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The narrative is sometimes implicit, but often explicit, and often runs something like this: South Africa was a brutal apartheid states that granted different legal rights to people based on their race, color, and origin. This practice of apartheid was morally abhorrent. The world, prodded by the student calls for divestment from companies doing business in South Africa, were convinced, and soon made South Africa a pariah. The South African government, now isolated, had little choice but to capitulate, abandoning apartheid and giving way to a freer, if no less economically bleak, future for the Black majority.

This is a nice narrative. It is a story of triumph over evil through activism. Apartheid was unquestionably (from our perspective) evil, and it highlights the catalyzing role that simple college students could make in advancing justice in the world. If, through their demonstrations and encampments, those students occasionally crossed lines of acceptable student conduct, so be it – the cause justified the means. University divestment was a feel-good moment, especially when it was followed so quickly by the collapse of the apartheid regime.

This is the narrative that informs college students currently protesting for divestment from Israel. Israel, they claim, runs an apartheid state, applying different laws to Palestinian non-citizens in East Jerusalem, the West Bank, and Gaza than they do to their ordinary citizens. Israel has enshrined a legal “right of return” that fast-tracks citizenship for Jews. Its continued occupation of the lands seized during the 1967 War has led to almost sixty years of military rule over its Palestinian occupants. Surely, this is as evil as South Africa. Once Israel is recognized for the pariah state that it is and isolated can true justice and dignity for all flourish. The first step to achieve this outcome is to force universities to divest their holdings of companies doing business in Israel.

Although the two narratives have a superficial similarity, the situations are radically different and allow for little comparison. Many who are more expert than I have written on how “apartheid” is misapplied to the Israeli situation; how Israel has tried, unsuccessfully, to give Palestinians a state of their own; how by supporting terrorist activity Palestinians have created an impossible situation for them and Israelis alike; and how history has shown that even unilateral withdrawal, such as Israel’s withdrawal from Gaza, cannot provide a lasting answer.

Here, though, I want to focus solely on the comparison between the student protests in the 1980s for divestment from South Africa and those today for divestment from Israel. I too demonstrated in the 1980s for what appeared to be an unambiguous moral stand. Only recently, though, did I think to go back to the files to refresh myself on the process and context. A review of that process continues to draw a sharp distinction between those demonstrations and the modern ones.

Every college that participated in divestment from South Africa (there were a total of around 155 such colleges out of around 6,000 accredited four year institutions) found its own way to do so, although many of them acted in lockstep with each other. I recently was able to find the public records around Brown University’s divestment activities, so I will largely confine myself to the information in that archive.

The student protests against investment in South Africa had a much wider context. South Africa’s racist constitution met condemnation from the earliest days of the United Nations. The U.N. actually suspended South Africa in 1974, and did not readmit it until the apartheid regime ended in 1994. The International Olympic Committee banned South Africa from the Olympics between 1964 and 1988. Corporations too began to reassess their relationship with South Africa. In 1977 a voluntary code of conduct, The Sullivan Principles, was developed and administered by a consulting firm, Arthur D. Little. The Sullivan Principles were based on the assumptions that international investment in South Africa should increase, as taking money away from the country would hurt those most vulnerable and that companies doing business in South Africa have a responsibility to promote liberal and non-racist policies within their workplaces. It was thought that economic engagement had the best chance of changing the system.

Arthur D. Little certified corporate compliance with the Sullivan Principles by putting companies into one of four categories: committed to the principles and making acceptable progress; committed to the principles but still working on compliance; non-respondents; and endorsers of the principles although with no operations in South Africa.

The Sullivan Principles and their implementation were critiqued as too generous to the companies doing business in South Africa, but they were foundational to the way that investment in South Africa was approached. By the time activism started on college campuses, there was already wide consensus that the South African apartheid regime was bad and that we should be doing what we can to change it. This consensus often drew on the Sullivan Principles as a concrete, measurable (at least in theory) framework.

