Two students, two visions, one campus conflict in the Midwest

They represent opposing corners of the University of Michigan, two sides of student activism that have clung together and almost never communicate with each other.

Salma Hamamy is one of the most prominent faces of the pro-Palestinian movement on campus.

“One, two, three, four, open the prison doors!” she shouts, megaphone in hand, as she leads anti-Israel demonstrations in front of large groups of fellow students. “Five, six, seven, eight, Israel is a terrorist state!” Ms. Hamamy has helped lead more than 20 protests since Hamas' deadly attacks on Israel on October 7 and the resulting bombardment of Gaza.

As she shouts loudly for an end to the war, or rails against a university administration she believes has been deaf to the Palestinians, she knows she can look into the audience and see a familiar but annoying face find: Josh Brown, a fellow student and Mrs. Hamamy's opposite in almost every way.

Mr. Brown is perhaps the most ardent counter-protester in Michigan. A staunch supporter of Israel and Zionism, he shows up at almost every pro-Palestinian meeting at his school, sometimes alone, always with a cell phone at the ready so he can record what he believes is rampant anti-Semitism.

“These are extremists,” Mr. Brown said, speaking of the groups Ms. Hamamy is part of and helps lead. “What they are asking for is the destruction of my people.”

Mention her to Zionist, pro-Israel students and you might get a look. When his name comes up among supporters of the Palestinian cause, there are irritated looks.

But during this painful season, when bitterness on campus mirrored emotions across the state of Michigan, a key battleground in the upcoming presidential election, one thing briefly united them. It took place after a heated protest, on the sidelines, without anyone else around: a conversation, tense, sometimes tough and uncomfortable, but also civilized.

The clash on campus

In the 1920s, when most Ivy League schools, rife with anti-Semitism, restricted annual admissions of Jewish students, Michigan opened its arms and became a refuge.

That legacy is clearly visible today. Data from Hillel International show the number The number of Jewish students in Michigan now stands at nearly 5,000, one of the largest such campus populations in the country.

The Ann Arbor campus has also become a haven for students with Muslim roots. A recent campus survey found that there were nearly 2,500 Muslim students in Michigan.

Over the years, the large numbers of Jews and Muslims have led to many efforts to reach people and to simmering stress. But the temperature on campus has never felt like this.

A network of volunteers has been set up to ensure that Muslim women do not have to walk alone. There are Jewish students who are afraid to speak up in class, who live with roommates they have long considered friends. And students of both religions worry about wearing anything that identifies their faith.

Much of the heat comes from the vastly different interpretations of the chants shouted, symbols displayed and slogans used by protesters. Are calls for the veneration of martyrs and the Intifada anti-Semitic or legitimate signifiers of opposition? What about comparing Israeli leaders to Hitler?

Ms. Hamamy and other activists helped lead a student takeover of the Michigan administration building, which was met with a significant show of police force.

Citing security fears across campus, the administration canceled a student vote regarding the war, which would have called on the school to acknowledge that Gaza residents were “suffering genocide.”

In January, the Faculty Senate meeting voted to approve a measure calling for divestment from Israel, furthering the division of the campus.

Ms. Hamamy celebrated the faculty vote. “Our voices are being heard,” she says.

For Mr. Brown it was a gut punch.

“What does that make, in the eyes of these faculty members, the person who supports Israel?” he asked. “They can express their opinions,” he added, “but at what cost to people like me?”

'A badge of honor'

Ms. Hamamy was born in 2001 and grew up in Ann Arbor at a time when the racist response to the September 11 terrorist attacks caused fear among the Arab and Muslim communities. Her mother advised her to keep much of her Palestinian identity in the shadows.

She did as she was told. Then she went to university.

Her freshman year coincided with America's tumultuous efforts at racial reckoning in 2020. She began learning about the civil rights struggles of the 1960s and became active in the Black Lives Matter movement.

Social media played a powerful role in fueling her transformation. On TikTok, X and Instagram, she recorded the personal story of Palestinians in Gaza and their demands for change.

