery stores, walking down the street, blow up right in their faces … so excuse me if my priority is not punishing Harris … I care if our movement is well positioned to save some lives.” Donald Trump has declared himself Israel’s “protector,” claiming that it will cease to exist if he isn’t elected. He has promised to remove “Jew haters” and

“deport pro-Hamas radicals and make our college campuses safe and patriotic again” and indicated that he’d support Israel going even further. “Biden is trying to hold [Netanyahu] back,” Trump said, “and he probably should be doing the opposite, actually. I’m glad that [Netanyahu] decided to do what he had to do.”

This is the bind antiwar organizers now find themselves in: caught between two genocidal parties. It’s not a new predicament. The two establishment parties have collaborated in erecting near-impossible barriers to entry for third parties at a local, state, and national level. As a result, the U.S. elite has never faced a serious, sustained challenge to the two-party stranglehold over electoral politics on a national level. The Populist and Socialist Parties began to achieve electoral breakthroughs in the 19th century, but even those gains were extremely limited and never approached viability on a national level. The most vibrant third-party campaign in almost a century was that of Ralph Nader in 2000, yet it ended with less than 3 percent of the vote and a George W. Bush victory that many blamed on Nader supporters, arguably setting back the possibility of an alternative to the Democratic Party. Some on the left nevertheless remain committed to the strategy as an ostensibly more dignified path than having to work within a hidebound Democratic Party.

But efforts within the party have netted results, which — unsatisfactory as they may be, given the unrelenting horrors still happening — have the potential to lay the groundwork for more profound shifts. In large part due to the work that Shahid and left-wing insurgents have done within the Democratic Party, the past few years have brought a breakup of the pro-Israel consensus on Capitol Hill. Three years ago, amid Israel’s 2021 assault on Gaza, members of the Squad and other progressives organized a bloc of representatives to break out of the 

 of elite conversation about the region, 

 apartheid and ethnic cleansing by name and helping to mainstream a growing movement.

A Palestinian solidarity rally during the 2024 Democratic National Convention at Union Park, Chicago, Aug. 19, 2024. Photograph by Wu Xiaoling/Xinhua, via Getty Images.

That political trajectory intensified over the course of the past year. In the days after Hamas’s Oct. 7 attacks,

the White House press secretary called the small handful of House  representatives in favor of a cease-fire “repugnant and disgraceful.”

But in the months that followed, movement activists used the congressional cease-fire resolution introduced by Rep. Cori Bush as an organizing tool, rallying around the demand to sign on to the resolution as they bird-dogged elected officials around the country. Increasing numbers of Democratic politicians came out for a cease-fire, and city government resolutions popped up around the country calling for the same. In the spring, more than 50 Democratic politicians — Rep. Nancy Pelosi among them — signed a letter that called for conditioning aid. Overt tensions between Biden’s and Netanyahu’s governments emerged, though Biden refused to draw a “red line” no matter the extent of Israeli atrocities.

Bipartisan support for Israel has remained stubbornly resilient for decades. And the strategy to build a progressive bloc within the Democratic Party has suffered some significant defeats, among them the primary losses of Cori Bush and Jamaal Bowman after unprecedented spending by AIPAC. The lobby spent nearly $15 million over the course of a few weeks to drown out Bowman’s campaign with attack ads that painted him as an out-of-touch radical. And while members of the Shave become increasingly vocal in calling for an arms embargo, discussion of even conditioning aid have quieted among centrist Democrats.

James Zogby, a longtime Democratic insider, founder of the Arab American Institute, and a supporter of Uncommitted, called the DNC’s rejection of a Palestinian American speaker an “unforced error.” But the callousness of the party leadership at the convention and the Harris campaign’s refusal to meet with Uncommitted organizers since indicate a deliberate posture by Democratic Party leaders. The genocide not only continues unabated but also has expanded. Refusing a Palestinian speaker was part and parcel of normalizing mass violence in Palestine and justifying ongoing U.S. support.

Shahid and supporters of Uncommitted say that any significant policy shift takes time, and the changing demographics and politics of the Democratic Party make the current misalignment on this issue unsustainable. Younger Democratic voters are consistently to the left of the party leadership on Israel and Palestine and a host of other political issues, such as immigration and climate change. “The party is changing from below, and it’s always the top of the party that is last to get onboard,” Shahid told me. Just as President Biden eventually oversaw progressive economic and climate policies, a Harris administration could break from the foreign policy positions of earlier administrations, given sufficient pressure.

The Inflation Reduction Act (IRA), for instance, was driven by a diverse set of actors, Shahid pointed out, “but there were labor unions at the table, environmental organizations at the table,” as well as progressives, youth organizations, and civil rights organizations.