At Brown University, around the time students began calling for full divestment, the University had already divested from holdings in companies that had not signed the Sullivan Principles. The Corporation (Brown’s Board of Trustees) had additionally passed a resolution in October, 1985, that (1) urged the formation of two committees, one faculty and one Corporation, to further examine the issue and “report as soon as possible on what we at Brown can do to adopt positions that are not only morally sound but also practical in helping to end apartheid and to reduce human policies”, and (2) directs the University to continue to press those companies in which it is invested to press them to comply with the Sullivan Principles. This statement coincided (although not coincidentally) with a joint statement signed by the presidents of many elite universities, including Brown, that they are “committed to discussing long-term partnerships with South African universities and organizations that share a dedication to a non-racial, democratic society in South Africa.” In a student referendum in which 25% of those eligible voted, 83% supported total divestment. In a statement, President Swearer emphasized that “most would agree that the key issue is whether [divestment]…would enhance or undercut efforts to end apartheid.” He notes too the need to establish “specific benchmarks for assessing success or failure in ending apartheid.”

During the period between October 1985 and February 1986 the committees established as a result of the Corporation’s action produced a series of reports and recommendations. In its meeting in February 1986, the Corporation affirmed its opposition to apartheid and issued a resolution calling for the divestment of most companies that Arthur D. Little did not certify as committed to and in compliance with the Sullivan Principles. The resolution goes on to specify a number of exceptions (e.g., news and humanitarian organizations) and then also commits to “assist in the education of nonwhite South Africans to assume leadership in a democratic society” through (in part) engagement with South African foundations and universities. It also calls for revisiting the issue two years later.

By the time that the February 1988 meeting happened, Brown was down to holding only about $4 million in investments in companies that did business with South Africa, and all apparently adhered to the Sullivan Principles. At that meeting, the Corporation decided not to liquidate those stocks. “A decision by Brown to completely divest would have no impact on South Africa, and that whatever impact it may have as a symbolic expression is decisively outweighed by additional financial costs, reflected in less financial aid, smaller salary increases, and less support for educational programs,” a committee noted. The students barely noticed. Only in the beginning of the 1989 school year did they notice that they didn’t notice, but it even then they gave it not too much notice.

On their face, the campaigns for divestment from South Africa and divestment from Israel look similar. In the eyes of the protestors, both countries have a rotten, “apartheid”, core, and both should be isolated until they reform. Both demand civil disobedience in order to get results. In reality, though, the campaigns, specifically as they are playing out on college campuses, are quite different, and comparing them is enlightening.

1. For the South African campaign, the targeted companies were carefully screened according to a set of transparent principles. The list was administered by a neutral third-party, a consulting firm. The process was certainly not perfect, but it was relatively clear and uniformly applied. There was an infrastructure for the identification of bad-acting companies. The current campaign against Israel is helter-skelter with no neutral or clear principles for identifying “offending” companies.
2. Behind the South African divestment campaign was always a desire for constructive engagement. The point was to actively help to make things better, not wash our hands of the moral problem. There was widespread recognition that the situation in South Africa, and its solution, was complicated. (This was a prescient recognition, given the continuing issues in South Africa even more than thirty years after apartheid ended.) When compared to the situation in Israel, Gaza, and the West Bank those complications pale.
3. The discussion of divestment from companies doing business in South Africa also had clear “exit” benchmarks. That is, transparent criteria for getting off of the divestment list. These benchmarks were not simply about never doing any business related to South Africa. Any serious campaign for divestment from companies that do business in Israel must articulate much clearer guidelines for what companies can do to get off such a list.
4. In the South African campaign, there was virtually no moral debate. Nobody supported apartheid, and nobody felt personally offended or attacked by the relatively peaceful “shantytowns.” Due to its complexity, the situation on Israel is vastly different. Nobody likes to see the Palestinians live without self-autonomy or civilians in Gaza die. Nobody likes to see Hamas and a multitude of other Palestinian terrorists indiscriminately fire rockets into Israeli cities and murder Israeli civilians. Believing that simply isolating Israel will force an end to this terrible situation is, at best, both naive and dangerous.
5. Universities acted together in an emerging consensus. University presidents committed themselves together to act on the issue of South Africa, primarily by doing what the university does best, research and education.
6. Finally, it is worth noting that at least in Brown’s case (and in many others, as far as I can tell), divestment from companies that do business in South Africa was never complete. When this was revealed, there was no moral outrage; interest had waned. But it didn’t matter: apartheid fell of its own accord a few years later. The student divestment campaign was a nice way for students to signal their virtue; vent moral outrage; and train for future activism. It did little if anything to make things better for real people.

