On living in India as a Palestinian during this genocide

Over the years, thousands of Palestinian students – troubled by displacement and the political turmoil caused by the Israeli occupation of Palestine – found solace and refuge within India.

According to the Indian government, at least 12,000 Palestinians have graduated from Indian universities over the years.

While most of them left once they received their degrees, a considerable number remained behind.

Some stayed because of employment, others because they were unable to return home.

In my father’s case, he remained in India after finding love and companionship.

It’s no secret that the 2014 general elections, resulting in the ever-growing popularity of the  right-wing extremist RSS-led Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) brought about major changes in India’s political landscape.

This change pushed India towards an ethno-nationalist state.

Fueled by blatant Islamophobic, Brahmanical and patriarchal rhetoric, Indian society has regressed in a way that has stifled any and all collective displays of solidarity with other marginalized and oppressed groups.

What started off as diplomatic exchange and normalisation with Israel in the early 1990s, has since transgressed into direct collaboration with Israel through strong economic ties and military cooperation and through the strengthening of each other’s occupations in Kashmir and Palestine.

Protesting for Palestine in India

But protesting for Palestine after Israel began bombing Gaza in October 2023 was close to impossible.

Even as people tried to mobilise and organise protests, these efforts were stymied by the state’s refusal to give protesters permits to demonstrate or through immense violence from police.

Even legal action was taken against protesters at the Aligarh Muslim University.

Last year in November, a pro-Palestine student activist from Kerala was even individually targeted, subjecting his parents to an investigation from the Anti Terrorism Squad.

Under these circumstances, just existing as an Indian-Palestinian has been a period of major cognitive dissonance.

All my life I had been aware of the complexities my identity would bring in my social life, but post October 2023, I have faced a new level of micro-aggressions and sometimes open hostility from people around me.

Dealing with the loss of family members in West Bank and in Gaza, and the consistent anxiety around the safety of those enduring the constant genocidal attacks, I hoped to find a supportive and empathetic community.

But to my shock, even my own friends refused to show up for me.

Furthermore, they criticized legitimate forms of resistance and actively chose not to boycott brands that are known to be funding the Israeli genocide machine.

Bearing witness to this apathy towards the struggle of my people – the Palestinians –  has left me feeling estranged from the Indian half of my identity.

The normalisation of and the disconnect from the realities and experiences of the Palestinians, exposed to me the hypocrisies that exists among so many liberal human rights advocates in India.

Even in an allegedly liberal bubble like our university, visible solidarity with Palestine has been mostly absent.

Discussions in classrooms have remained within the ambit of the abstract.

While a genocide has been playing out in Gaza – with bombs being dropped on hospitals, schools, refugee camps – I’ve had to hear this genocide being framed as one “of both sides” and of my people as “collateral damage”.

Even though Palestinians have always rejected these reductionist terms, it has been particularly disheartening to witness and experience this tone in India –  while we survive an ongoing, live streamed genocide.

It has left me feeling dehumanized.

Thousands of Palestinians scattered all over the world have expressed struggling with grief, alienation, disconnect, and betrayal.

India-Israel university ties

Over the past year or so, I have also learnt about the various ways Indian universities collaborate with their Israeli counterparts.

This includes the college in which I study: Ashoka University.

Administrators have gone so far as to individually reach out to students to threaten and warn them against making any public displays of solidarity with Palestine.

They have even warned us not wear keffiyehs during our graduation ceremonies.

This has left many of us confused given that this was an institution that continuously claims to be a leading liberal arts university.

On digging deeper we found out that many of the university’s founders even have huge investments in many of Israeli companies.

This made their stance a lot more clear, and all the more disgusting.

Some students, however, have been taking consistent measures to put pressure on the founders to divest from ‘Israel’, with an emphasis on cutting ties with Tel Aviv university and an academic boycott of Israeli scholars.

The campaign aims to take direct action, while educating and sensitizing the student body about the situation.

It’s unclear as of now if the university will change track.

Nonetheless, it is through these efforts that I was able to find an outlet for my emotions, while attempting to make a difference.

I also discovered a community of people who were empathetic, supportive, and never made me feel like I had to simply accept my pain.

Instead, they helped me express my grief and share it.

This has made me believe that even amidst the betrayal and alienation there remains a glimmer of hope.

The collective resistance of students and activists who refuse to be silenced, who continue to educate, organize, and demand accountability, proves that the spirit of solidarity cannot be entirely extinguished.

It is in acts of defiance and in the relentless pursuit of liberation, that the essence of resistance shines through.

The fight for Palestine is a fight against oppression everywhere.

It challenges us to reflect on our own complicity, to break free from the shackles of propaganda, and to choose the path of resistance over indifference.

As I navigate the duality of my identity, torn between one homeland under siege and another increasingly indifferent to our pain, I find solace in the belief that liberation, though delayed, is inevitable.

We owe it to the generations before us, to those we have lost, and to those who will come after us to continue the struggle.

Our voices, our resistance, and our unwavering solidarity will persist, despite all efforts to erase us.