The above map and following essay are from a project produced for a course I took last semester. As it may be of some relevance or utility, I have chosen to post it here. As always, thoughts, critiques, and feedback is welcomed.

The map accompanying this essay attempts to situate via multiple data points the location of Gaza Solidarity Encampments installed on the campuses of colleges and universities during April and May 2024 in what is demarcated as Los Angeles County. In particular, it seeks to raise the question of the implications of the taking of space in solidarity with an Indigenous struggle for liberation in Palestine on land that itself was ethnically cleansed and genocided of most of its Indigenous inhabitants. To do so, it first notes the identities and territories of the original populations of what is now Los Angeles County: the Tongva, Kizh, and Chumash peoples. Upon that is layered the colonial infrastructure and place designations to orient the gaze from a settler lens with the intention of inspiring reflection on the imposition of settler colonialism and belonging in space. If the colonial place names were absent, would the viewer’s familiarity with the area change? Finally, using tent icons, the map indicates the approximate location of the five Gaza Solidarity Encampments in the area that were erected in April and May 2024, along with the identification of the college or university, the name given to the encampment by those involved, and the Indigenous lands upon which the encampment was placed. The intention of the map is not to condemn nor to celebrate, but to problematize the conception of space in the context of resistance and to encourage the incorporation of a decolonial perspective in the work of protest.

In assembling this map, I conducted research into the various Gaza Solidarity Encampments and their locations and read through the Instagram pages associated with each encampment. In particular, my attention was directed towards how encampment participants enunciated their understanding of the taking of space as a means of protest and how (or if) they placed their actions within a decolonial context. My interest in this topic stems from years of engagement as a settler with Indigenous struggles and social movements from the U.S. to Mexico to Palestine, prior involvement in an encampment movement as part of Occupy Oakland, on occupied Ohlone lands, and the exhortations of Indigenous anarchists that an anti-colonial framework must be a part of any coherent radical program. As Diné anarchist Klee Benally wrote, “That ‘American’ anarchist history and contemporary analysis is devoid of meaningful anti-colonial analysis and action speaks volumes to this concern. For all its aggressions towards the State, there are no excuses for its lack of implication of that overlying function of the first violences that compose ‘America’ and from which the continuity of its power flows to this day” (331). Taking that injunction seriously, this map and essay attempt to be informed by anti-colonial commitments. In doing so, it draws heavily upon decolonial criticisms of the Occupy Wall Street movement, of which Occupy Oakland was a part, and places those into conversation with representations of the Gaza Solidarity Encampments made by participants on social media. The goal is to elaborate on Indigenous concerns regarding the claiming of space by non-Indigenous people on Indigenous land and to explore how the Gaza Solidarity Encampments navigated this matter.

As Greg Martin reminds us, “space is socially produced and infused with power relations. Space is also conceived broadly as both physical and non-physical space, where the latter includes (geo)political space, social space, and cultural or identity space” (202). The map tries to capture this intersection at the physical and non-physical, one accentuated by Indigenous erasure – that which once was physical but is now almost absent. Land and territory in what is called the United States is incontestably bound up in settler colonialism and Indigenous genocide. This raises the question of how those who are settlers, or at a minimum non-Indigenous, carry out struggles for social change on occupied and stolen land. As mentioned above by Benally, Indigenous genocide marks the “first violences” of this terrain and therefore, the argument goes, must be acknowledged and included in formulations for social and economic justice. It is also a reminder that Indigenous presence on these lands is not something relegated to the past, but an ongoing reality for the nearly four million Indigenous inhabitants of territory claimed by the United States.