For this coalition to be able to exert influence within the electoral arena, movements on the outside must grow strong enough to make the political price of ignoring them impossible. The scrappy and fragmented antiwar movement needs to build the kind of robust coalition that came together to push for the IRA in order to amass the kind of power necessary to force a pivot on foreign policy. A microcosm of that inside-outside strategy was at play at the DNC as protesters rallied on the streets throughout the week and Uncommitted activists called for a sit-in the night they found out their speaker suggestions had been rejected. But while battles to shift Democratic policies around evictions or climate have proved immensely difficult, the party’s commitment to Israel is even less vulnerable to pressure from below because of the geopolitical interests at stake.

The U.S. ruling class’s ironclad relationship to its Israeli counterparts is not merely a matter of AIPAC having more power within the Democratic Party than do forces that are critical of Israel — it is tethered to a more foundational American imperial project. A powerful Israel, with a superior and nuclear-bearing military, is part of a world order of American hegemony.

The U.S. relies on its Israeli partner to silence Palestinian, other Arab, and Islamic 

resistance movements throughout the Middle East and to prevent the emergence of a regional power. Withdrawing support from its ally, even during a massively unpopular and unwinnable war, would only strengthen the politics of armed struggle and pose a danger to a status quo that benefits the political establishment, according to this view. When that junior partner acts outside the interests of the U.S. — inciting, for instance, a regional conflict or pushing the U.S. into a direct confrontation with Iran — its role within the American imperial project still makes it hard to abandon.

That limits the parallels to apartheid South Africa. U.S. support for South Africa was rooted in a previous Cold War imperial order. At that time, limiting the growth of the African National Congress to build a nonaligned or Soviet-aligned country was not an insignificant goal. Yet South Africa’s position on the periphery of the American order made it a relatively lower-hanging fruit than Israel. And yet U.S. support for the apartheid regime took decades to dislodge.

The objective for the left is not only to challenge the power of AIPAC but more fundamentally to confront U.S. imperialism — an interlinked but necessarily longer-term project. To do so requires an expansion of the progressive coalition that Uncommitted worked to build at the DNC, continuing to win progressive and pro-Palestine down-ballot campaigns while exerting public pressure that renders support for Israel a political liability. Building that power can’t come from a single source, necessitating tying together electoral campaigns with escalating tactics of disruption on campuses and labor actions from unions that have previously made statements and resolutions in support.

Demonstrators at the 2024 Democratic National Convention at Union Park, Chicago, Aug. 19, 2024. Photograph by Li Rui/Xinhua, via Getty Images.

hicago’s Union Park, where protests took place throughout the DNC, is perched on a hill several blocks from the United Center. Eman Abdelhadi, an academic and activist based in Chicago, described a moment during the protests when she looked out across fences and barricades and saw the convention center in the distance.

“I just don’t know that there’s a more powerful symbol of American governance right now,” she told me, “than a bunch of people coming together to express their voice and being not even within hearing distance of the governing body that they’re trying to address.” Thousands of people had arrived at the protests, organized by coalitions that ran across progressive, labor, community, climate, and reproductive justice networks; every group had agreed to center Palestinian liberation as a unified demand. But permits to march directly to the convention were denied.

“We were treated like children to be babysat by the police,” Abdelhadi said.

Challenging American governance proved to be a dispiriting affair. Outside the convention center, organizers drew strength from the coalitions they had built, but they acknowledged that the turnout was smaller than they needed to make their grievances impossible to ignore. Inside the exuberant convention center, Uncommitted delegates and supporters made significant headway among rank-and-file delegates, but were treated as unwanted, grieving guests.

“I’ve been an advocate of the inside-outside strategy,” Abdelhadi told me, “but I feel like we’ve hit a ceiling, at least with this election, on the amount of influence that could happen on the inside. … Frankly, the election is a distraction at this point.” Shahid, for his part, feels that the uncommitted strategy is “the floor, not the ceiling.” To draw on their organizing momentum, he told me, progressives need to build the “part of the ecosystem’s muscle that hasn’t been developed.” That includes not only electoral infrastructure but also congressional district and financial infrastructure that probably will never match AIPAC’s but could, in his view, at least compete, given how broadly popular the demand for a permanent cease-fire is. A September AP-NORC/Pearson Institute 

 found a majority in support of the demand, including 90 percent of Democrats.

Among younger Democrats (ages 18 to 44), 65 percent say the U.S. is responsible for the continued fighting.