People will legitimately disagree over the means and motives of those who currently call for divestment from Israel. The vast majority of Americans oppose divestment from Israel, with a significant proportion even supporting bans against college demonstrations for it. What we should not be disagreeing about, though, is the equivalency between the divestment campaign against companies that did business in South Africa and those that today do business in Israel. There is simply no equivalence.

This originally appeared in my Substack.

A few weeks ago I sketched a framework for discussing antisemitism. In that post, I made two primary points: (1) that “antisemitism” is often too broad, vague, and value-laden a term to be useful in discussing acts and speech that target Jews; and (2) that understanding such acts and speech within a rubric “expressive harm” rather than definitions can be more helpful in analyzing and discussing them. The question ultimately should not be, “is it antisemitic?”, but, “does this speech have a disproportionate effect on Jews, and if so, is it a harmful one?” This is very similar to how we often approach “microaggressions” and speech that targets other vulnerable groups.

Applying the Framework

So how does it work? Over the past several months, two slogans used by protesters have been particularly under scrutiny. One is the association between “Zionists” and “genocide,” and the other is, “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free.” Both have been called “antisemitic.” Most of those who chant them, though, vehemently deny that they are antisemitic. And so we get caught in a tug of war between “is too!” and “am not!” A different way of thinking might perhaps break through this impasse, not because everyone agree – some certainly will not! – but because it at least allows room for mutual dialogue and understanding by taking the temperature down a notch or two.

Israel, Genocide, and Antisemitism.

“Genocide,” as we saw in the previous post, has two types of meaning: legal and colloquial. Colloquially, it is a weaponized term; it is never good to be a committer of genocide. Since no legal body has actually determined that Israel has passed the legal threshold of “genocide” – and even if such a body did so, the standard international bodies are political entities rather than truly objective moral arbiters – as used by protesters the term is clearly colloquial. The most generous way to understand these accusations is that they are hyperbolic language reflecting the true pain and horror of watching a war being fought against an enemy that uses their own people as human shields. The least generous read is that the accusations are meant to bolster a case against the very existence of Israel as a Jewish state.

This particular charge is addressed in the IHRA definition on antisemitism. Among the types of acts and speech that might be deemed antisemitic are:

• Using the symbols and images associated with classic antisemitism (e.g., claims of Jews killing Jesus or blood libel) to characterize Israel or Israelis.
• Drawing comparisons of contemporary Israeli policy to that of the Nazis.
• Holding Jews collectively responsible for actions of the state of Israel.

Recent divestment groups have picked up on an old meme dating back at least to 1982 that Israel is committing genocide. The association seems to have originated when the IDF failed to act swiftly to stop the murder of Palestinians by Christian militias in Lebanon at Sabra and Shatila. The charge was incendiary and shook both Israel and the Jewish community. Calling the survivors of the mother of all genocides genocidal, while Holocaust survivors were still walking the streets, hit a particularly raw nerve. Which, of course, exactly what it was meant to do.

Jews are not a homogenous group. We are not all white, do not speak the same languages, and hold the same opinions. Some are born into a Jewish identity, some choose it, and others are labeled as Jews despite their own, different, identity. At the same time, American Jews do largely (although by no means universally) share some orientations. Most American Jews, for example, identify as having liberal political leanings and tend to belong to the Democratic party. An astounding 89% of American Jews (April 2, 2024) think that Israel’s reasons for fighting Hamas are valid, and about the same number believe that antisemitism is on the rise in America.

The vast majority of Jews support the Jewish state and, like the vast majority of Americans, do not think that Israel’s actions constitute “genocide.” Slogans such as, “Divest from Genocide,” are analogous to the question, “when did you last beat your wife?,” that is, it smears not just Israel but those who support Israel. It was, and remains, a charge meant to hit a nerve.

