Austin, Texas – “It didn’t feel real.” That’s how Alishba Javaid, a student at the University of Texas at Austin, describes the moment she saw about 30 state police officers entering the campus lawn.
Javaid and hundreds of his classmates gathered on the grass, in the shadow of the campus’ 94-meter limestone tower, as part of a strike against Israel’s war in Gaza.
They hoped their school would divest from manufacturers supplying weapons to Israel. Instead, law enforcement began showing up in increasing numbers.
By Javaid’s count, state troopers were joined by at least 50 fellow officers already on the scene, all dressed in riot gear. The protest was peaceful, but nerves were frayed. The soldiers continued their advance.
“That was the first moment I was genuinely scared,” said Javaid, 22.
Dozens of students were arrested on April 24 as police attempted to disperse protesters. Images of clashes between police and protesters quickly spread online, echoing images of other campus protests across the United States.
However, Texans face a unique challenge as they face a far-right state government that has sought to limit protests against Israel.
In 2017, Governor Greg Abbott signed a law prohibiting government entities from working with companies that boycott Israel, and the state has since taken steps to tighten that law even more.
Abbott also called the current protests “hate-filled” and “anti-Semitic,” amplifying misconceptions about the protesters and their goals.
Additionally, a state law went into effect earlier this year that forced public universities to close their diversity, equity and inclusion (DEI) offices.
Several students and staff told Al Jazeera that campuses had become less safe for people of color as a result of the law, which forced DEI-advocating employees to leave.
‘Using violence to subvert minorities’
Violence continued on the University of Texas campuses as students continued their protests.
On the last day of classes, April 29, police used pepper spray and flash-bang devices to clear a crowd on the Austin campus, while dozens of others were surrounded by soldiers and dragged away screaming.
Hiba Faruqi, a 21-year-old student, said her knee “kept bleeding” after she was knocked down during a shoving match between students and police.
Still, she considers herself lucky she didn’t suffer worse injuries. It was surreal, she said, to think that her own university called in state troops — and then had to send medical personnel to help injured students.
“There’s a racist element that people don’t want to talk about here,” she said. “There is a xenophobic element that people don’t want to acknowledge. There are more brown protesters, which maybe encourages the police to do things a certain way.”
As calls for divestment continue, students, lawyers and advocates told Al Jazeera they have been forced to navigate skepticism and outright hostility from the Texas government.
“Texas is known for using violence to subvert minorities,” Faruqi said. “The reason it’s shaking people up this time is because it’s not working.”
Scrutiny on university donations
Many of the protests focused on the University of Texas endowment, a fund designed to support its nine campuses over the long term.
The University of Texas system has the largest public education endowment in the country, worth more than US$40 billion.
Some of that money comes from investments in weapons and defense companies, as well as aerospace, energy and defense technology companies with deep ties to Israel.
ExxonMobil, for example, is one of the largest beneficiaries of the system’s investments and the company supplied Israel with fuel for its combat aircraft.
Those ties have fueled protests on the state’s public college campuses, including a May 1 rally at the University of Texas at Dallas.
Fátima – who only shared her first name with Al Jazeera, out of fear for her safety – was among the protesters. She wiped sweat from her forehead as a child led the crowd of about 100 people in a series of chants: “Free Palestine, free, free!”
The divestment protests were largely peaceful, Fátima explained, raising her voice to be heard above the noise.
“More than 30,000 people have been murdered,” she said, referring to the death toll in Gaza, where Israel’s military campaign enters its eighth month.
“And our university is investing in weapons manufacturing companies that supply these weapons to Israel. We will stay here until our demands are met.”
Twenty-one students and staff were arrested that day in Dallas. Members of the Students for Justice in Palestine group, of which Fátima is a member, spent the night outside the county jail, waiting for their friends to be released.
One protester wryly noted outside the prison that he had been arrested for trespassing on his own campus, a seemingly senseless crime.
In the background, a storm was beginning to brew, so protesters huddled under the awning.
Texas officials and university administrators justified the police crackdown, in part, citing the presence of outsiders with no current connection to the campuses involved.
But activist Anissa Jaqaman, 30, is among those visiting the university protests in an effort to lend supplies and support.
Everyone has a role to play, Jaqaman explained: Their role is sometimes that of communicator, but more often that of healer.
She brought water to student protesters at the University of Texas at Dallas and hopes to provide a space for people to “come and talk about how we heal.”
“This is a healing movement,” she said repeatedly while speaking to Al Jazeera. “We have to carry each other.”
Jaqaman is a Texan through and through: she was raised in the suburbs of Dallas and is a strong supporter of her state.
“I’m a proud Texan,” she said. “I actually think Texans are some of the nicest people in the country.”
But when he was in college, from 2012 to 2016, Jaqaman began using his voice to raise awareness of the plight of Palestinians.
Human rights groups have long warned that Israel has imposed a system of apartheid against the ethnic group, subjecting its members to discrimination and displacement.
In college, Jaqaman’s friends often laughed at his crush. She smiles often, exuding optimism, but her voice becomes serious as she talks about Palestine, as well as other issues, like the scourge of single-use plastics.
“They just thought I was a tree hugger, but for human rights,” she explained, speaking in a soft but confident voice.
But the current war has amplified their concerns. The United Nations has signaled that famine is “imminent” in parts of Gaza and human rights experts have pointed to a “risk of genocide” in the Palestinian enclave.
Jaqaman has worn her keffiyeh scarf since the start of the war on October 7, despite feeling anxious about the possibility that it could invite violence against her.
“I wear it because I feel like it protects my heart, honestly,” she said. “I feel like I’m doing an injustice to the Palestinian people by not using it.”
But she has fought to get public officials to engage with her concerns about the war and divestment from industries linked to Israel’s military. For months, she tried to persuade the local city council that “this is a human issue, everyone’s issue,” to no avail.
“Everything we are seeing now is to end the discussion,” she said. “If you say anything about Palestine, you will be labeled an anti-Semite. That’s the end of the conversation.
Young protesters look to the future
Students like Javaid, who graduated with a journalism degree last semester, told Al Jazeera they are still trying to figure out what healing looks like – and what their future might hold. In many ways, she and her friends feel trapped.
They recognize that they need to take a break from searching for information about the war on social media, and yet it’s all they can think about.
The usual college rites of passage — final exams, graduation, and job hunting — just don’t seem that important anymore.
“How are we supposed to get back to work now?” Javaid asked after the protests.
Although she valued her time at the university, she is also highly critical of her actions to suppress protests. Part of the blame, she added, lies with the government.
“The root of the problem in Texas is that the state government doesn’t care,” she said.
Born and raised in the Dallas area, Javaid plans to stay in Texas for at least a while after graduating this month. She has mixed feelings about staying long-term, however.
She would like to work in social justice, especially in higher education, but worries that such work is tenuous in her home state.
Still, she feels a sense of responsibility that ties her to the state. The political climate in Texas can be challenging, she said, but she has a duty — to her fellow protesters and to Palestine — to continue to play a role.
“I don’t want to jump ship and just say, ‘Texas is crazy,’” Javaid said. “I want to be part of the people who are trying to make this better. Because if not us, who?”
This story originally appeared on Aljazeera.com read the full story