The left has no certain strategies, and it’s too soon to tell whether Abdelhadi’s or Shahid’s prognosis will prove correct. But at a moment when progressives don’t yet have the power we want or need, we have to pick our battles without guarantees and hope that these experiments will yield some combination of tactics that will eventually succeed. This has always been the case for the left, for whom every win has been the culmination of untold lost battles, setbacks, and disappointments.

Sixty years ago, the Mississippi Freedom delegation failed to get seated at the DNC and did not build a lasting organization.

John Lewis would later write of the 1964 convention: “For the first time, we had made our way to the very center of the system. We had played by the rules, done everything we were supposed to do, had played the game exactly as required, had arrived at the doorstep and found the door slammed in our face.” The actions of the MFDP nonetheless provided a pivot point for the civil rights movement. By publicizing the violence of the segregationist South and the complicity of the Democratic Party, its members led the way for the passage of the Voting Rights Act and helped

to break open the cracks emerging within the party’s unsustainable coalition. Despite its mistreatment, the MFDP campaigned for Johnson in the aftermath of the convention. The party did ultimately buckle and realign. If or when it will do so again remains unclear, but the realigners have both the numbers and historical precedent on their side.

The Uncommitted movement deserves credit for approaching the long-standing two-party dilemma in a novel way, and it has arguably helped strengthen the movement for a free Palestine. A small, ragtag group of organizers may not have exacted an immediate victory from the representatives of American militarism, but they have succeeded in building a more robust movement. So long as the power to stop the genocide lies in Washington, D.C., and in the hands of the establishment parties, the left cannot afford to abdicate the inside track of the terrain.

Everyone who is battling it out within the party, as well as those who hope for a third party and those who are building the protest movement, acknowledges that the struggle to win substantive change will be uphill and protracted. The debate within the left largely boils down to whether compromises are allowable along the way. Activist and academic Rania Masri recently asked

Georgia State Rep. Ruwa Romman, in a tense exchange about working within or outside of the Democratic Party, “When our people in Palestine are refusing to raise the white flag of surrender, when our people in Palestine are refusing to accept crumbs, why are you?”

At one level, the elected left and activists will always be in uneasy tension, given the slow pace of political change. But if every concession is framed as a betrayal of the Palestinian people and every imperfect ally cast as a traitor, we will create not just an ineffective but uninhabitable left, a recipe for burnout and demoralization. The implication that we’ve lost if we haven’t won everything at once, and should be castigated for even trying, is immobilizing.

In moments like this, when the way forward is unclear and the stakes are unbearably high, the left tends to turn on itself and make enemies of potential allies, closing ranks instead of growing them. But nothing could be more harmful at a time when the Palestine solidarity movement is still in the minority and previously fringe, right-wing authoritarian elements are on the ascendancy. More than anything, the left needs to align our demands from within and without to demand an arms embargo and make support of Israel a toxic asset for any politician or institution. Over the past year, the Palestine movement has made unprecedented headway in forcing conversations about Gaza into the center of mainstream discussion, disrupted business as usual at hundreds of campuses, and changed the perceptions that most people have about the conflict and the role of our own government in stoking it. Victory is not imminent nor guaranteed, but as Shahid told me, “we can’t afford despair and pessimism.”

Can the Uncommitted Movement Realign the Democratic Party?

o be honest, I’ve felt very depressed over the past six months, because of the genocide, and the situation on campus. I felt unsafe as a Palestinian student,” Maryam Alwan, a Columbia University undergraduate, told me in late April as we sat in a tent on the campus’s Gaza solidarity encampment. Three days later, armed riot police would descend onto her campus with tasers, batons, flash-bang grenades, and live ammunition.

Sitting in the tent, I could hear music by Palestinian pop singer Mohammed Assaf playing over the speakers and a drum circle in the distance.

Alwan said, “But I feel safe again and happy again for the first time in this encampment,”and expressed hope that the administration wouldn’t shut the whole thing down.

Students at more than 125 universities and colleges where encampments were erected this past year have faced vilification, academic discipline, and police repression not seen on U.S. campuses in decades. With the war crimes in Gaza showing no signs of waning and students committed to escalating the movement through the fall, the repression will continue to tighten. I spoke to 50 students and faculty at a dozen universities over seven months, traveling to five encampments in the spring. I saw that the movement for Palestine will have to grapple with the collusion among the academic and political elite and law enforcement, and better understand the shared material and ideological stakes of a military-industrial-academic complex.

The encampments were so peaceful that even while calling students Hamas-loving terrorists, the media complained that they were too camp-like to be taken seriously.

In fact, a study by Armed Conflict Location and Event Data of 553 campus demonstrations for Palestine held this spring found that fewer than 20 resulted in violence (defined as more than pushing or shoving) or property destruction (such as breaking a window), and almost half of those instances were the result of police intervention or counter protests.

