一位美国华人哈佛医学院教授发文： 我被警告不要谈论巴勒斯坦问题。 但因为发生在我祖父身上的事，我必须这么做
Kongtiankuohai
楼主 (北美华人网)
https://www.msn.com/en-us/news/world/i-was-warned-not-to-speak-out-on-palestine-but-because-of-what-happened-to-my-grandfather-i-must/ar-BB1iHO1y?ocid=entnewsntp&pc=HCTS&cvid=2d5df861b1bf4fd8bcbf0ba376fbf346&ei=17
I Was Warned Not To Speak Out On Palestine. But Because of What Happened to My Grandfather, I Must. (msn.com)
我被警告不要谈论巴勒斯坦问题。 但因为发生在我祖父身上的事，我必须这么做。 (msn.com)
“打电话给我。”
两个未接电话和一条来自我父亲的短信。
当我给他回电话时，他说：“不要发布任何有关巴勒斯坦的内容。 无论你做什么，都不要参加抗议或公开写任何东西。”
全国各地针对加沙大规模轰炸的学生抗议活动成为新闻。 那是 2023 年 10 月，巴勒斯坦人的死亡人数已接近前 10,000 人，许多妇女和儿童在家中、学校和医院中死去。 全世界都在哀悼在哈马斯空前致命的袭击中丧生的 1000 多名以色列平民。
我刚刚在一家大型学术教学医院获得了我的第一个专职医师职位。 在过去的十年里，我一直在研究和与创伤和暴力的幸存者一起工作，在过去的几年里，我志愿为寻求庇护者进行法医评估。 我一直大声表达我的政治观点，尤其是在正义和人权问题上，但我父亲以前从未警告过我。
我的父母在文化大革命期间在中国长大，当时任何对政府的批评都会让你成为公敌，受到同事、学校和邻居的惩罚。 据估计，有 150 万持不同政见者死于愤怒的人群之手、死于劳改营或为逃避无情的羞辱和迫害而自杀。
我的外祖父，或者说老爷，是一位魅力四射、才华横溢的六英尺高诗人、排球运动员、多国语言和俄罗斯文学助理教授，他喜欢骑赛车去上课。
1957年，毛泽东反右运动期间，我祖父的部门召开会议，指控他的同事王教授为“右派反革命”，年轻的助理教授没有被邀请。 在毛泽东呼吁全国知识分子和受过教育的人们公开反馈期间，他在一次工作人员会议上批评了共产党政府。 然而，几个月后，这些发声的人被贴上诽谤者的标签，并被围捕处决或通过劳改进行再教育。
在这次会议中，一向沉默寡言的祖父是唯一一个在寂静的房间里为王的善意辩护的人。 不久之后，我的祖父也被定为右派，并被判处高中看门人劳教。 直到25年后，文化大革命结束后，他才被允许重返大学。
我知道我爸爸为什么担心。 自从我们全家于 2000 年移民到美国以来，我们中的任何一个人都没有见过目前对持有政治观点的恐惧程度，尤其是当它支持人道对待一个民族时。
10月7日之后，哈佛大学、加州大学和宾夕法尼亚大学等著名学术机构在全国范围内发表声明，表达对以色列平民的同情，并谴责针对他们的暴力行为，这是他们应该做的。 全国各地的卫生系统和组织都发布了类似的内部声明，并在同事和朋友之间分享。
然而，对于持续大规模屠杀巴勒斯坦平民的行为，却鲜有类似的谴责或呼吁停火。
“除巴勒斯坦之外的进步”一词是指通常主张正义和公平的个人和组织对以色列和巴勒斯坦被占领土上巴勒斯坦人的压迫保持沉默。
尽管包括人权观察组织、国际特赦组织和以色列的 B’Tselem 在内的许多人权组织都遭受了系统性的压迫，并将其称为种族隔离。
沉默震耳欲聋。
去年 12 月，马里兰大学和乔治城大学对美国中东学者进行的一项民意调查发现，在认为必须进行自我审查的学者中，绝大多数（81%）对以色列的批评进行了自我审查，而只有 11% 对巴勒斯坦人的批评进行自我审查，2% 对美国政策的批评进行自我审查。
“这是恐惧，而不是敏感性，”一位主要研究人员在接受美国国家公共广播电台采访时表示。
可以肯定的是，许多人选择不在工作中或社交媒体上谈论政治。 但我们期望与边缘化群体站在一起的同事和领导人之间的沉默才是最痛苦的。
我也沉默了，也害怕了。 即使是现在，我也能找出 20 个不写这篇文章或不公开表达我的道德痛苦的理由。 我害怕被误解。 我担心我的犹太朋友会留下代际的、存在的伤口，或者被贴上反犹太主义的标签，即使我致力于维护所有人的权利和尊严。
当然，人们也担心受到个人或职业攻击、解雇、列入黑名单或至少像其他人一样遭到排斥。 有人可能会说我没有发言权，因为问题太复杂了，我既不是以色列人，也不是巴勒斯坦人，犹太人，穆斯林
然而，正是因为我感到保持沉默的压力，我才觉得有必要大声说出来。
巴勒斯坦人和以色列人的生命应该关系到我们所有人。 创伤在沉默中持续存在。
