For Jewish News March 2024
An essay by a British-born Israeli writer and translator (of Hebrew and Arabic) has caused uproar in the New York online literary magazine, Guernica, with 15 members of the volunteer staff resigning.
Joanna Chen’s article, From the Edges of a Broken World, her second for the magazine, traces her responses to the Hamas attacks, as a long-time peace activist, who even refused to serve in the Israeli army. She writes about her friendships with Palestinians in Israel, and her volunteer work with the Road to Recovery organisation, which helps to transport Palestinians requiring medical treatment to Israeli hospitals.
But when she understood what had happened on October 7, Chen wrote: “My volunteer work with Road to Recovery came to a full stop. How could I continue after Hamas had massacred and kidnapped so many civilians, including Road to Recovery members, such as Vivian Silver, a longtime Canadian peace activist? And I admit, I was afraid for my own life”.
So angry were Guernica’s staffers at Chen’s essay that at least 15 of them resigned, including its former co-publisher, Madhuri Sastry. Sastry wrote on social media that the essay “attempts to soften the violence of colonialism and genocide” and called for a cultural boycott of Israeli institutions.
In a statement attributed to “admin” on the Guernica website, it says: “From the Edges of a Broken World” —Guernica regrets having published this piece, and has retracted it. A more fulsome explanation will follow”.
In an email to the New York Times, Chen said that she believed her critics had misunderstood “the meaning of my essay, which is about holding on to empathy when there is no human decency in sight.” She also said that she had worked on the essay with the magazine’s editor in chief and publisher, Jina Moore Ngarambe. Chen said: “I was offered the distinct impression [that] my essay was appreciated. I was given no indication that the editorial staff was not on board.”
Her essay begins with her early life in Leeds, reporting that when she was 16, “my parents moved us to Israel following the death of my brother in a traffic accident. They wanted a fresh start, but the move was wrenching for me: everything was strange and unfamiliar, even the language. Severed from my family back in the UK, I felt no connection to this land or the people around me. I struggled, and I learned to get by on my own. I immersed myself in grieving, for my brother and for the life left behind”.
The essay is interspersed with poems that Chen has translated from both Hebrew and Arabic, and describes some of her many trips picking up Palestinians at a checkpoint and taking them to the Sheba Medical Centre in Tel Aviv.
She writes: “At 6:32 on the morning of October 7, sirens filled the air, and rockets began falling close to my village…The thuds were sickening. I went inside, locking the door behind me. Muddled reports from the border with Gaza were streaming through social media. As the day wore on, my dread increased. There were many dead and injured; hospitals were running short of blood.
“The next day, my husband, Raz, and I donated blood at a hospital in Jerusalem, waiting in line for six hours along with hundreds of other people”.
And Chen also records that she “spent my time volunteering with an Israeli family from Kfar Aza, bordering the Gaza Strip. Their daughter, son-in-law, and nephew had been murdered. Their house had been torched, and they were evacuated to my village, where they were temporarily living at the end of my street. Neighbours. I mopped their floor, did their dishes, washed their clothes. I heated up plates of food when they were hungry and hugged them when they looked like they needed it. What does a person look like when they need a hug? Like they are lost. It was the least I could do”.
She reports on a conversation with a Palestinian “fixer” with whom she worked at Newsweek magazine, and says honestly that “I felt inexplicably ashamed, as if she were pointing a finger at me. I also felt stupid — this was war, and whether I liked it or not, Nuha and I were standing at opposite ends of the very bridge I hoped to cross. I had been naive; this conflict was bigger than the both of us. Beyond terrible was inadequate; I was inadequate. A door had been slammed in my face, politely but firmly”.