There is no room for antisemitic behaviour of any kind in any civilised country. Antisemitism is not merely a matter of offensive language or misguided opinion; it is a corrosive force that undermines the very foundations of a democratic and inclusive society. Wherever it appears, it erodes trust, fuels division, and threatens the safety and dignity of Jewish people, who have faced centuries of persecution rooted in prejudice and misinformation.
A civilised nation is defined not only by its laws and institutions, but by its moral compass. It is measured by how it protects its minorities, upholds human rights, and challenges hatred in all its forms. Antisemitism stands in direct opposition to these values. Whether expressed through casual remarks, harmful stereotypes, conspiracy theories, vandalism, intimidation, or violence, it must be recognised for what it is: racism, plain and simple.
History has shown us the devastating consequences of allowing antisemitic attitudes to go unchallenged. When hatred is normalised or dismissed as trivial, it creates fertile ground for discrimination and, ultimately, atrocity. The lessons of the past place a responsibility on all of us—individuals, communities, institutions, and governments alike—to remain vigilant. Silence in the face of antisemitism is not neutrality; it is complicity.
In recent years, antisemitism has taken on new and often insidious forms, spreading rapidly through online platforms and social media. Disinformation, coded language, and dog-whistle rhetoric can make hatred appear respectable or “debate-worthy,” when in fact it is neither. Free speech is a cornerstone of democratic societies, but it does not extend to the promotion of hatred or the dehumanisation of others. Robust debate must never be used as a shield for prejudice.
Education plays a crucial role in combating antisemitism. Teaching accurate history, encouraging critical thinking, and fostering empathy are essential tools in dismantling ignorance and fear. Equally important is leadership—political, cultural, and civic—that is willing to speak out clearly and unequivocally. There can be no ambiguity when it comes to condemning antisemitism; half-measures only embolden those who seek to divide.
Ultimately, standing against antisemitism is not solely about defending Jewish communities, though that is vital. It is about defending the principles of equality, justice, and human dignity for everyone. A society that tolerates hatred against one group will, inevitably, find that hatred spreading to others. Civilisation demands better. It demands courage, clarity, and compassion—and an unwavering refusal to allow antisemitism, in any form, to take root.
'The Places We Carry' exhibition at Grand Junction, Warwick Avenue
An an evening scroll on Eventbrite turned out to be the most holistic and heroic experience I’ve ever been to.
Pioneers of peace from Arabic lands gathered to remind us how art can heal us and speak our prayers.
Grand Junction at Warwick Avenue
In pursuit of my next cultural experience in London, I happened to tap my finger on a poetry and prose event at a church in Warwick Avenue.
It was the closing day of an exhibition called, ‘The Places We Carry‘ and something about that made me raise an eyebrow.
I went through the description and found out that the guest speakers were Arabic poets and artists from Syria, Iraq, Lebanon, Libya and Palestine.
My heart instantly went out for the Palestinian guests and how gut-wrenching it must be witness the ongoing brutality against their homeland.
My body moved without hesitation to go to this event. I had to know how immigrants from these countries translated their sorrows into extraordinary pieces of art.
When I arrived, Dima Karout, the curator of the exhibition, was giving the visitors a tour of all the art displayed in the basement.
She graciously walked us through the artwork put together by her team that focused on immigrant lives in the UK ever since they moved here. And shared stories of their journey of finding a home away from home through artistic expression.
Dima Karout (left) giving us a tour of all the artwork
There were paintings, sketches and clay art that portrayed various Arabic cultures. Tools and artefacts used in households and agriculture that reminded me of my country in many ways.
The name of the event suddenly struck me then, ‘The Places We Carry’. The whole exhibition was a reflection of the emotions and attachments we have to objects and places that will always remind us of home and never leave us.
Each picture had a simple yet moving story that resonated with me like a warm hug. With unique narratives on how they adjusted to the lifestyle and the difficulties of they faced in terms of belonging.
An art piece that stood out to me was about siblings scattered across the world knowing they might never live in the same city or country.
I felt a rush of acceptance and resolution for a lingering sadness I felt over the years. I hadn’t quite faced the truth that I might never live in the same country as my brother or my cousin ever again until that moment.
As immigrants we make bold career and financial decisions to move away from our families to build new roots on a foreign soil.
We have our own reasons to do it and to each their own. Some flee the horrendous political and economic climate of their country in search of better opportunities. And others move with a sense of purpose to become more expansive as an individual.
But a sweet energy surrounded the exhibition like a silent acknowledgement for everyone’s journey. That no matter the reason, we were all there to recognise our own growth.
Sibling Bond by Nabilah
I made my way into a shrine that was dedicated to Palestinians. I noticed an art piece made of paper kites with names written on the strings. I soon found out they were names of innocent children whose lives were taken away as a result of genocide.