But for what end? Some who accuse Israel of genocidal actions are acting out of clear compassion for the innocent Palestinians who are being killed in the war. When that war ends, they will pack up their signs, relieved, go home, and protest other misdeeds around the world (like the Uhygurs). Most Jews, though, believe that this will be only a small minority of protestors. For some of the others, there will be no clear end to the “genocide” until Israel essentially ceases to be a Jewish state and gives in to all of Hamas’s demands. The intent is to isolate Israel in order to get it capitulate. This feels quite different than a simple call to “make love, not war.”

“From the River to the Sea, Palestine will Be Free”

Almost no ceasefire or anti-Israel protest seems complete today with chants or signs of “from the river to the sea, Palestine will be free.” Versions of this slogan were used by the Palestinian Liberation Organization in the 1960s and 1970s, to support the elimination of Israel as a Jewish state. It also clearly has that meaning in the revised Hamas Charter of 2017:

20. Hamas believes that no part of the land of Palestine shall be compromised or conceded, irrespective of the causes, the circumstances and the pressures and no matter how long the occupation lasts. Hamas rejects any alternative to the full and complete liberation of Palestine, from the river to the sea. However, without compromising its rejection of the Zionist entity and without relinquishing any Palestinian rights, Hamas considers the establishment of a fully sovereign and independent Palestinian state, with Jerusalem as its capital along the lines of the 4th of June 1967, with the return of the refugees and the displaced to their homes from which they were expelled, to be a formula of national consensus.

The next section of the charter goes on to grudgingly accept a Two State solution as a temporary step to the elimination of Jewish sovereignty over Israel.

On the other hand, some of those who use the slogan today claim that it means that Palestinians should live in freedom and dignity throughout the area, and they suggest (although I am not sure if I have seen this explicitly stated) that it is fully compatible with a Two State solution.

The first understanding of the slogan, that it calls for the elimination of Israel as a Jewish state, would qualify as “antisemitic” under most definitions of the word. The second would not.

It should not surprise anybody that when the slogan is chanted in an angry tone by a mob, (1) its intent is in question, and (2) it has the potential effect of igniting actual violence (as we have actually seen on a few college campuses). Can there be another way forward?

Thinking Ahead

For me, intent – as can be intuited from actions, contexts, and choices – is almost more important than words when it comes to racism and antisemitism. People on opposite sides of an issue who share good intentions have space to dialogue. Those who have more nefarious intentions can never enter that space.

When today’s protesters act in ways that they know Jews regard with suspicion or fear, it is choice that signals bad intentions. If people really cared about supporting Palestinian dignity and autonomy (as most Jews in America and many in Israel do), they might work on gathering allies rather than using alienating slogans and methods. There are any number of catchy slogans that can capture this goal than “from the river to the sea.” There are ways to discuss forcefully the actions of the IDF in Gaza and the West Bank without resorting to charges of “genocide.” Martin Luther King, who carefully considered the situation on the ground, once stated that “when people criticize Zionists, they mean Jews.” For King, anti-Zionism was a form of racism. We need not even go that far simply to acknowledge the expressive harm against Jews that is on the rise.

The situation in Israel/Palestine is complex, and coming to a just solution (if such a solution is even possible, given that Hamas is not a political liberation movement but an Islamist terrorist organization motivated by religious ideology) will require painful negotiation. The Palestinian leadership has shown little willingness to compromise, and recently the Israeli government has moved toward that position as well. I do not know what the way toward a secure and dignified resolution looks like, but I am sure it does not run through mobs chanting slogans that they know are hurtful to the very people who share a commitment to peace.

 

Growing up in one of the few Jewish families in suburban Boston, I experienced antisemitism. A couple of fights; some taunts (“Mike the kike” stands out as one of the more creative); a few pennies pitched at my feet. It was far less common and intense than my parents experienced, which in turn was less than their parents experienced, which was an order of magnitude less than their parents experienced. I saw it as the kind of chronic, low-grade price for being Jewish. Not really a big deal, especially when compared with the pogroms and the Holocaust.