“Palestinians have been trying to resist for so long, and any form of resistance they have engaged in has always been suppressed,” she said, summarizing the positions she formed. But, she added, “you cannot expect your oppressors to voluntarily give you your freedom.”

By early 2023, Ms. Hamamy had become a pillar of the broad campus movement in Michigan opposing Israel. She eventually became president of Michigan's chapter of Students for Justice in Palestine, helping to form a coalition supported by 77 student organizations, including the anti-Zionist group Jewish Voice for Peace.

Speaking out and speaking out became the only way to soothe her grief.

The backlash came quickly. There have been calls for her to be expelled as a student over the past four months. Her photo and personal details have been posted online. She received death threats.

She took comfort in the fact that others faced similar harassment. “We've had several students tell us that they should be raped or that they didn't belong here,” she said. 'That they are infiltrating this campus, that we have to go back to our countries. That we pose a major threat.”

When asked what it was like to be the target of such hatred, she smiled and paused.

“I consider it a badge of honor,” she said.

Drawn into battle

Mr. Brown grew up in a New York suburb in a Jewish family, surrounded by a close-knit Jewish community. But he did not pay much attention to Israel and its place in the world.

Until he went to college.

Protests were known well before this school year at the university, which he attended with the vibrancy of Jewish culture in mind. It was shocking, he said, as he walked to class, saw groups of fellow students demonstrating and heard speeches that he said conveyed hatred toward Jews.

“This wasn't just, 'We don't like the settlements,' or even something as big as Israel's treatment of the Palestinians,” he said. “They were clear calls for the extermination of Israel.”

“It was demonization.”

Mr. Brown began delving into Israel's history. He devoured history books, Israeli newspapers, podcasts and YouTube presentations. He took a course on the conflict in the Middle East and joined a student group, Wolverine for Israel.

He came to believe that the general disagreement between Israel and its neighbors was much more understandable than he had thought. Yes, Israel had its faults, he said. But “what I learned was that with every attempt at peace, the Palestinian leaders refused and would not do what was right for their people.”

“Their leaders have refused peace,” he added.

Like many others on campus, he felt that in the days and weeks after October 7, the suffering of Israeli civilians, not only the murder but also the mutilation and rape, seemed to be ignored, minimized or questioned by those who were against Israel. .

Since then, Mr. Brown has barely shown up to counter a pro-Palestinian protest. He tries to stay in the suburbs or within sight of the police, keeping quiet, recording video and hoping not to attract attention. But almost everyone there knows who he is.

Sometimes he finds himself in the middle of the fray, embroiled in verbal skirmishes, surrounded by angry protesters who don't like being included and see him as an intruder barging into their space.

Sometimes he can withstand ugly tropes.

“Why are you here?” a protester yelled at him one day. You already own 'America!' she said. “You own everything!”

Looking for a middle ground

Mrs. Hamamy is now expecting Mr. Brown. “He appears before me sometimes,” she said. 'I have to hand it over to him. He's on top of it.”

Her view of Mr. Brown is different from many of her counterparts. When she sees him, she smiles and says hello.

“I'll say this,” Mr. Brown acknowledged with grim wryness, “she's a lot more warm-hearted than a lot of other people.”

During a demonstration last fall, Ms. Hamamy noticed some of her fellow protesters and Mr. Brown got into an argument. She called him over and asked, “What do you want?”

As dusk approached, they walked alone to a nearby campus building and sat together on a bench. Perhaps this would be an opportunity to recognize each other's humanity.

He needed to know why anti-Israel protesters had not strongly condemned the deaths of Israeli civilians.

She needed him to understand her position. It is a documented fact, she said: Israel is guilty of apartheid and genocide.

Looking for a middle ground, they talked about Islamophobia and anti-Semitism on campus. The excitement was so great that it felt like violence could break out on campus.

Ms. Hamamy and Mr. Brown exchanged phone numbers. She remembered leaving the conversation cautiously, certain he didn't understand. He recalled feeling “relatively optimistic.” Perhaps, he thought, this could be the beginning of a dialogue between opposing sides.

That was months ago. Last week, after another protest, they spoke for a few seconds. Otherwise they will no longer have contact.