When activists set up an encampment in Zuccotti Park, on occupied Lenape lands, on September 17, 2011, under the banner Occupy Wall Street, they unwittingly unleashed a force that would sweep the United States, resulting in the installation of similar encampments in dozens of cities around the country. During the movement and in the years since, multiple critiques have been leveled at it from a decolonial perspective. In a text sympathetic to the tactic of occupation, AK Thompson summarizes the concerns of its critics: “In their view, ‘occupation’ seemed irreparably tarnished by its association with the acts of conquest it was thought normally to denote. In their estimation, not only did the movement’s preferred nomenclature alienate those who had endured histories of colonial violence at the hands of occupying forces, it also ensured that their efforts would fail. How, they asked, could a liberation struggle win if it rallied behind conquest’s banner” (182)? Indigenous activists and allies urged the Occupy movement to adopt a decolonial politics to avoid Indigenous erasure and the replication of a settler colonial worldview. Joanna Barker was involved in Occupy Oakland and one of many who attempted, via the General Assembly, to change the name of the movement there to “Decolonize Oakland,” a proposal that was ultimately rejected. She reflects that, “In my experience the movement and some of the writings, even or especially when critiquing the United States as an empire, failed to adequately account for or address Indigenous matters. This failure had the immediate and implied consequence of erasing Indigenous peoples from understandings of the histories and rearticulations of economic disparity within a US imperial formation” (20). The gap between the movement claiming to represent the 99% while ignoring the living legacy of settler colonialism was never fully reconciled. Perhaps appropriately, it was commonly noted that while the 1% was meant to indict those holders of capital, the Indigenous population of the United States is also around 1%. Nicholas Mirzeoff notes that Occupy “failed to see how the other one percent was the indigenous population; or that the recent precarity of white people had to be set into the context of four centuries of exploitation of African American labor” (17).

A similar encampment phenomenon again occurred in the United States when on April 17, 2024, students at Columbia University, on occupied Lenape lands, set up a Gaza Solidarity Encampment on campus. In the days that followed, dozens of other encampments appeared on campuses around the United States and globally. While there are important distinctions between the Occupy movement and the Palestine solidarity movement – such as Occupy’s focus on the economy and capitalism and the claiming of public space near centers of state and economic power – the tactic of the encampment, the radical politics embodied by both, and the velocity at which the two movements spread throughout the country are three key similarities. More than a decade later and after growing discourse on the need for decolonization, I was interested to see how these new encampments framed their taking of space and how they would navigate, in a struggle for Indigenous liberation, what Sandy Grande points to as “the discursive trope and strategy of ‘occupation’ [that] reconstitutes (territorial) appropriation as the democratic manifest and, in so doing, fails to propose something distinct from or counter to the settler state” (370).

As the five encampments were part of a decentralized movement, one would not expect uniformity in their demands, rhetoric, or actions, and this was certainly the case. The first encampment to go up was on the campus of the University of Southern California (USC), located on occupied Chumash and Tongva lands, on April 24, 2024. Reminiscent of Occupy, it labeled itself as the “Gaza Solidarity Occupation,” but ascribed a distinct meaning to that word choice. Acknowledging, as Adam Barker points out that, “this space is already occupied” (329), the USC Divest from Death Coalition emphasized that, “We have chosen to use the word ‘occupation’ instead of ‘encampment’ to draw attention to USC as an occupying force on unceded Gabrieleno/Tongva land, an occupying force in South Central through its expansion into, gentrification of, and destruction of the existing community, and as a complicit power in the Israeli occupation of Palestine” (@uscscale, “USC DIVEST”). The occupation’s list of demands also included a call to “stop the displacement, from South Central to Palestine,” critiquing USC’s developments in South Central Los Angeles and comparing it to the Israeli occupation of Palestine (@uscscale, “USC DIVEST”).

In a separate post, the coalition again put forward a decolonial politics, arguing, “We firmly reject the idea that these settler colonial institutions, whose existence is predicated on the dispossession and disenfranchisement of the Indigenous peoples of Turtle Island, represent us” (@uscscale, “We”). In their anti-colonial rhetoric, the students at USC reflected a growing political consciousness that was absent during Occupy, taking to heart Grande’s argument that, “In the end, the OWS moment refracted through an Indigenous lens, compels us to be attentive to both the larger ontological and epistemic underpinnings of settler colonialism; to discern the relationship between our struggles and others; to disrupt complicity and ignite a refusal of a capitalist promise built upon a series of non-promises for Indigenous peoples; and, to more appropriately theorize the relationship between ‘spectacular’ and ‘surplus’ subjectivities” (377). In their way, through their demands, framing, and actions, the USC occupation incorporated a decolonial lens and connected the struggles in Palestine and the United States through a framework of fighting against settler colonialism.

Of the five encampments, USC was particularly active in recognizing the space of the encampment as a one of settler-colonial occupation. At some encampments, such recognition was notably absent, at least in statements released by the organizations on social media. This was the case at Pitzer College, on occupied Tongva lands, where a Gaza Solidarity Encampment organized by Claremont Students for Justice in Palestine stood for eight days. In their communications, there was no mention of the Indigenous nature of the Palestinian struggle nor an acknowledgement that the encampment was taking place on occupied land (@claremontsjp, “JOIN US NOW,” “WE GOT DISCLOSURE,” “We will not stop”).