Another reason it wasn’t a big deal was because of the role that Israel played in my psyche. Israel was a safe haven. Imperfect to be sure (I visited for the first time when I was in college), but a country where there was no price for being Jewish. It was also a country that actively stood for the defense of Jews across the world. There was something that was deeply empowering about that. I never felt like I was in physical danger due to my Jewishness, but its very existence made a real difference. There was a secure place from which to counter threats, and a place of refuge should things go horribly wrong in doing so.

That said, in terms of Jewish history the United States is a remarkable country that has allowed Jews enough breathing room and legal protections to thrive. In college, I do not remember experiencing any antisemitism and I began to increasingly feel a disconnect between my own sense of safety and opportunity and the constant drumbeat coming from the institutional Jewish community about the dangers of antisemitism. Surely, antisemitism was much less of an issue than it was being made out to be.

I was not the only person who felt this. Professionally, I entered Jewish studies in the heyday of the movement against the “lachrymose” historiography of the Jews. Earlier academic histories of the Jews focused on their persecution. Jewish history was portrayed as a never-ending tale of woes. In the middle of the twentieth century, though, historians (led by Salo Baron) pushed back against this narrative. Jewish history should be seen as tale of repeated creative adaptations. This was an upbeat narrative that told of Jewish thriving, even under sometimes adverse conditions. This approach to Jewish history became increasingly popular in the United States, although it took longer to penetrate into Israeli historiography. My point is simply that I was, and remain, a product of my time, with my eye toward that which was shared between Jews and their neighbors rather than that which drove them apart.

Although I was trained to recognize and analyze the anti-Judaism that permeated early Christian texts and the difficult relationships they generated, and to a more limited degree how these sentiments were expressed in early Islamic texts, I never really thought about teaching a course on antisemitism per se. I did not want to be in the camp of the alarmists. It seemed more important to me to promote a more “realistic” narrative in which Jews were active agents and not passive victims.

Paris came first. And then Pittsburgh. And Charlottesville. And suddenly all did not seem well in America or the West anymore. So a few years ago I decided to teach a course that I called Antisemitism: A History. It seemed to go well. What it did not prepare me – or my students – for, though was October 7 and its aftermath, particularly on college campuses.

As I begin to prepare for teaching this class again in the fall, I continue to reel from the events of this academic year. How do I understand and frame them for myself, no less for my students? How can I help to generate critical understanding, and not simply fuel partisan rancor?

I do not yet have answers, and do not expect to have fully figured things out by the fall. But I do have some preliminary thoughts that might help me find the way through the confusing thicket of claims about contemporary antisemitism. I offer them here to invite you to think with me.

Definitional Approaches

Is Zionism a form of racism? Is a call for divestment from Israel antisemitic? Is Israel genocidal? Is calling calling Israel “genocidal” a form of antisemitism or racism? Framed in this manner, these questions at hear boil down to definition. What do we mean by each of these terms? Thus, any discussion of antisemitism must begin with a reflection on definitions.

It is imperative that we recognize that two of the terms being commonly bandied about, “antisemitism” and “racism”, are intrinsically weaponized terms. There is nothing objective about them (despite the attempts of some writers to make racism in particular a descriptive rather than value-laden term). They are bad words that we use to characterize, rightly or wrongly, people we determine are evil or espousing ideas that deem evil. The history of these terms in complex and may not always have had the nuances that they do now, but in this case origins are largely irrelevant. Except in some very odd and perverse circles (catch the weaponized, vague use of language here?), we never call someone a racist or antisemite as a compliment.

“Zionism,” though, is not intrinsically value-laden. Nor, though, does it always have a clear meaning. Like most “-isms” and other political movements, “Zionism” comes in a huge range of forms. Most people would probably not debate its basic meaning, as “the [modern political] movement for the self-determination and statehood for the Jewish people in their ancestral homeland, the land of Israel.” Some Zionists have an expansive definition of “the land of Israel,” some do not. Some Zionists connect the political movement so particular economic forms (e.g., socialism), while others do not. Zionists debate the meaning of “self-determination” and “statehood.” Just as there is no single form of communism or democracy, so too there is no single or canonical full expression of Zionism. There is nothing inconsistent, in theory or practice, to being a committed Zionist who believes that Palestinians should live in dignity both within Israeli society and in their own state alongside Israel.