Yet students at more than 70 universities

were met with arrests and force: hundreds of riot cops, K-9s and mounted police, chemical weapons and batons

 Administrators have subjected the young people ostensibly under their care to suspensions, arrests, injuries, and more. Hadeeqa Arzoo, a 20-year-old sophomore at the City College of New York, part of the City University of New York (CUNY) system,

told me that in breaking up a building occupation, campus police beat and pepper-sprayed students and supporters. Two hours later, New York Police Department riot police moved in and brutalized protesters, leading to concussions, broken bones, knocked-out teeth,

At Indiana University (IU) and Ohio State, snipers surveilled students from rooftops.

Aidan Khamis, a Palestinian American sophomore at IU who was arrested and subsequently barred from campus for one year, said:

“They would start shoving us with riot gear, they’d pick off people, put them in chokeholds. Some students had knees in their back. They were using batons to hit people.” When he was arrested, he told me, “I was being held down, and a couple other SWAT were quick to come over and raise their pepper-bullet weapon at students who were trying to help.”

Universities are directly sharing information with law enforcement officers, who have been a steady — and intimidating — presence on campuses since October.

 reported that the administration was “coordinating with NYPD and FBI.” The memo also mentioned bringing in “external security firms.” Meanwhile, a group of donors in a WhatsApp group reported that Mayor Eric Adams was “OK if we hire private investigators [deployed to campuses] to then have his police force intel team work with them.”

By cracking down on campus protests and encampments, administrators attempted to undermine students’ power, and therefore their demands for divestment. “Arrests are feeding into [students’] disciplinary proceedings,” explained Shezza Abboushi Dallal, a staff attorney with the nonprofit legal organization 

Creating Law Enforcement Accountability & Responsibility

. “And conversely, information coming out in disciplinary processes or that they have obtained about their students on campuses are being shared in turn with local and federal law enforcement agencies.”

Cornell University, for instance, second-year undergraduate Nick Wilson told me that he was called into a disciplinary meeting (and consequently suspended) after liaising with the police on behalf of students at a protest. “When the police report was read to me in the disciplinary meeting, I was told that I had received a write-up because I was flagged as a ‘potential organizer.’”

The collaboration of school administrators with law enforcement is by no means a new relationship. Dallal told me that there is “a robust and demonstrated history of collaboration and information sharing between academic institutions and relevant law enforcement agencies — local police departments and also federal agencies like the FBI.”

Students wave Palestinian flags at the University of Virginia as the police clear people from the university encampment, Charlottesville, May 4, 2024. Photograph by Eze Amos/Getty Images.

The emergence of modern campus police — starting in the 1940s and ’50s as university enrollment grew and expanding in response to the antiwar and civil rights movements in the following decades — created direct channels of communication between campus police and local police departments through shared personnel, training, and operations.

Students today have complained about joint police and administrative surveillance through cameras installed on university campuses; at 

, school safety agents typically work directly for local police forces and can access school surveillance footage.

In other instances, university administrations are passively compliant. In the decade after Sept. 11, the NYPD monitored Muslim students at six CUNY schools and another dozen schools throughout the northeast. The CUNY administration, according to faculty who were involved at the time, refused to disavow such police actions or reassess the “memorandum of understanding” stipulating that in non-emergency circumstances, police can enter CUNY campuses only with the permission of CUNY officials.

, also a CUNY school, admitted to working with the NYPD during the fall semester to investigate the Muslim Student Association.

Campus police have also coordinated with the FBI, which 

 to work with more than 30,000 campus public safety officers across thousands of colleges and universities through initiatives the agency developed in the years after the attacks of Sept. 11. The FBI website states that Joint Terrorism Task Force agents “reach out regularly to campus police and school administrators — sharing threat information, offering presentations, providing training and lists of threat indicators, etc.” The FBI did not respond to questions about how many campuses it currently works with through these initiatives.

Apart from official collaborations, the FBI communicates with campus administrators whenever it deems it necessary to national security interests. In 2019, for instance, several university leaders reported that the agency asked them to monitor the research of Chinese students at their schools. “It’s not a question of just looking for suspicious behavior,” Fred Cate, then vice president of research at Indiana University, told NPR at the time. “It’s actually really targeting specific countries and the people from those countries.”

Internal and external law enforcement measures work hand in hand with universities’ rules, channels, and bureaucracies to prescribe limits on allowable speech. Following the explosion of student protests in the 1960s and 1970s, university leaders developed these means to control student activism via restrictions on the “time, place, and manner” of speech before it got out of their control.

