Homelessness and Palestine
Why we must fight against the destruction of home wherever it occurs
If you follow me on social media, you already know where I stand here. I support a Free Palestine, a permanent ceasefire, and accountability and reparations for the atrocities committed by Israel and its allies before and since October 7th. If this comes as a shock to you, I would encourage you to at least read the entirety of this before dismissing me. Then, of course, you should do as you feel you must.
As someone who cares deeply about marginalized people as that marginalization manifests itself through homelessness, this is not off-topic. In fact, the things that I talk about in this weekly newsletter are extremely relevant to what is happening in Gaza. I believe it would be intellectually dishonest as a supporter of people experiencing homelessness, and spiritually dishonest for me as Christian, to not speak truthfully about what is happening in Gaza.
If you’re a Christian who has felt confused or unclear about where your allegiance here should lie, I understand. It’s messy out there. If you are unsure whether to trust me on this, I would direct you to Palestinian Christians, our family in faith, who have been vocal about what is happening and what is needed. More than 50,000 Christians reside in the West Bank, with over 1,000 residing in Gaza… that is, at least before Oct 7th. Many have been killed, and their churches destroyed. If you haven’t already, I implore you to listen to Pastor Munther Isaac’s Christmas Day Sermon, urging us to see the Christ child in the rubble. For those who wish to understand this from a Jewish perspective, and to help separate Judaism from Zionism, I would direct you toward Jewish Voice for Peace and If Not Now.
But I also must speak out as someone who cares about homelessness. Let me explain:
Homelessness is fundamentally a problem of housing. Always has been, always will be. Who gets housing, who doesn’t; how much housing is available, and who is included or excluded from it. I’ve always liked this definition from Community Solutions:
In America (and Canada and the “West” writ large), the vulnerable populations include people who are disabled, who have mental health and substance use disorders, LGBTQIA+ people, and people of color (especially those who are Black and/or Indigenous). And because we are intersectional, many people embody several of these identities simultaneously.
None of these populations should lead to homelessness on their own if we were a society that shared our resources equitably. That’s where the “broken systems” part comes in. To name a few…
An out-of-control housing market allows profits to decide who gets housed
Lack of mental health infrastructure leaves mental illnesses untreated or mistreated
Criminalization of substance use disorder perpetuates harm rather than alleviating it
Discrimination within systems meant to help leaves already vulnerable people further behind
I remind you of this because, ultimately, homelessness is the result of things that happen to already vulnerable people that are largely outside of their control, and are usually decided and enacted by people with power.
This description could just as readily be applied to what is happening, and what has happened historically, in Palestine. The genocidal bombing that Israel has conducted since October 7th is nothing less than a full-scale attack on a people they have historically and strategically made vulnerable, and is resulting in mass death and displacement.
Though not every atrocity is equivalent in terms of its impact and devastation, most share the same roots—a particular group of people who have been systematically and intentionally disenfranchised, a group in power who uses dehumanizing language that moves public opinion against the disenfranchised, and then the (sometimes slow, sometimes rapid) destruction of their livelihood and even their lives. This is Gaza. This is racism. This is homelessness.
Another point of intersection comes in the form of a word I recently learned on a virtual conversation between the authors of Beyond Homelessness, Steven Bouma-Prediger and Brian J. Walsh.
In this conversation, which included discussion of Palestine, encampment sweeps, and larger policies around homelessness, Walsh used a term that I’ve come to see several times since: domicide. Domicide is defined as “the widespread destruction of homes”—it’s an evil tactic used during conflict to destabilize, demoralize, and destroy dignity and humanity amongst a people, most of whom are usually civilians.
Domicide is happening en masse in Gaza. After all, are the Palestinians in Gaza not being rendered homeless? We aren’t seeing this word used much, likely because it pales in comparison to the more imminent threats of starvation and bombing. But however this ends, whether by forced mass-exodus or some sort of ceasefire agreement, homelessness will be a reality that Palestinians will face going forward. Their plight is perhaps much more than homelessness, but it isn’t less.
It has happened in recent years in Syria, Myanmar, and Ukraine. And we must also admit that the US government does this to its own people: In the 1985 MOVE bombing, Philadelphia police exploded an entire neighborhood to destroy a Black liberationist group, killing 11 people, (5 of them children,) destroying 61 homes, and leaving 250 people homeless. Freeways have historically (and intentionally) been built cutting through predominantly black neighborhoods, destroying homes and forcing scattered relocation by eminent domain.
No less sinister and domicidal are the encampment sweeps that force isolation, relocation, and criminalization of people experiencing homelessness, which take place daily in cities across America.
To care about homelessness means to care about all of the ways that powers and systems crush peoples’ ability to live in the homes they have found or made for themselves. Homelessness is an intersectional reality that extends beyond what we normally think about as “the guy on the corner asking for change.” To understand homelessness and advocate for its end means that we must oppose destructive forces that lead to homelessness—whether they are dropped on people by legislation or by a bomber plane.
Lastly, it cannot go unsaid the final connection: the money being given by the United States to Israel that funds their campaign of terror, could be used to alleviate the crisis of homelessness at home. But as Tupac so succinctly proclaimed, “They got money for war but can’t feed the poor.” President Biden unironically echoed this in October. When asked if the US could afford to be involved in wars both in Ukraine and Palestine, he said this:
“We’re the United States of America for God’s sake, the most powerful nation in the history — not in the world, in the history of the world. We can take care of both of these and still maintain our overall international defense.”
Just once I’d like to hear a President, or any high ranking politician, say something more like, We’re the United States of America for God’s sake, the most powerful nation in history… We can take care of the poor, the sick, the unhoused, and the hungry and still maintain freedom for all.
I won’t hold my breath… but it bears remembering nonetheless that such a world is possible. And getting there begins with truth-telling, hope, and faithful action.
Adding domicide into my vocabulary immediately tsym
Yes!! I come at it from the other direction. I cared about Palestine, and refugees, and from that came to care more about homelessness. It has to do with seeing and hearing the marginalized, recognizing our own part in it and how we can mutually learn, benefit and help each other, and going on from there.