大屠杀、浩劫、我的祖父母所经历的文化大革命，以及学校中没有教授的许多其他种族灭绝、战争罪行和殖民主义——所有这些集体创伤都伴随着我们。
我没有中东和平的解决方案。 但我确实知道，承认暴行并以同情心作见证是治愈创伤的第一步。 如果不培养我们共同的人性，我们就无法中断暴力和苦难的循环。
与他人分享你内心的道德不安并大声说出来。 谦虚地提出问题，创造一个更安全的空间，并相信彼此的同理心。 勇气存在于集体之中。
这样就有可能共同提高我们人类的声音，让我们的组织承担责任，并告诉政策制定者我们要求停火。
我不敢说话。 但我记得我的祖父，所以我站起来，迈出了一步。 这是我的第一次。
Jenny X. Wen 博士是麻省总医院的内科医师和哈佛医学院的讲师。 她在 MGH 庇护诊所和剑桥健康联盟庇护项目研究和教授庇护医学和集体治疗，并在培训临床医生进行创伤知情护理方面拥有 10 多年的经验。
温博士在约翰·霍普金斯大学获得医学博士和公共卫生硕士学位，并在哈佛医学院剑桥健康联盟完成了住院医师培训。 作为莱斯大学的本科生和托马斯·J·沃森研究员，她首先开始研究美国和四大洲性别暴力幸存者的创伤和康复。 她目前是与马萨诸塞州总医院合作的 OpEd 项目的公共声音研究员。 所表达的观点是她自己的。
“Call me.” Two missed calls and a text from my dad. When I call him back, he says, “Do not post anything about Palestine. Whatever you do, do not go to protests or write anything public.” The student protests across the country against the mass bombing of Gaza were making news. It was October 2023 and the death toll of Palestinians was approaching the first 10,000, many women and children dying in their homes, schools, and hospitals. The world was mourning the deaths of more than 1,000 Israeli civilians killed in an unprecedentedly deadly raid by Hamas.
had just taken my first faculty physician position at a large, academic teaching hospital. I spent the last 10 years studying and working with survivors of trauma and violence, and past few years volunteering to perform forensic medical evaluations for asylum seekers. I have always been loud about my political opinions — particularly on issues of justice and human rights — yet my dad had never warned me before. My parents grew up in China during the Cultural Revolution, when any perceived criticism of the government made you a public enemy punishable by your coworkers, school and neighbors. An estimated 1.5 million alleged dissidents died at the hands of riled up crowds, in labor camps or by suicide to escape relentless humiliation and persecution. My maternal grandfather, or laoye, was a charismatic and brilliant 6-foot poet, volleyball player, polyglot, and assistant professor of Russian literature who liked to ride his racing bike to class.