The President’s Commission on Campus Unrest, which included university administrators, attorneys, and police, was formed in 1970 in response to the killing of students at Kent State and Jackson State by the National Guard and local police, respectively. The words and tone of the commission’s 

 foretold countless statements issued by university presidents this year.

It distinguished between “legitimate” forms of unrest and actions that are disorderly, disruptive, violent, or terroristic and specified that “protest is disruptive when it interferes with the normal activities of the university.”

Meanwhile, “violent protest” ranges from bloodied noses, cracked heads, and death to “willful destruction of property by vandalism, burning, and bombing” — thus conflating property destruction with dangerous, even mortal, physical harm. Administrators have toggled between loosening and tightening university restrictions, first relying on campus police before calling in law enforcement when internal measures fail to return “normalcy” to university life.


The seamless convergence of administrations, politicians, and the mainstream media points to a shared commitment to maintain current financial and military investments in Israel and to keep students in their place — staving off any precedent that establishes student agency on campus. The ruling elite’s interest is both ideological and material, rooted in American military domination.

After World War II, Stanford and the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) anchored a burgeoning military-industrial-academic complex, where grants from the Department of Defense funded research and supported alumni who founded companies that could work with the military. The Lockheed Corporation, Hewlett-Packard, and other companies connected to the war industry put down roots within Stanford’s Industrial Park. There, they utilized academic, business, and defense connections to get a foothold in the burgeoning Silicon Valley.

Activists at the Palestinian solidarity encampment in the main quadrangle on the University of Chicago campus, May 6, 2024. Early the next day, campus police began to dismantle the encampment, which had lasted eight days. Photograph by Scott Olson/Getty Images.

The antiwar movement of the 1960s pushed back on these alliances, but they resurged with the neoliberal turn of the late 1970s. The reigning fiscal and political conservatism strengthened schools’ financial ties to the defense industry and the 

Public funding for universities was whittled away, and academia’s finances became synonymous with ballooning endowments run like hedge funds, individual mega-donors, and administrators functioning more like real estate owners and business managers than educators. Students were seen, at best, as clients, while faculty turned into an increasingly precarious workforce.

In part, the solidarity that developed on campuses among students, staff, and faculty over the past nine months flows from a rejection of the neoliberal university. Eman Abdelhadi, a professor at the University of Chicago, told me that while such solidarity is rooted in a shared outrage about Gaza, “it’s also been bolstered by a deep frustration with how the university is going.” There’s a hostile relationship, she explained, “between university administration and everyone else.” She added, “People are mad as hell, they feel underpaid, their programs are getting cut, and the best things about a liberal arts education are being actively destroyed, increasingly by these corporate actors, some of whom don’t even have an academic background.”

The U.S. military relies on university research carried out by academics to develop sophisticated military technologies and funds it accordingly, the writer Harry Zehner reported in 

 more money from defense contracts than tuition and fees, MIT holds over $1 billion a year in defense contracts, Penn State was awarded a $2 billion contract from the U.S. Navy, the University of Texas at Austin has a $1.1 billion contract with the Department of Defense, and on and on.

When I asked Cora, a member of Jewish Voice for Peace (JVP) at the University of Michigan, why its administration refuses even to meet with students, she answered, “Money, it’s just money.” She continued, “They want to protect their jobs and their businesses and their investments and their relationships to people who have money and power.”

While university endowments are just one thread in a web of financial interests, they are substantial and growing. In total, U.S. college and university endowments hold around $1 trillion worth of assets, highly concentrated among 20 of the wealthiest universities.

The University of Michigan, for its part, has a nearly $18 billion endowment. A report published by the campus’s TAHRIR Coalition, a student-led movement advocating for divestment, found that the university had approximately $37 million invested in Israeli shekel futures in 2022, and at one point it had almost $8 million invested in Boeing and Lockheed Martin, though it’s not clear if it still does.

These make up relatively small percentages of an overall mammoth endowment. Yet many more companies invested in defense contractors and Israeli companies are tied to the endowment through more opaque intermediary funds, controlled by private equity and hedge funds — hence the demand that universities disclose their myriad investments.

Beyond endowments, universities have a significant financial stake in keeping donors happy. Donors to places like Harvard, Columbia, and the University of Pennsylvania have publicly threatened to withhold hundreds of millions of dollars and successfully pushed for the resignations of university leaders who didn’t crack down on protests with what they judged to be sufficient force. At other universities, the threats have come through 

University of Michigan faculty members explained to me that many people on the university’s board of regents, which holds direct power over the president’s job, are also the school’s biggest donors. The regents’ outsize power has led student activists to call them out by name and protest at their homes to demand divestment.

The Gaza solidarity encampment at the University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, May 13, 2024. Photograph by Adam J. Dewey/Anadolu, via Getty Images.