The absence of a decolonial politics was also true of the Oxy Students for Justice in Palestine Gaza Solidarity Encampment at Occidental College on occupied Chumash and Tongva lands. In their demands and reports from the encampment, no mention was made of the settler colonial nature of the space on which their action was taking place, nor of their implication within a settler colonial regime (@oxysjp, “Here,” “WEEK ONE”). Such lack of acknowledgement when other encampments were framing their efforts from a decolonial perspective speaks to the ingrained power of settler colonialism and its “normality” from a non-Indigenous positionality. Nonetheless, as Adam Barker argues, that is why it must be engaged with: “Settler colonialism is persistent and pervasive, and is one of the most powerful forces to shape the North American social, political and economic landscapes. It cannot be ignored if for no other reason than that it implicates almost every Settler person in its functioning” (329). To occupy space as a form of struggle in the context of a settler-colonial society without reflecting on the significance of such an act is to enact of form of settler privilege. Grande argues that such moves speak to the “liberal (which is to say Eurocentric)” core of movements that deem themselves radical (370).

The final two encampments walked a middle line between the decolonial and the settler frames. At the University of California, Los Angeles (UCLA) Palestine Solidarity Encampment, on occupied Chumash and Tongva lands, organized by Students for Justice in Palestine, they did acknowledge the colonial nature of the United States. “Since its foundation on stolen land, the United States remains at the forefront of settler colonialism, apartheid, imperialism, and genocide both on Turtle Island and in the Global South, just as the UC system remains a key apparatus” (@sjpatucla, “ALL EYES ON RAFAH”). This is an important point, but the only example I was able to find on Instagram of the UCLA encampment’s recognition of settler colonialism. As such, they did not make it as central to their orientation as USC did, but to their credit, they also did not ignore it, as was the case at Pitzer and Occidental.

Finally, the Palestine Solidarity Encampment at Pomona College, on occupied Tongva lands, organized by Pomona Divest from Apartheid, made a similar gesture. In its points of unity, it emphasized in point three that, “We commit to anti-imperialism and anti-colonialism, here and everywhere. We recognize that we are on occupied Tongva land. Many of us are visitors, others – colonizers, on this stolen land. We reject attempts to place colonization in the past, which places the burden of assimilation and adaptation on Indigenous people” (@pomonadivestapartheid, “PALESTINE”). This point of unity is significant both for its incorporation of anti-colonial politics and its acknowledgement that participants in the encampment themselves are implicated in settler colonialism. Notably, in the communications reviewed for this essay, no other encampment demonstrated a comparable understanding of personal complicity in settler colonialism, as emphasized in Adam Barker’s critique of Occupy, “And while the protesters would likely suggest that they are not the problem—instead citing government, military or corporate structures—in the context of settler colonialism, this position is untenable. It is too easy to point fingers at these large institutions of power and privilege” (331).

In conclusion, this map and accompanying essay have attempted to examine the degree to which Gaza Solidarity Encampments in what is known as Los Angeles County engaged with politics of settler colonialism and decolonization as they carried out their occupations of space on occupied land. Drawing upon critiques of the Occupy movement to offer an understanding of the importance of decolonial work in actions demanding social justice, the investigation found mixed results with regards to the latest wave of protest encampments. Out of the five, one, that at USC, made decolonization a central part of its demands and rhetoric. Others, such as UCLA and Pomona, incorporated anti-colonial awareness into the framing of their encampments. While two, at Pitzer and Occidental, neglected to mention settler colonialism at all.

The reasons for these discrepancies are outside the scope of this short paper, though it may depend on factors such as the experiences and ethnicities of encampment participants. There is also a question of memory and legacy, wherein older movement activists pass on lessons learned from previous iterations of struggle. This happens much less frequently than it should, as such, newer activists are often starting from scratch without benefitting from insights gleaned from earlier fights. At the same time, discourse and knowledge production continues to evolve, especially within the university, bringing concerns that were previously ignored to the fore. This has been the case with decolonization and settler colonialism, with the benefit that those unfamiliar with the debates during Occupy may have already been exposed to calls for decolonization and a recognition of settler colonialism given their location within the academy.