Racism is a tricker “-ism” because it relies on an a priori belief that there are “races.” Yet we know now that while “race” may have some genetic underpinnings (especially in terms of phenotype, or some physical characteristics), it is mostly a social construct. The first step of racism is to create a race, a group of people usually classed together according to certain arbitrarily selected phenotypical markers. To make this a bit more concrete, we know that left-handedness, propensity to heart disease, and the experienced flavor of cilantro are all genetically marked. With the limited exception of left-handedness, though, people who share these markers are usually not grouped together into something called a “race.” We create a race only to discriminate against it. The movement is from racism to the creation of race, not from the existence of race to racism. In 1975, the United Nations passed Resolution 3379, declaring that “Zionism is a form of racism and racial discrimination.” They then clearly had second thoughts. In 1991, they repealed the resolution by an overwhelming vote. They never clarified what had changed.

Antisemitism, racism, and Zionism have no meaning in the law. “Genocide,” on the other hand, does. Both U.S. and international law offer definitions that pin the term to a deliberate attempt “to destroy, in whole or in substantial part, a national, ethnic, racial, or religious group as such.” To date, while some international groups have flirted with the idea that Israel is committing “genocide” in their current war in Gaza, the International Court of Justice has specifically and pointedly refused to label Israel’s actions as genocide. Genocide, though, can bear a second usage, one that like “antisemitism” and “racism” is intrinsically weaponized. To call Israel “genocidal” is a smear meant to offend and isolate, not a statement of fact.

Finally, most of the international bodies that apply legal terms such as “genocide” are not moral bodies, they are political entities. Bodies like the U.N., the U.S. State Department, and the International Court of Justice, are all political entities working to promote the interests of their members and backers. The fundamental purpose of the U.N., for example, is to help us all avoid nuclear annihilation, at which it has done a top rate job. Secondarily, it helps enemies to avoid war, a goal it which it is significantly less successful. Finally, it facilitates our ability to address larger global issues, a goal that it only rarely accomplishes. When the U.N. declares that an act is bad, it is first and foremost advancing the political agendas of its member states. Non-profit groups are rarely more objective, as they all tend to hue closely to the positions of their own self-selected constituencies.

The end result is that we are left in a definitional thicket, in which language is often used precisely because it is imprecise. Recognizing the problem, This particular charge is addressed in a policy document known as IHRA. In 2005, a European agency created a working, non-legally binding definition of antisemitism, to be used to provide guidance for governments and agencies charged with and legislating on issues relating to bias toward Jews. According to their definition:

“Antisemitism is a certain perception of Jews, which may be expressed as hatred toward Jews. Rhetorical and physical manifestations of antisemitism are directed toward Jewish or non-Jewish individuals and/or their property, toward Jewish community institutions and religious facilities.”

This definition was formally adopted by the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance (IHRA) in 2016, which further fleshed out the definition with eleven examples that were meant not to be definitive, but to offer guidance. About half of them concern the State of Israel. A group of scholars, concerned that the focus on Israel might dampen legitimate debate about the actions of the Israeli government, formulated a competing definition known as the Jerusalem Declaration on Antisemitism. Outside of a few limited academic and small left-leaning circles, the Jerusalem Declaration – which in my reading is quite similar to the IHRA definition – is largely ignored. The U.S. Department of State, for example, draws on the IHRA definition.

The IHRA definition is well-meaning and helpful, but it continues to work in the cramped definitional approach. Its purpose is to help us to determine what acts and speech we can “legitimately” (although not legally) label as “antisemitic.” There is some value in this approach, but the events of the last year have also show that confining the discussion of acts concerning Jews to definitions is, by itself, insufficient.

Antisemitism and Expressive Harm

Racism and antisemitism can be overt, aggressive, and undeniable. Such acts and words, though, constitute a tiny fraction of racism as it practiced in the real world today.

Today’s racism is more subtle. It is often couched in a set of loose symbols and memes that point toward rather than naming a position. It is cloaked in deniability even as it spreads its evil tentacles. How do we think about speech or other acts that make us uncomfortable when the perpetrators deny any ill intent?