The University of Michigan, like other prestigious, ostensibly public universities, is mostly funded through — and therefore accountable to — private dollars. “Now we see the outcomes of having public institutions that are effectively not public,” said Roi Livne, a sociology professor at the university. He explained that even if a majority of the population in the U.S. “would say, ‘Divest,’ it will not happen, because these universities are financially dependent upon a few people who are calling the shots.” Ideological subjugation is the price that students and faculty pay for this country’s lack of thoroughgoing and equitable public funding for higher education.


Financial stakes are not the only reason student protests threaten the military-industrial-academic complex. The paternalistic statements from college presidents offer a window into what has driven their contempt for the encampments: the need to assert their power over the rights of students.

University leaders issued statements that read like they were cut and pasted from templates, with a few notable exceptions (the presidents at Wesleyan and Evergreen State recognized the moral commitment of their students). Most administration notices boiled down to three points: (1) We fully (“vigorously!” “proudly!”) support freedom of speech. (2) Alas, freedom of speech has limits. (3) Those limits are defined by the arbitrary set of rules and procedures we have drawn up (sometimes days or hours before the infractions occurred) to limit “disruptions” to university life.

The administration at Cornell, which had announced in spring 2023 that the academic year 2023–24 would be “the year of free expression,” introduced an interim “expressive activity policy.” The 

 that protests with amplified sound could take place only outside one specific building from noon to 1:00. It also regulated the size of signs that can be carried and the length of candles at vigils, among other things.

Administrators create such rules out of a recognition that student protests have historically shaken the broader society. “We know the history of student activism,” Abdelhadi at the University of Chicago told me. “And we understand that student activists are leaders in terms of moving institutions like the university but also in moving the American public.”

, “The student left is the most reliably correct constituency in America.” Young people were instrumental to ending the war in Vietnam, winning civil rights and desegregation, and isolating the South African apartheid regime. Many of the students I spoke to were quick to point out that their university administrations are happy to celebrate the student radicalism of the past while calling on police to beat the student radicals of the present.

The structure of academia itself helps galvanize student activism. Students are immersed in critical ideas and history, often juxtaposing what they’re learning with the moral outrages in front of them. At non-commuter campuses, they are in close proximity to their peers, creating organic spaces to organize. They are also transitory, with relatively more freedom and fewer responsibilities than they’ll have later in life. While faculty and other workers have to maintain relationships with colleagues and bosses to preserve their jobs, pay their rents or mortgages, or raise their children, the pressures on students to compromise are weaker.

With the bottomless pit of horrors streaming in from Gaza, all this adds up to militant and radical action. As Khamis from IU told me: “Most of us have virtually no fear. Because the reality is we know that whatever militarized police we’re experiencing, whatever level of brutality is nothing compared to what is happening in Gaza right now.”

Administrators are faced with a dilemma. They can try to regain control of the campus by nipping radicalization in the bud. But criminalizing and vilifying students often backfires, eliciting a deeper and wider response; student protesters’ ranks have grown with each act of repression. “The more you try to silence us, the louder we will be,” has been a popular chant on Columbia’s campus since the administration suspended Students for Justice in Palestine and Jewish Voice for Peace in November.

NYPD officers arrive in riot gear to evict student protesters from a Columbia University building that they had barricaded, New York City, April 30, 2024. Photograph by Kena Betancur/Agence France-Presse, via Getty Images.

At the same time support is growing among campus staff and faculty who’ve witnessed the police brutalize their students, inspiring new Faculty and Staff for Justice in Palestine chapters across the country. Faculty have acted as liaisons with police, joined negotiations with administrations, done research, and put together political education events. They have organized housing for evicted or suspended students, sat in to support students at disciplinary hearings, and even put their jobs and bodies on the line, with some standing between riot police and the students behind them.

Finally, repression breeds support in the wider society, as families, neighbors, and friends grapple with seeing young people punished while calling out the names of the dead in Gaza or asking their universities to disclose their investments. At CCNY, one graduate student told me that many undergraduates are young Arab Muslims who still live at home with their parents and go home at night to make their curfews. “We’re watching CCNY and CUNY backpedal and do crisis PR management,”the graduate student explained. They are “beating up kids and arresting kids and are knocking kids’ teeth out [because they] don’t want a genocide to continue. That’s a really, really bad look.”

University leaders have risked the bad optics because they are weighing them against the dangers of allowing students to score victories. Administrators and students both understand the historical precedents. Ariela Rosenzweig, a Brown University student who went on a hunger strike, told me,

“In the case of South Africa, it was civil society pressure in the form of divestment, which ultimately is symbolic.” She added, “The heavy symbolic weight of a university like Brown declaring that we find this to be morally reprehensible is something that I legitimately believe could change the world.”