It grappled my heart and made me silently weep. It was overwhelming to look at this piece of art and admire the heart behind it but I couldn’t help but catch a glimpse of the horror those children had to face. I felt terrified for the state of humanity.
I suddenly became aware of the location we were at. I prayed to Jesus for a permanent ceasefire more than I usually do but I also prayed for any kind of divine intervention to bring softness to the world.
There were letters of love and consolation laid on what looked like a burial cloth. As I read each letter I was grateful for the humanity we as people cling so hard to while people in power seem to have lost theirs.
Paper kites by Helen Alzhar
We were allowed to write words of compassion of our own and I wrote mine without flinching. Words from the heart flow easily when you stop worrying about who might read it, it doesn’t matter anymore. When the purpose is beyond measure, every contribution is invaluable.
I placed it next to the other cards people had also written letters of support. I looked around and the faces I saw weren’t strange to me anymore. I felt a sense of unity without conversation, the language of our emotions seemed to be aligned.
Letters of love and consolation laid out on a cloth
We made our way up to the church to be seated for the second part of the exhibition. Dima and her team had gathered a few artists who read poetry, extracts, performed music and spoken word pieces.
Rama Alcoutlabi is a passionate musician, a dedicated scholar and an activist from Syria. She opened the performances with a soothing song in an ancient language called Aramaic using a traditional percussion instrument called the Daf.
She gave me the release I was seeking after all the heaviness I felt. Her angelic voice compelled me to close my eyes and listen intently to a language I had never heard before, yet harmonised perfectly with the emotions emanating from her melody.
She also closed the show with three beautiful pieces on her Syrian stringed instrument called Oud, that wrapped the entire evening with such grace and warmth.
Rama Alcoutlabi performing with her Oud
Hafiza Ibrahim is a Palestinian poet who settled down in the UK after her graduate degree and is now an English language teacher, translator and interpreter (Arabic-English). Her poetry emphasised on the longing of migrated residents of Palestine who wish to return to their land and reunite with their people. She gave us an imagery of a beautiful life lived in Palestine before genocide took away their simplicity of being.
Sarona Abuaker Bedwan is a Palestinian-American writer and Outreach & Programmes manager at Makan, a Palestinian led educational organisation. She read two poems from her book, “Why so few women on the street at night” and her narration reflected the ardent activist that she is. She has a strong voice and a powerful presence that made me want to listen to her every word. With short sentences compiled into a chronological sequence of emotions, she took me on a rhythmic vision to paint a picture of how human rights are being manipulated and criminalised by perpetrators who lack any awareness of themselves.
Laith Elzubaidi is a British-Iraqi TV/Film writer and producer based in London. His unserious and impactful presence on the stage made me adore him. I could see the comedy and drama writer in him bouncing out as he read an extract about his trip to Iraq with his mum after 30 years. He was unafraid to share his confusion about his dual ethnicity as he explained how Iraq is not how imagined it would be. And how his mum tried to rat him out to the airport security for not knowing the language. He was hilarious, I needed a good laugh and I could hear people around me snorting and gagging. But he also highlighted a lot of real emotions 2nd generation children face when they experience the other half of their culture for the first time.
Hassan Abdulrazzak is an award-winning Iraqi writer who settled down in the UK and continues to pursue his passion as a playwright. He read extracts from his play so charmingly, I hardly believed he’s not a performer even if he said so. His extracts were humorous and sweet, with a touch of purity to it. Particularly the, ‘Enemy Of The Sun’, a very vulnerability piece where he spoke of the citizens who will continue to fight no matter how hard other nations try to take away their land. And that “They will not compromise, till the last pulse in their veins” in his own words.
Hassan Abdulrazzak
Lisa Minerva Luxx is a poet, playwright, essayist and political activist of British-Syrian heritage. In the three poems she read, I could see a halo forming over her head for how persistently she advocates for peace in the world. A true warrior and empath who not only helped permanently shut down manufacturing companies in the UK who supply drones to Israel out of the law, but also speaks with such depth in her poems about the lives lost in her country and the bombing in Beirut.
She performed her pieces in a spoken word style with gestures that tempted me to sway with her. Her ability to be a voice for the suffering of many people, her family and herself was sensational and deeply inspiring.
I fetched two lines from her poems that made me connect to my own life. One of them being “If it feels impossible, you are going the right way.” And the other which isn’t really a line but an important reason for why we face the injustice that we do, “Bone collectors in cufflinks.”
It’s fascinating how a tap of the finger on an event page lead me towards heroes who make remarkable movements for a reformed world.
The exhibition reinstated my faith that if I continue to do my bit to spread the message of kindness and peace, I can help in the construction of a safer destination for future generations to arrive at.
Dime Karout and her team organise several art exhibitions, go here for more information and explore the tapestry of cultures that reside in London
2Shades Magazine 