We have a chaotic and unpredictable election year ahead. That would normally elicit anxiety, but mostly I’m feeling hopeless.
The election is less than a year away, and Joe Biden’s approval rating has sunk to its lowest level yet, clocking in at a paltry 38%, according to a recent Washington Post average of 17 different polls. Biden’s unblinking support for Israel and unwillingness to demand a ceasefire has made dear Uncle Joe appear to many as just another callous politician, numb to Palestinian suffering.
And that’s had a staggering effect on the key coalitions Biden will need to win a second term. If you move in Arab American or Muslim American circles, as I do, support for Biden’s re-election is rapidly crumbling: the Arab American Institute found that only 17% of Arab Americans say they will vote for Biden in 2024, down from 59% who did in 2020. Muslim Americans recently began an #AbandonBiden campaign, focusing on the sizable Muslim American communities in swing states such as Michigan, Arizona and Georgia.
As Axios notes, Biden won Michigan in 2020 by 154,000 votes, but there are at least 278,000 Arab Americans in Michigan. Biden took Arizona, a state with an Arab American population of 60,000, by only 10,500 votes. In Georgia, Biden prevailed with a margin of 11,800 voters, in a state that has an Arab American population of 57,000.
While it is true that not all Arab Americans are eligible voters (some may not be citizens, some may be too young), it’s also true that the 2024 election is expected to be won on razor-thin margins. Every vote, including every Arab American and every Muslim American vote, matters.
Disaffection with Biden isn’t limited to Arab and Muslim Americans, either. The president also has a young voter problem: according to NBC News, a November poll by Lake Research Partners, a Democratic polling firm, found that only 61% of voters under 30 would support Biden if the election were held today, and 56% gave him a “poor” rating on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.
So we are faced with a dilemma: on the one hand, there’s a Democratic establishment that seems to believe disgruntled voters will choose Biden out of “a lesser of two evils” thinking. But that line of thinking is not just insulting to these voters. It is also so politically cynical – and explicitly harmful to Palestinians – that it’s hard to believe Biden holds himself to any values besides ruthless political calculation.
On the other hand, we have the presumptive Republican candidate Donald Trump, who promises not only to revive his abominable Muslim ban but also to implement “the largest domestic deportation operation in American history”. Trump has also described people coming across the US’s southern border as “poisoning the blood of our country”, and told Sean Hannity that he would be a dictator, but only on “day one” of his presidency.
I’m feeling nauseous. Why have our political choices sunk to supporting unconscionable violence or electing cartoonish fascism? Adding to my nausea is a feeling of paralysis that I haven’t been able to overcome for the last two months, a sense of profound helplessness in the face of such horror.
I know I’m not alone. I recognize the same feeling in so many people around me. We go to work. We shop for groceries. We meet up socially for dinner or to attend cultural events, but there’s no joy in any of this. Instead, there’s sadness and dread and shock hanging over everything. There are images we can’t unsee. There is anger we don’t know how to direct. And there’s shame that we aren’t doing enough to stop the slaughter.
The times when I’ve felt a tinge of hope emerge have been on the marches I’ve attended to stop Israel’s bombing of Gaza. All women-led (from what I can tell) and with marchers of all ages, ethnicities and identities, the marches are testaments to the collective need to do something. Perhaps for that very reason, they’ve also been much maligned by the powerful.
Back in October, the erstwhile UK home secretary, Suella Braverman, suggested waving a Palestinian flag at a march could constitute a criminal offense. Governments in France and Germany have sought to ban the keffiyeh – the checkered scarf associated with the Palestinian struggle – from schools and protests. And the US Congress wants to put words in your mouth when you chant: “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free.”
I have never felt particularly close to any politician but, at this moment in history, I’ve also never been more convinced that they all live together in a large, gilded mansion, behind a fortified wall, and located in some alternate universe, even though their purpose is to be among us and represent us and our interests. (Polling continues to indicate that a large majority of Americans want the US government to call for a permanent ceasefire in Gaza and to prioritize diplomacy, yet the White House refuses to do so.)
Maybe the problem is not that our politicians are failing, but that our politics are failing. We need a new kind of politics, globally – one that is not beholden to billionaires, that is not mesmerized by power. One that is instead justly accountable to everyone it reaches.
Come to think of it, buying an authentic keffiyeh has become nearly impossible, since they’re currently in such high demand. Everyone the world over now knows the slogan “from the river to the sea”. Global news outlets are writing explainers on how the watermelon became a symbol of Palestinian solidarity.
Why does this matter? The search for a durable solution for how Israelis and Palestinians will live together used to revolve around self-determination for two peoples. More and more, it centers on justice and equality for everyone. Perhaps that’s one reason why the Palestinian cause is drawing more attention from so many corners around the world. Everyone should be able to identify with the need for justice and equality, both locally and globally.
Maybe that’s what makes Palestinian liberation so frightening to the political classes. Maybe that’s the hope for 2024.
Moustafa Bayoumi is a Guardian US columnist