In 1978, Michigan State University was the first school to divest from South Africa, helping to inspire other universities.

By 1986, that number had grown to more than 100 universities, and private businesses felt the pressure to divest as well.

Finally, the U.S. government begrudgingly enacted an anti-apartheid law that year that imposed sanctions on South Africa, isolating the apartheid regime.

Young people have the potential to threaten the United States’s imperial agenda in the Middle East, universities’ financial interests, and a social order that keeps elites in control.


In nine short months, students have helped to make divestment a mainstream discussion and have begun to force concessions from a small but significant number of university administrations. Students faced down doxxing, police violence, and suspensions, as they

“stepped beyond the line that used to scare us,”

as Samer Alatout, a professor at the University of Wisconsin–Madison,

said on a podcast. The war may well go past the fall semester, which students are preparing for. But they have much greater numbers, organizations, networks, knowledge, and resolve than they had a year ago.

The experience of the encampments has strengthened the political vision of those who participated. Abdelhadi called them “everything that the corporate university isn’t.” At the encampments I visited, I witnessed students and faculty milling about without the usual hierarchy. I observed people — whether enrolled in the university or from the community — huddled together under an awning in the rain for a teach-in on Hindu nationalism, learning for the sake of learning. I heard from students and faculty from a dozen schools about the collective experiences and solidarity that they forged, based on a common aim: ending the complicity of their universities in genocide. I saw art and flower gardens and children’s marches, and a political steadfastness that was rooted in moral clarity.

Abdelhadi said: “We got a glimpse of what things could be like. And I don’t think that goes away just because you raid the camp and put a bunch of tents and art into dumpsters. You can’t put our memories into dumpsters. We will remember the encampment. It’s only a matter of time before all of this catches up to them.”

Brown University students take part in a hunger strike for Palestine, Providence, R.I., Feb. 7, 2024. Photograph by David L. Ryan/The Boston Globe, via Getty Images.

Whether organizing creates more encampments or other forms of direct action remains to be seen. Quinn Perian, a student at MIT, told me, “Encampments were never the only thing” — they were “a sort of jumping-off point that energized a lot of people and helped spread our message. But that was just one step in lighting a lot of the fire behind [our organizing efforts].” The word that students across different campuses and organizations all returned to was “escalation.”

What that looks like will continue to be a source of debate. Which tactics help build pressure on administrations? Which build support among students? More building occupations are likely to follow, taking inspiration from Columbia students’ occupation of Hamilton Hall. Some students pointed me to a statement from the Palestinian Alternative Revolutionary Path Movement, a radical organization formed in 2021, calling for a “revolutionary escalation” of the student intifada through actions to blockade government headquarters, embassies, the White House, and other off-campus buildings that finance the genocide in Gaza.

On the other end of the tactical spectrum, organizers at Cornell, Columbia, the University of Pennsylvania, and other schools also used campus-wide referendums to provide political education and to lower the bar of entry for students to make their voices heard without risk of repression for direct actions.

When the Brown Divest Coalition decided to take down their encampment on April 30 in exchange for the Brown Corporation committing to vote on divestment in October, some called it a significant win for the student movement. Others who saw the encampment as the students’ main point of leverage considered it a step backward.

But as encampments throughout the country came down, whether at the hands of violent riot police or peaceful students as semesters wound down, it became clear that the question would be on what terms decampment would occur.

When I spoke to Rafi Ash, a member of Brown’s Jews for a Ceasefire Now, he argued that forcing a vote in October was an important victory, not only because the Brown administration had spent the year refusing to discuss it, but also because the concession created a concrete focal point for the next leg of the coalition’s campaign. “We won this vote. But having the vote is not enough. We need it to be a yes vote. So we have a very clear next four months of winning that vote,” Ash explained. 

Having a victory, however incomplete, is a step along the way because it brings more people into the fold. “People who thought the corporation’s never even going to vote on this are now looking at a corporation vote,” Ash continued. Winning concessions is “an act of building our movement and expanding the realm of possibility. Brown could be divested within the next four months. And I think that will inspire many people to join [the movement] and be invigorated.”

Staff, graduate, and faculty unions at universities around the country have been central in building solidarity with student encampments and protests, and the role of labor unions will continue to grow in importance. Most significantly, graduate students in the University of California system went on strike over unfair labor practices to protest the university’s brutal response to Palestinian solidarity demonstrations. More than a quarter of the UAW’s members work in academia, including 48,000 teaching assistants, researchers, and other academic employees across the system’s 10 campuses. Tens of thousands of them went on strike at six campuses before a statewide injunction forced them back to work.

