My students want UCL to divest from violence. Here's why I support them

Since October, students at University College London (UCL) have been protesting in solidarity with Palestine. These protests have taken many forms, including rallies, talks, demonstrations, and, above all, a 34-day occupation of a university room, named an "apartheid-free zone." It became a centre of education, discussion, community and activism.

Students have also gathered regularly in front of the university's main building to declare their opposition to Israel's offensive, and to demand UCL cut ties with a variety of companies and institutions.

Many academics, activists and cultural figures have supported the occupation by giving talks or workshops; my modest contribution was a brief history of Latin American solidarity with Palestine and its people.

But recently, I have been asked why a lecturer (or student) in Latin American history should care about Palestine. Beyond basic decency and solidarity, there are several important reasons why these protests connect with history, and with education.

Latin America and Palestine

First, there are deep demographic links between the Middle East and Latin America, with many intertwining migration narratives leading to the present. There are, for instance, more than 500,000 Palestinians in Chile, so of course the current conflict is profoundly relevant there.

Second, there are many in Latin America who empathise with the anti-colonial aspects of Palestine's struggle, as well as with opposition to US imperialism.

In 2006, for instance, President Hugo Chávez of Venezuela said, "It really causes indignation to see how the state of Israel continues bombing, killing … with all of the power they have, with the support of the United States… It's hard to explain to oneself how nobody does anything to stop this horror."

Third, Israel played a role in supporting right-wing dictatorships during Latin America's Cold War. Israel supplied firearms, aircraft and other weapons systems to these regimes, but in some cases – some of the most notorious cases in fact – went much further, advising and training military and secret police forces, and taking a direct role in counter-insurgency operations.

Israel justified these links on two grounds: first, its belief that the arms trade was legitimate with any buyer; and second, that Israel was short of friends and couldn't afford to be too picky.

The governments and militaries Israel partnered with include Argentina's notoriously brutal junta and whose leaders frequently praised the Nazi regime in Germany. Israel also helped El Salvador's army to clear politically unreliable populations in key strategic areas and replace them with trusted settlers.

My university says it is proud to be "engaged with the wider world and committed to changing it for the better; recognised for our radical and critical thinking and its widespread influence."

When I walk through the quad and see hundreds of students calling for divestment from arms manufacturers, for the severing of ties to Israeli institutions, for an end to the scholasticide which has seen almost 100 professors and 8,000 students killed in Gaza, I see those values in action.

This is engagement with the wider world. This is commitment to change for the better (for what else could opposition to genocide be?). This is radical and critical thinking. And judging from the media attention in recent weeks, this is also widespread influence.

Divesting from violence

One concrete change that students - and many faculty, as evidenced in union resolutions - want to see is divestment from violence. At first glance it might seem very strange that any educational establishment is forming financial ties with arms manufacturers or military entities, but this is the world we live in.

Despite the high-minded rhetoric of websites and prospectuses, we teach and learn in the apparatuses of state power, and we are dependent on the consent of governments and businesses to operate in the current neoliberal model of education.

Thus when the management of Columbia University ignores the wishes of their own faculty, sending in police against students, they are acting in a manner consistent with the system's logic.

For them, the university is not the students, nor is it the faculty; it is the brand, the ideology, the connections to government and to capital. When these are threatened, university managers in Europe and North America have turned to censorship, intimidation and attempted lock-outs.

Students and faculty have other ideas. We are the university.

Honouring an alum

A few months ago, UCL students renamed their student centre after Palestinian writer and poet Dr. Refaat Alareer to protest the university's silence following his death.

He was killed in a targeted strike. As a prominent academic, and as a prominent alum (he graduated with a Master's degree in art in 2007), the protesting students expected something: a statement, a condemnation, a call for peace, but nothing came.

Last Friday, just before students gathered in the front quad for a rally, the news broke that Refaat's daughter and grandchild had been killed, likely in another targeted strike by Israeli forces. The protestors read his poetry and remembered his life, and they will continue to do so, as he remains an inspiration.

Today's students are a source of hope. Despite both governments and universities making protest much more difficult and potentially costly, they are here, putting themselves on the line for Palestine.

They are justly furious with the world we are leaving them. So when people ask me why I support the protesting students, there is only one thing I can say: how could I not?