In 1957, during Mao Zedong’s Anti-Rightist Campaign, my grandfather’s department called a meeting to charge his colleague, a professor Wang, as a “Rightist Counter-Revolutionary.″ The young assistant professor was not invited. He had critiqued the Communist government in an staff meeting during a period Mao had called for open feedback by intellectuals and educated people around the nation. However, months later, these people who spoke up were labeled as detractors and rounded up for execution or re-education through hard labor. During this meeting, my usually reticent grandfather was the only person who defended Wang’s good intentions in a silent room. Soon after, my grandfather was also pronounced to be a rightist and sentenced to re-education as a high school janitor. He was not allowed to return to the university until 25 years later, after the Cultural Revolution had ended.
I knew why my dad was worried. Since our family immigrated to the U.S. in 2000, none of us have ever witnessed this current level of fear of holding a political opinion, especially when it is in support of humane treatment of a people. Around the country, prominent academic institutions such as Harvard, the University of California and the University of Pennsylvania circulated statements after Oct. 7 expressing compassion for the Israeli civilians and condemning violence against them, as they should. Health systems and organizations around the country issued similar internal statements that were shared amongst colleagues and friends. However, there have been few analogous condemnations against the ongoing mass killing of Palestinian civilians or calls for a ceasefire. The term “progressive except Palestine” refers to when people and organizations who usually stand for justice and equity remain silent on the oppression of Palestinians in Israel and occupied Palestinian territories.
This is despite the systematic oppression many human rights groups, includingHuman Rights Watch,Amnesty International and Israel-based B’Tselem have called apartheid. The silence is deafening. In December, a University of Maryland and Georgetown University poll of Middle Eastern academics in the U.S. found that, of scholars who felt they had to censor themselves, the vast majority — 81% — self-censored around criticism of Israel, while only 11% self-censored around criticisms of Palestinians and 2% self-censored around criticisms of U.S. policy. “It’s fear, rather than sensitivity,” one of the lead researchers said in aNPR interview. To be sure, many choose not to speak about politics at work or on social media. But it’s the silence among peers and leaders we expect to stand with the marginalized that is most painful. I was also silent and afraid. Even now, I can come up with 20 reasons for not writing this or ever publicly voicing my moral anguish. I fear being misunderstood. I worry about opening intergenerational, existential wounds of my Jewish friends, or being labeled as antisemitic even if I am committed to the rights and dignity of all people.
Of course, there is also fear being personally or professionally attacked, fired, blacklisted or at least ostracized as others have been. Some may say I have no right to speak because the issue is too complicated, and I am neither Israeli nor Palestinian, Jewish, Muslim or Christian or from the region. And yet, I feel compelled to speak up precisely because I feel the pressure to stay silent. The lives of Palestinians and Israelis should matter to all of us. Trauma persists in silence. The Holocaust, the Nakba, the Cultural Revolution my grandparents endured, the many other genocides and crimes of war and colonialism not taught in schools — all those collective traumas are with us. I don’t have solutions for peace in the Middle East. But I do know acknowledging atrocities and bearing witness with compassion are fundamental first steps to healing. We cannot interrupt cycles of violence and suffering without cultivating our shared humanity.
Share with others the moral disquiet eating at you and speak up. Humbly ask questions, create a safer space, and trust in each other’s empathy. Courage lives in the collective. It then becomes possible to raise our human voices together, hold our organizations accountable, and tell policymakers we demand a ceasefire. I am afraid to speak. But I remember my grandfather, so I stand up, and take one step. This is my first. Dr. Jenny X. Wen M.D. MPH is an internal medicine physician at Massachusetts General Hospital and Instructor at Harvard Medical School. She studies and teaches asylum medicine and collective healing at the MGH Asylum Clinic and Cambridge Health Alliance Asylum Program, and has over 10 years of experience in training clinicians on trauma informed care. Dr. Wen received her MD and Master of Public Health from Johns Hopkins University and completed her residency training at Cambridge Health Alliance, Harvard Medical School. She first started studying trauma and healing in survivors of gender based violence in the US and across 4 continents as an undergraduate at Rice University and as a Thomas J. Watson Fellow. She is currently a Public Voices Fellow with The OpEd Project in partnership with Massachusetts General Hospital. Views expressed are her own.