In some places, like the University of Michigan, the graduate student labor union has been a key part of the Palestine coalition and brought organizing experience from its 2023 strike campaign.

Katya Shipyatsky, a founding member of JVP at the University of Michigan, said that the mix of graduate students with extensive organizing training and undergrads who have been organizing around Palestine in Southeast Michigan for years has created a strong coalition that was able to hit the ground running and mobilize consistently throughout the school year. Strategic and tactical questions will continue, as the promise of a cease-fire still remains outrageously distant.

Once it does come, the movement will evolve. “A cease-fire isn’t an end to the genocide,” Quinn Perian at MIT said. “It’s just a break, really, in this round of violence.”

Who’s Afraid of the Student Intifada?

ore than 100 Mennonites sang hymns in a congressional building in D.C. on Jan. 16, calling for a cease-fire.

“Guide my feet, while I run this race,” they continued for hours as the police arrested them. “Free Palestine, while I run this race.” In Scottsdale, Ariz., a man has stationed himself on a street corner 

 for the past 82 days to protest the war. In Louisville, Ky., protesters held a sign that read “Let Gaza live” and blocked entrances to weapons manufacturers until their arrest. An effort among young progressives to lodge discontent with Joe Biden by voting “uncommitted” saw major successes in Democratic presidential primaries in Michigan and Minnesota.

A group in Durham, N.C., called Mothers for Ceasefire gathered at an intersection on Main Street, holding signs and chanting for a cease-fire, and helped push the city council to pass a cease-fire resolution.

A couple of dozen activists in Casper, Wy., organized a protest and die-in in front of city hall calling for a cease-fire and an end to the occupation.

The Americans stirred to speak out against Israel’s actions in Gaza are not only young members of the left wing. The movement is made up of young people and students as well as elders, union workers, clergy, and others.

Palestine solidarity protests are occurring not only in big cities but also in rural and suburban areas.

At least 5,425 protests in support of Palestine took place in every state in the country from Oct 7. to Feb. 29, according to the Crowd Counting Consortium (CCC). In the 45 percent of those protests for which CCC was able to obtain 

 about crowd size, more than one million people participated.

Global outrage over Israel’s aerial bombardment and ground invasion of Gaza has produced a broad-based mass movement of the sort this country hasn’t witnessed since the racial justice actions of 2020, and has never before witnessed on the question of Palestine.

Yet the situation in Gaza grows ever more dire. Israel has targeted hospitals, schools, refugee camps, and areas in the south designated safe for civilians with 2,000-pound bombs, leaving no space safe within the 140-square-mile strip. As famine looms, the Israeli military massacred a crowd of Gazans waiting in line for food aid. “We’re not prepared for the enormity of the demands that are coming,”

Sandra Tamari told me. She is the executive director of Adalah Justice Project (AJP), a U.S.-based Palestinian advocacy organization.

Her email inbox is overflowing with urgent requests to help friends and family desperate to leave Gaza, and she bemoaned a lack of clarity about where the Palestine solidarity movement goes from here.

“It's hard to get through the day without crying,” she said.

We’re now five months into the darkest chapter of Palestinian history since the 1948 Nakba. The more than 30,000 Palestinians killed since Oct. 7 have quickly surpassed the death toll of the Nakba, as has the number of Palestinians displaced. But this time, Palestinians are livestreaming the unfolding genocide, as millions of viewers across the world bear witness to a bottomless pit of horrors.

In response, multiple protests have taken place every single day in the United States. It’s not just the number or frequency of protests but also their character that is notable. They have included more regions, demographics, and tactics than ever before.

We’ve seen mass marches, hunger strikes, and the occupations of dozens of bridges and public spaces alongside hundreds of smaller actions. Every Friday for about six weeks, organizers with

Desis Rising Up & Moving (DRUM) and members of a local mosque held funeral prayers in front of Representative Grace Meng’s office in Queens, N.Y., protesting her refusal to call for a cease-fire even though she represents a large Muslim constituency.

Along with neighborhood organizing committees and labor unions, congressional aides and Biden administration staff members have supported a cease-fire not only with statements but also with actions. This is notable because government aides usually stay in the background on Capitol Hill and are typically 

 from making public statements that contradict the positions of their bosses.

Yet on Nov. 8, more than 100 congressional staffers staged a walkout.

They held aloft red, white, and blue posters that read,

“Congress, your staff demands a ceasefire,”

Hammer&Hope

Hadas Thier

@HadasThier

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Hadas Thier

@HadasThier

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Can the Uncommitted Movement Realign the Democratic Party?

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Who’s Afraid of the Student Intifada?

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The New Movement for Palestine

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