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.
I 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…
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