I Was Warned Not To Speak Out On Palestine. But Because of What Happened to My Grandfather, I Must. (msn.com)
我被警告不要谈论巴勒斯坦问题。 但因为发生在我祖父身上的事，我必须这么做。 (msn.com)
“打电话给我。”
两个未接电话和一条来自我父亲的短信。
当我给他回电话时，他说：“不要发布任何有关巴勒斯坦的内容。 无论你做什么，都不要参加抗议或公开写任何东西。”
全国各地针对加沙大规模轰炸的学生抗议活动成为新闻。 那是 2023 年 10 月，巴勒斯坦人的死亡人数已接近前 10,000 人，许多妇女和儿童在家中、学校和医院中死去。 全世界都在哀悼在哈马斯空前致命的袭击中丧生的 1000 多名以色列平民。
我刚刚在一家大型学术教学医院获得了我的第一个专职医师职位。 在过去的十年里，我一直在研究和与创伤和暴力的幸存者一起工作，在过去的几年里，我志愿为寻求庇护者进行法医评估。 我一直大声表达我的政治观点，尤其是在正义和人权问题上，但我父亲以前从未警告过我。
我的父母在文化大革命期间在中国长大，当时任何对政府的批评都会让你成为公敌，受到同事、学校和邻居的惩罚。 据估计，有 150 万持不同政见者死于愤怒的人群之手、死于劳改营或为逃避无情的羞辱和迫害而自杀。
我的外祖父，或者说老爷，是一位魅力四射、才华横溢的六英尺高诗人、排球运动员、多国语言和俄罗斯文学助理教授，他喜欢骑赛车去上课。
1957年，毛泽东反右运动期间，我祖父的部门召开会议，指控他的同事王教授为“右派反革命”，年轻的助理教授没有被邀请。 在毛泽东呼吁全国知识分子和受过教育的人们公开反馈期间，他在一次工作人员会议上批评了共产党政府。 然而，几个月后，这些发声的人被贴上诽谤者的标签，并被围捕处决或通过劳改进行再教育。
在这次会议中，一向沉默寡言的祖父是唯一一个在寂静的房间里为王的善意辩护的人。 不久之后，我的祖父也被定为右派，并被判处高中看门人劳教。 直到25年后，文化大革命结束后，他才被允许重返大学。
我知道我爸爸为什么担心。 自从我们全家于 2000 年移民到美国以来，我们中的任何一个人都没有见过目前对持有政治观点的恐惧程度，尤其是当它支持人道对待一个民族时。
10月7日之后，哈佛大学、加州大学和宾夕法尼亚大学等著名学术机构在全国范围内发表声明，表达对以色列平民的同情，并谴责针对他们的暴力行为，这是他们应该做的。 全国各地的卫生系统和组织都发布了类似的内部声明，并在同事和朋友之间分享。
然而，对于持续大规模屠杀巴勒斯坦平民的行为，却鲜有类似的谴责或呼吁停火。
“除巴勒斯坦之外的进步”一词是指通常主张正义和公平的个人和组织对以色列和巴勒斯坦被占领土上巴勒斯坦人的压迫保持沉默。
尽管包括人权观察组织、国际特赦组织和以色列的 B’Tselem 在内的许多人权组织都遭受了系统性的压迫，并将其称为种族隔离。
沉默震耳欲聋。
去年 12 月，马里兰大学和乔治城大学对美国中东学者进行的一项民意调查发现，在认为必须进行自我审查的学者中，绝大多数（81%）对以色列的批评进行了自我审查，而只有 11% 对巴勒斯坦人的批评进行自我审查，2% 对美国政策的批评进行自我审查。
“这是恐惧，而不是敏感性，”一位主要研究人员在接受美国国家公共广播电台采访时表示。
可以肯定的是，许多人选择不在工作中或社交媒体上谈论政治。 但我们期望与边缘化群体站在一起的同事和领导人之间的沉默才是最痛苦的。
我也沉默了，也害怕了。 即使是现在，我也能找出 20 个不写这篇文章或不公开表达我的道德痛苦的理由。 我害怕被误解。 我担心我的犹太朋友会留下代际的、存在的伤口，或者被贴上反犹太主义的标签，即使我致力于维护所有人的权利和尊严。
当然，人们也担心受到个人或职业攻击、解雇、列入黑名单或至少像其他人一样遭到排斥。 有人可能会说我没有发言权，因为问题太复杂了，我既不是以色列人，也不是巴勒斯坦人，犹太人，穆斯林
然而，正是因为我感到保持沉默的压力，我才觉得有必要大声说出来。
巴勒斯坦人和以色列人的生命应该关系到我们所有人。 创伤在沉默中持续存在。
大屠杀、浩劫、我的祖父母所经历的文化大革命，以及学校中没有教授的许多其他种族灭绝、战争罪行和殖民主义——所有这些集体创伤都伴随着我们。
我没有中东和平的解决方案。 但我确实知道，承认暴行并以同情心作见证是治愈创伤的第一步。 如果不培养我们共同的人性，我们就无法中断暴力和苦难的循环。