It is in this very question that I think that we can see a way out of the definitional thicket. In his book, How to Be an Antiracist, Ibram X. Kendi reflects on how we identify racism. His focus is on policies: any policy that disproportionately negatively affects a particular demographic group is racist, whereas those that drive toward equality are antiracist. This approach shifts our lens from definitions to affects. If one demographic group is disproportionately affected by an action or discourse, those actions or words might be described as “racist.”

Kendi’s approach dovetails with the framework of expressive harm. Actions and words can undermine a person’s dignity, perpetuate stereotypes, or do other social and psychological damage. As individuals, we might experience expressive harm in “microaggressions.” As groups, we might see them as discrete expressions of racism.

One example of this dynamic is the controversy over the removal of Confederate statues. When set up about a century ago, they clearly were meant to assert White Supremacy. That, though, was a century ago. Now, for many of the defenders of these statues, they are morally neutral historical markers that should be preserved. On the other hand, most of the statues’ detractors thought that they were examples of expressive harm that continued to work on the African-American population in particular. There is no objective or definitional way to adjudicate this disagreement. Ultimately, many municipalities removed these statues (correctly, in my view) because they recognized that they were exerting a disproportionate expressive harm on a certain demographic group.

Academic arguments gave way to, or at least were settled by, real life experience.

Contexts

Language exists in contexts. For the purpose of this reflection, there are three contexts that are particularly important, intent, effects, and the mob.

Intent. Language that is unobjectionable in one context can become harmful in others. The issue here is usually the intent of the speaker/writer. A joke in one context can be a hostile attack in another. We are all sensitive to this, particularly when we are on our guard. Does the speaker mean us well or ill? Harsh language can be generated out of love as well as hate.

Take Israeli news. Like the United States, Israel has a robust free press that routinely, and sometimes quite harshly, criticizes policies and politicians. Within an Israeli context, such language, although sometimes contested, is understood as coming from a good place: the desire to create a better society. That same rhetoric, though, when used by those who oppose the very existence of Israel means something very different.

Effects. One of the scary things about Charlottesville and President Trump’s odd comment on it were not exactly the words themselves, which were often vague enough to offer their speakers some wiggle room, but the work that such language did on the general atmosphere. It “normalized” certain kinds of language that then pushed the boundary closer to truly aggressive language and violent behavior. Often, although not always, that is in fact the very intent of such language, whether consciously or not. An intimidating environment can encourage one’s opponents to self-censor, for fear of provoking violence.

Mobs. Over the past several months, we have seen protests against Israel. These protests were mostly peaceful, but they also sometimes used aggressive and deliberately imprecise language expressed in a hostile tone. There is nothing illegal about doing this, although once in a while the emotion and language does spill over into actual violence or it encourages some in the crowd toward violence.

Even putting the actual violence aside, mobs are context to which Jews (and others) can be particularly sensitive. Most Jews, from their childhood, have learned about the danger of mob; it was through impassioned mobs of people who thought themselves well-meaning and morally justified that multitudes of Jews were murdered. In any context in which Jews are “others,” mobs are potentially scary. This might be analogous to the way that many African-Americans feel about law enforcement. The vast majority of encounters between law-abiding African Americans and police officers are peaceful, but some are deadly. It is the threat of the deadly ones that generates distrust. Ta-Nahisi Coates writes eloquently of “the talk” that parents have with their children about how to deal with the police during a traffic stop in order to avoid a dangerous confrontation. Such a talk might be necessary, but it also reinforces distrust. For most Jews, the mob – no matter what it is aggressively shouting – is like that.

Frameworks, Not Definitions

I have attempted here to sketch out a general framework for understanding some of the speech that has pervaded college campuses (and beyond) this year. My goal is not to eschew definitions entirely, but to show how anti-Jewish, like other “racist” speech, goes beyond words. Even well-intentioned language can have terrible impacts. This post has already gotten too long, so I will save my thoughts for a future post on how this approach helps us to understand what is happening more broadly now, and the dramatic spike of “antisemitism” in the United States.