Hane Alrustm

Thank you for your feedback and reflection. I have some thoughts to share. Please do not interpret them as criticism but as sincere questions and critique intended to encourage further reflection.

You start by noting that Facebook might not be the best place for discussion and that you welcome respectful comments. It’s true that deep and nuanced dialogue often needs more spacious platforms. However, when a public event takes a stance on a global issue, it’s understandable that responses also occur publicly. In my case, I’ve tried several times to engage in one-on-one conversations, but since that didn’t work, I chose to use my public platforms. Respect does not mean avoiding discomfort; sometimes, challenge is part of care.

You affirm your opposition to violence against Palestinians and others. But the language you use is so broad—“atrocities” and “all people deserve peace”—that it risks masking the specific and extensive nature of what is happening. This is not just a general tragedy or conflict. What we are witnessing involves mass killing, displacement, apartheid, and decades of occupation. Clearly naming these systems is not political bias; it’s a moral and factual obligation. Have you been willing to name them?

I appreciate the transparency about the camp’s history and the presence of many international participants. However, recognizing international diversity doesn’t solve the issue of equity. Who shapes the space? Who feels safe? Who feels seen? You mention that the organizing team includes four Russian women and that one of you is the wife of an Israeli citizen living in Israel. What impact does this have on the team dynamics? How biased can the four organizers be, or how well can they challenge the mainstream narrative? You recall the Lebanese participant who left the 2022 camp because the environment was overwhelming. It’s important to note she was harassed at the camp by Israeli participants who repeatedly approached her. She was also indirectly targeted by Rony, who shared a story on the first day about a terrorist attack he witnessed, knowing that one participant belonged to the group he named as terrorists. He was a trainer that year. Did you take any steps to hold him accountable?

You say you stayed and worked with those who remained. But was her departure seen as a problem or as a message? Did the Camp learn from her decision to leave, or did it move on without her? For Palestinians and Arabs, leaving a space that erases or overwhelms their experience is not withdrawal. It is an act of survival. I understand that 2022 was deeply personal for you because of the Russian–Ukrainian war, and I can imagine how hard that must have been. Still, it’s worth asking: how do we decide which wars deserve the most attention? How do proximity and privilege influence that decision? You list several changes you have made since then—acknowledging conflict in opening ceremonies, supporting participants through “Home Groups,” rethinking cultural presentations, and preparing trainers to engage with political realities. These are meaningful gestures. But unless they are paired with a genuine willingness to name and confront power, they risk remaining performative. There is a difference between creating space for grief and confronting injustice.

I understand that this year you asked Israelis to step down from trainer positions. However, it was shared that one Israeli trainer was offered what was called a “voluntary” spot and that she was asked to lead a training. How is this not still giving her a platform? Was this a tactic to show that something had changed without truly making a change?

You mention that you do not support personal boycotts and want the Camp to be open to everyone. But openness alone does not guarantee equity. If Palestinians or Arabs are absent, we should ask why. What emotional, political, or structural barriers make this space inaccessible or unsafe for them? Inclusion is not a neutral act. It requires active effort to repair and transform.

Would you be willing to commit to a schedule where one year you invite Arabs and ask Israelis not to join, and in another year, Israelis can participate while Arabs step back? I believe Arabs would welcome this. As you said yourself, it may not be the right time for both groups to be in the same room. Arabs deserve a space where they do not have to negotiate the terms of coexistence.

You mention that in 2023, the Camp had few or no Israelis, and the focus was on Russian and Ukrainian participants. Again, the core issue isn’t about numbers. It’s about the ability and willingness of the Camp to accept asymmetry. When participants come from contexts of vastly unequal power, the goal is not to balance or smooth over those differences. Instead, it’s to acknowledge and honestly confront that imbalance. And as I understand, there were still Israeli trainers that year. I respect the efforts made in 2024 to consult more broadly and to change the trainer team. You mention that in 2025, you tried to bring in trainers from Arab countries, but that it “didn’t work.” I encourage deeper reflection on why. Was the invitation built on trust, transparency, and shared values? Were the political commitments of the Camp clear? Were Arab or Palestinian voices invited to shape the Camp, not just to join it?

I want to pause on the theme you chose for 2025: “The Elephant in the Room.” I understand the intention, but the metaphor is problematic. It suggests that the issue—Palestinian suffering, Israeli occupation, and state violence—is something no one has been addressing. That’s not true. Palestinian activists, artists, and allies have been raising these issues for decades. What’s new isn’t the topic but that some people in power and privilege are finally starting to listen. I’ve been bringing this up with you since 2021. There’s no elephant in the room; it’s a reality that can’t be ignored.

You mentioned that Israeli participants were asked about Gaza and Netanyahu, and they answered “no” to supporting the government. But that question alone isn’t enough. What does “no” really mean when a state continues to kill and displace thousands in its name? Opposition must be accompanied by action, accountability, and a refusal to accept a situation that is anything but normal. I respect and understand that you concluded it wasn’t possible this year to host Arabs and Israelis together. That’s an honest admission. But the goal should not be simply coexistence for its own sake. Without justice, coexistence becomes another form of silencing. When those most affected by violence are too unsafe to enter the room, the priority must be safety, not dialogue. Your vision for the future includes preparation, common facts, and structured support. These are thoughtful ideas. But they will only work if they are rooted in truth, power analysis, and a genuine commitment to give space to people who have long been excluded—not just invited. I appreciate that you continue to talk, listen, and reflect. I hope that, moving forward, this reflection deepens into a commitment not just to balance but to equity and justice. Playback Theatre is not neutral. Storytelling carries power. Who speaks, who is heard, and who is protected—these choices shape everything.

Thank you again for starting this conversation. I share these words not to dismiss the work you’ve done, but to clarify it because I believe this work is important. I repeat my question: are you willing to ask Israelis to alternate years, such as not attending next year, so Arabs can share their stories without being in the same space?