与他人分享你内心的道德不安并大声说出来。 谦虚地提出问题，创造一个更安全的空间，并相信彼此的同理心。 勇气存在于集体之中。
这样就有可能共同提高我们人类的声音，让我们的组织承担责任，并告诉政策制定者我们要求停火。
我不敢说话。 但我记得我的祖父，所以我站起来，迈出了一步。 这是我的第一次。
Jenny X. Wen 博士是麻省总医院的内科医师和哈佛医学院的讲师。 她在 MGH 庇护诊所和剑桥健康联盟庇护项目研究和教授庇护医学和集体治疗，并在培训临床医生进行创伤知情护理方面拥有 10 多年的经验。
温博士在约翰·霍普金斯大学获得医学博士和公共卫生硕士学位，并在哈佛医学院剑桥健康联盟完成了住院医师培训。 作为莱斯大学的本科生和托马斯·J·沃森研究员，她首先开始研究美国和四大洲性别暴力幸存者的创伤和康复。 她目前是与马萨诸塞州总医院合作的 OpEd 项目的公共声音研究员。 所表达的观点是她自己的。
“Call me.” Two missed calls and a text from my dad. When I call him back, he says, “Do not post anything about Palestine. Whatever you do, do not go to protests or write anything public.” The student protests across the country against the mass bombing of Gaza were making news. It was October 2023 and the death toll of Palestinians was approaching the first 10,000, many women and children dying in their homes, schools, and hospitals. The world was mourning the deaths of more than 1,000 Israeli civilians killed in an unprecedentedly deadly raid by Hamas.
had just taken my first faculty physician position at a large, academic teaching hospital. I spent the last 10 years studying and working with survivors of trauma and violence, and past few years volunteering to perform forensic medical evaluations for asylum seekers. I have always been loud about my political opinions — particularly on issues of justice and human rights — yet my dad had never warned me before. My parents grew up in China during the Cultural Revolution, when any perceived criticism of the government made you a public enemy punishable by your coworkers, school and neighbors. An estimated 1.5 million alleged dissidents died at the hands of riled up crowds, in labor camps or by suicide to escape relentless humiliation and persecution. My maternal grandfather, or laoye, was a charismatic and brilliant 6-foot poet, volleyball player, polyglot, and assistant professor of Russian literature who liked to ride his racing bike to class.