Regardless, it is incumbent upon those participating in radical movements on occupied land, especially in solidarity with Indigenous struggles here and elsewhere in the world, to incorporate anti-colonial analyses, demands, and language. As for the questions of what that necessarily looks like, Eve Tuck and K. Wayne Yang point out that “decolonization is not obliged to answer those questions – decolonization is not accountable to settlers, or settler futurity. Decolonization is accountable to Indigenous sovereignty and futurity” (35). Nonetheless, the actions and words of the 2024 Gaza Solidarity Encampments offer some insights into how anti-colonial politics may be incorporated into the process of struggle, as well as examples of approaches that may best be reconsidered. 

Works Cited

Barker, Adam. “Already Occupied: Indigenous Peoples, Settler Colonialism and the Occupy Movements in North America.” Social Movement Studies, vol. 11, nos. 3-4, 2012, pp. 327-334. https://doi.org/10.1080/14742837.2012.708922.

Barker, Joanne. “Territory as Analytic: The Dispossession of Lenapehoking and the Subprime Crisis.” Social Text, vol. 36, no. 2, 2018, pp. 19-39. https://doi.org/10.1215/01642472-4362337.

Benally, Klee. No Spiritual Surrender: Indigenous Anarchy in Defense of the Sacred. Detritus Books, 2023.

@claremontsjp. “JOIN US NOW.” Instagram, 26 Apr. 2024, instagram.com/p/C6OmZibL7pR/?img_index=1.

—. “WE GOT DISCLOSURE WITHOUT DISSOLVING OUR ENCAMPMENT.” Instagram, 3 May 2024, instagram.com/p/C6hb1hAS6jp/?img_index=1.

—. “We will not stop we will not rest until we see divestment and a free Palestine.” Instagram, 5 May 2024, instagram.com/p/C6m_KqLpvoZ/?img_index=1.

Grande, Sandy. “Accumulation of the primitive: the limits of liberalism and the politics of occupy Wall Street.” Settler Colonial Studies, vol. 3, nos. 3-4, 2013, pp. 369-80. https://doi.org/10.1080/2201473X.2013.810704.

Martin, Greg. Social Movements and Protest Politics. 2^nd ed., Routledge, 2023.

Mirzoeff, Nicholas. “Empty the museum, decolonize the curriculum, open theory.” Nordic Journal of Aesthetics, vol. 25, no. 53, 2017, pp. 6-22. EBSCOhost, https://doi-org.ccl.idm.oclc.org/10.7146/nja.v25i53.26403.

@oxysjp. “Here is an updated list of demands.” Instagram, 1 May 2024, instagram.com/p/C6capIhPAnG/.

—. “WEEK ONE COMMUNITY UPDATES!” Instagram, 4 May 2024, instagram.com/p/C6j6psLSHfb/?img_index=1.

@pomonadivestapartheid. “PALESTINE SOLIDARITY ENCAMPMENT POINTS OF UNITY.” Instagram, 6 May 2024, instagram.com/p/C6pF51TS5fd/?img_index=4.

@sjpatucla. “ALL EYES ON RAFAH.” Instagram, 6 May 2024, instagram.com/p/C6piaTzJk-e/?img_index=3.

Thompson, AK. “Occupation, decolonization and reciprocal violence, or history responds to Occupy’s anti-colonial critics.” Protest camps in international context: Spaces, infrastructures and media of resistance, edited by Gavin Brown, Anna Feigenbaum, Fabian Frenzel and Patrick McCurdy, Bristol UP: Policy Press, 2017, pp. 179-198. https://doi.org/10.2307/j.ctt1t89745.16.

Tuck, Eve and K. Wayne Yang. “Decolonization is not a metaphor.” Decolonization: Indigeneity, Education & Society, vol. 1, no. 1, 2012, pp. 1-40, https://jps.library.utoronto.ca/index.php/des/article/view/18630.

@uscscale. “USC DIVEST FROM DEATH COALITION STARTS GAZA SOLIDARITY OCCUPATION.” Instagram, 24 Apr. 2024, instagram.com/p/C6JYYbPLb-S/?img_index=3.

—. “We, the USC Divest From Death Coalition, establish the Popular University for Gaza on the USC campus.” Instagram, 24 Apr. 2024, instagram.com/p/C6Jx5hIiDRh/?img_index=4.