Marking one year of Action Hours for Palestine

This Friday, Oct. 25, marks one year of Action Hours for Palestine. I am proud to be a part of the AFSC team that coordinates these online gatherings.  

Many Quaker meetings I’ve attended have a tradition of asking those gathered to share “joys and concerns” after unprogrammed worship. When I reflect on the Action Hours, I struggle to describe my thoughts and feelings. Acting for peace and justice in Gaza over the past year has been both a joy and a concern.  

More than 5,700 people have signed up for the Action Hours over the past year. It has been 52 weeks of more than 100 people gathering on Zoom to hear updates from Gaza, guest speakers, advocacy tips, and stories of inspiring actions. Fifty-two weeks of making phone calls to Congress. And 52 weeks of coming together to learn from one another and keep each other energized in this vital work.  

The Action Hours bring me such joy. When we make calls to Congress, we take down the slideshow presentation to watch each other take action. It gives me chills. What I see is more than 100 people from across the country, of all ages, races, and genders, holding their phones, making sure that even if they must leave a voicemail, their message is heard in Congress. They deserve to have their voices heard.  

But it’s not only what happens on the calls that I find joyous, but also what our community does during the week. Members of the Action Hour community have written letters to the editor, spoken at their houses of worship, hosted film screenings, taken to the streets, posted on social media, begun their own organizing groups, supported student activists, read books, flown kites, played solidarity soccer matches, and had difficult conversations with loved ones. There is so much for us all to be proud of. 

And yet, over the past year, there are so many awful things I’ve come to expect—pictures and videos illustrating a live-streamed genocide, full-throated defenses of atrocities committed by the Israeli military, condemnation of those who dare to speak or act in support of Palestinians, and knowledge that the death toll will continue to rise.  

In the midst of all these constants, the folks who attend the Action Hour continue to surprise me. That surprise is a joy. I’m surprised by the sheer number of reasons people have for choosing to spend their Friday with us. Many join to have a routine, a curated space where they can fulfill their commitment to registering their righteous anger. Some people keep the agenda document open on their computers all week, a sort of schedule for the kind of action they can take weekly. Some people join in for that first minute of our call, when we sit in silence with a moment that deserves our full attention. Still others join to hear from our incredible guests—Palestinian organizers, student activists, religious leaders of many faiths, academic experts, and more—as we highlight the powerful voices of our movement.  

I’m also surprised by the care those in our Action Hour community show for one another. People attending the Action Hour disagree on a lot of things: how to vote in the upcoming election, what nonviolent action is, how to assess the causes of the genocide, what tactics are still useful for our movement, and how much hope we still owe ourselves. But there is always care shown in our online conversation.   

When a presenter shares a story of loss, I watch messages of care and prayer pour into the chat. When one of us tears up, I see it give others permission to hold their feelings less tightly. When somebody makes an insensitive comment, before I’m done typing out a message holding them accountable, someone else has already responded, defending our community and giving the individual the space to make a different choice.  

But through this joy, I’m also deeply concerned. I wake up concerned that something has happened to our AFSC staff in Gaza while I’ve been sleeping. I’m concerned because I know the number of Palestinians killed is a vast undercount. I’m concerned that as our attention lingers in Gaza, our government is supporting horrors elsewhere, including in the occupied West Bank. I’m concerned that we keep seeing records broken: tonnage of bombs dropped, number of aid workers killed in a single crisis, dollars of military support given by the U.S. to any country, most women and children killed in a single year, highest number of journalists and media workers killed since the Committee to Protect Journalists began tracking. I’m concerned that all we have to give will not be enough.  

I’m sick of watching the mainstream media obscure the truth of the devastation U.S. bombs wreak and even sicker of watching those with the power to change our system hide behind ignorance or unwillingness. And I’m fearful that people in the U.S. are becoming numb to the violence, desensitized to images of suffering, and unsurprised by cruelty.

The Action Hours have been a balm. They have helped me—and so many others—channel our concerns, fears, and anger into speaking out against the genocide. That is not to say I can ever leave the concern behind. I am not built for watching live-streamed genocide. But I’d wager, neither are you. 

So, every Friday, I invite you to come take a breath with us. Feel hurt. Feel outraged. Feel the joy and concern. And then act.