In 1957, during Mao Zedong’s Anti-Rightist Campaign, my grandfather’s department called a meeting to charge his colleague, a professor Wang, as a “Rightist Counter-Revolutionary.″ The young assistant professor was not invited. He had critiqued the Communist government in an staff meeting during a period Mao had called for open feedback by intellectuals and educated people around the nation. However, months later, these people who spoke up were labeled as detractors and rounded up for execution or re-education through hard labor. During this meeting, my usually reticent grandfather was the only person who defended Wang’s good intentions in a silent room. Soon after, my grandfather was also pronounced to be a rightist and sentenced to re-education as a high school janitor. He was not allowed to return to the university until 25 years later, after the Cultural Revolution had ended.
I knew why my dad was worried. Since our family immigrated to the U.S. in 2000, none of us have ever witnessed this current level of fear of holding a political opinion, especially when it is in support of humane treatment of a people. Around the country, prominent academic institutions such as Harvard, the University of California and the University of Pennsylvania circulated statements after Oct. 7 expressing compassion for the Israeli civilians and condemning violence against them, as they should. Health systems and organizations around the country issued similar internal statements that were shared amongst colleagues and friends. However, there have been few analogous condemnations against the ongoing mass killing of Palestinian civilians or calls for a ceasefire. The term “progressive except Palestine” refers to when people and organizations who usually stand for justice and equity remain silent on the oppression of Palestinians in Israel and occupied Palestinian territories.
This is despite the systematic oppression many human rights groups, includingHuman Rights Watch,Amnesty International and Israel-based B’Tselem have called apartheid. The silence is deafening. In December, a University of Maryland and Georgetown University poll of Middle Eastern academics in the U.S. found that, of scholars who felt they had to censor themselves, the vast majority — 81% — self-censored around criticism of Israel, while only 11% self-censored around criticisms of Palestinians and 2% self-censored around criticisms of U.S. policy. “It’s fear, rather than sensitivity,” one of the lead researchers said in aNPR interview. To be sure, many choose not to speak about politics at work or on social media. But it’s the silence among peers and leaders we expect to stand with the marginalized that is most painful. I was also silent and afraid. Even now, I can come up with 20 reasons for not writing this or ever publicly voicing my moral anguish. I fear being misunderstood. I worry about opening intergenerational, existential wounds of my Jewish friends, or being labeled as antisemitic even if I am committed to the rights and dignity of all people.
Of course, there is also fear being personally or professionally attacked, fired, blacklisted or at least ostracized as others have been. Some may say I have no right to speak because the issue is too complicated, and I am neither Israeli nor Palestinian, Jewish, Muslim or Christian or from the region. And yet, I feel compelled to speak up precisely because I feel the pressure to stay silent. The lives of Palestinians and Israelis should matter to all of us. Trauma persists in silence. The Holocaust, the Nakba, the Cultural Revolution my grandparents endured, the many other genocides and crimes of war and colonialism not taught in schools — all those collective traumas are with us. I don’t have solutions for peace in the Middle East. But I do know acknowledging atrocities and bearing witness with compassion are fundamental first steps to healing. We cannot interrupt cycles of violence and suffering without cultivating our shared humanity.
Share with others the moral disquiet eating at you and speak up. Humbly ask questions, create a safer space, and trust in each other’s empathy. Courage lives in the collective. It then becomes possible to raise our human voices together, hold our organizations accountable, and tell policymakers we demand a ceasefire. I am afraid to speak. But I remember my grandfather, so I stand up, and take one step. This is my first. Dr. Jenny X. Wen M.D. MPH is an internal medicine physician at Massachusetts General Hospital and Instructor at Harvard Medical School. She studies and teaches asylum medicine and collective healing at the MGH Asylum Clinic and Cambridge Health Alliance Asylum Program, and has over 10 years of experience in training clinicians on trauma informed care. Dr. Wen received her MD and Master of Public Health from Johns Hopkins University and completed her residency training at Cambridge Health Alliance, Harvard Medical School. She first started studying trauma and healing in survivors of gender based violence in the US and across 4 continents as an undergraduate at Rice University and as a Thomas J. Watson Fellow. She is currently a Public Voices Fellow with The OpEd Project in partnership with Massachusetts General Hospital. Views expressed are her own.