Parts and palestine

The people of Gaza are starving due to obstruction of aid by the Israeli government.

I am heartbroken and want to help. Alongside my heartbreak, many other parts inside me hold other, divergent perspectives as well.

Maybe this is true for you, too. Perhaps you care deeply and feel pained by the conflict, but you find yourself checking out, and then feeling guilty for not doing enough.  

What is one to do about this internal logjam?

Perhaps you’ve also found that searching externally for answers yields little relief. When I log onto social media platforms like Instagram, I often see two extremes: some people not mentioning the conflict at all, and others yelling at people for not speaking out.

I wonder if those who yell at others are feeling shame for not being able to help enough themselves. Maybe, to try to rid themselves of that shame, they throw that shame onto others like a hot potato.

The problem is that shame really doesn’t tend to motivate people.

And I often notice those who shame others for not doing enough for Gaza, or not in the perceived right way, fail to acknowledge the real and valid reasons that someone might not be taking action.

What often follows the shaming is that the people being shamed don’t feel seen by the one shaming them, which triggers their defensiveness, and before you know it there are 473 bickering comments on the post, but the people of Gaza are no less hungry.

Clearly, this approach isn’t working for anyone.

So I wanted to write a bit about how my parts are activated by the genocide in Gaza and how I work with them, to normalize the internal complexity that can arise around any conflict. I hope to help you bring awareness around what might be going on inside you, and where to go from here.

Here are some of the parts of myself that I’ve gotten to know in relation to Gaza:

·      The part of me that numbs me to the conflict, because it doesn’t want me to feel overwhelmed by pain.

·      A part that feels hopeless about the conflict, and doubts what my small donation or phone call to a representative can really do. This part wants to conserve my limited energy by doing nothing.

·      A part that worries if I help a little, I’ll just feel worse about how little my help does, and then other parts will shame me for not devoting my whole life to the cause.

·      A part that feels like if I pay too much attention to the suffering in Gaza, I will be incapacitated by others’ pain, and then I won’t be able to function.

·      A part that doesn’t want to deal with any of this and feels resentful of the demands the conflict places on me. This part reminds me that I’m autistic, still tentatively recovering from burnout, and that I have a hard enough time keeping myself fed and the dishes washed and the clothes laundered and the bills paid without turning my awareness to the legions pleading for help.

·      A part that feels ashamed of what the last part admitted and worries that others will shame me for acknowledging my own limitations, or for even considering how the conflict affects me, rather than focusing solely on Gazans. I can tell that this part carries a cultural burden that says that people, particularly women, should always put others first, no matter what.

·      A part that’s scared of the criticism and retaliation that can accompany speaking out about Gaza. This part has watched activists pick apart each other’s language to the point where it feels like no one can do anything right. And it’s seen Zionists’ parts intellectualize, dismiss, and minimize the suffering in Gaza to keep themselves safe, and then attack those who confront them with facts. This part has a lot of evidence about the real costs of talking about the genocide, and its concerns make a lot of sense to me.

·      A part that distracts me with work, books, and tv. This part doesn’t want to sit with the reality that humans are capable of starving each other to death. It wants to shut down my system so that I don’t have to think about how grim it all feels. It’s afraid that if I sit with my grief and anger, these feelings will never end, and all I’ll ever experience is unbearable pain.

Working with Parts

Often, acknowledging the parts inside me and extending compassion and understanding for their concerns is enough for them to relax.

As I listed the parts above, I noticed more space emerge inside, because my parts felt heard and were reminded that they don’t have to do all this on their own: they can turn to me for protection.

Parts are often young, and overwhelmed with responsibilities that never should have been theirs.

When I asked my parts to turn towards me, they got to see that I’m here, and they realized that there’s an adult in the room (me!). They relaxed, and let me lead, and went off to do what they wanted.

Having taken my parts’ concerns into account, I experienced a new spaciousness inside, and in that space, reasonable ways I could act today spontaneously arose.

Before acting, I checked inside one more time, to make sure my parts were okay with what I proposed.

They let me know that because I was the one taking the actions, and they didn’t have to, they were on board.

They trusted me, the wise adult Self, to gracefully receive any criticism about this piece of writing with openness and curiosity. And they trusted me to take steps to soothe my nervous system after sitting with the grief of the conflict.

So I made a donation, called a rep, and wrote this blog post.

Why This Works

Before I consciously acknowledged the presence of my parts and listened to their concerns, they ran the show. They thought they were all alone, and they thought they were me.

With my parts at the wheel, I languished in numbness and ambient guilt for my inaction.

But when I acknowledged my parts’ presence and listened to their concerns, a manageable way forward appeared, not through forcing, but through love.

Here’s the paradox: taking the time to listen to and acknowledge my parts’ reasons for not taking action is what actually led to me taking action!

I could have forced myself to take one or more of these actions without listening to my parts. You might have seen some of this advice from passionate activists, pressuring you to push through your numbness or break through your resistance.

But consider the language these activists use: “push;” “break.” These words imply a lack of permission from the parts of us who feel resistance.

To ignore my parts’ very real concerns would have been an act of internal violence.

Call me crazy, but trying to resolve the external violence of the genocide by committing internal violence in my own system doesn’t feel reasonable.

If I’d bypassed the concerns of my parts, there’s a good chance they’d double down on their protective strategies in the future, creating more numbness, and more distraction away from the conflict.

To listen to, and heed the advice of my parts, is to allow for an internal consensus to emerge, so that the whole system can move forward harmoniously.

I wonder what your parts want to share with you about the genocide in Gaza, and if you were to listen to them, what a sustainable way forward might be?

If you’d like to donate

Over the past several months, I have personally donated to various Go Fund Me and Chuffed campaigns posted by Molly Shah on her Bluesky.

I’ve also donated most recently to Inara’s Rapid Response for Gaza Campaign.

My teacher Tara Brading has coordinated this fundraiser and has confirmed that Ahmed has received the funds in the past. If you contribute here, please email your receipt to tara@tara-wild.com to ensure he receives the funds.