Mark McGeoghegan: Do not let Israel-Hamas war kill our compassion

Over a million Palestinian civilians, mostly children, are trapped in an intensifying warzone. As Israeli forces advance into the Strip in the coming days, I can again think of only one way to come close to describing the scenes that will greet them: hell on earth.

It is certain that in the day or so between me writing this column and you reading it, many more lives will be taken.

Seven years ago, I wrote my master of research thesis on precisely the indiscriminate political violence, terrorism, and atrocity against civilians that Hamas committed last weekend. I continue to study that kind of violence as a doctoral researcher.

And yet, I still struggle to find the words to discuss what Hamas inflicted on Israel last weekend appropriately. Is it enough to call such acts inhuman, unforgivable acts of evil?

I long ago concluded that words are not enough – or, at least, not to the extent that I can deploy them. “Hell on earth” doesn’t come that close to describing what we saw in those kibbutzim or what we will see in the days and weeks ahead.

Art is the only medium that can reliably communicate the sheer horror of such violent atrocity. Pablo Picasso’s Guernica, portraying the aftermath of the fascist bombing of the Basque town during the Spanish Civil War, is perhaps the best-known example. Anguish, terror, and violence wail from Picasso’s canvas. In turn, it has inspired thousands of essays-worth of writing.

Words are not enough. Yet, in the face of atrocity, we must speak. The Israel-Hamas war is not about us in Scotland, but how we have reacted to it, how we speak about it, and how we treat each other in its bloody wake matters. It says something about us as a body politic.

Much of what it says is not pretty. The complexity of the conflict, with its deep historical grievances and decades of bloody violence, demands nuance. Combining such a nuanced set of issues with Scottish society’s deep political polarisation yields disappointing, but not surprising, results.

Many responses to the immediate news of Hamas’ incursions into Israel and murder of Israeli civilians were, at best, tone-deaf. For example, the Green MSP Maggie Chapman posted on X that the attacks were “a consequence of Apartheid, of illegal occupation, & of imperial aggression by the Israel state.”

Ms Chapman later deleted the post and, nearly a week later, characterised it as an effort to “widen the context of the tragedy unfolding in Gaza”. If that was the case, it was an awful effort to do so, merely shifting a narrow lens to focus on the actions of the Israeli state and away from the responsibility of Hamas and its supporters in the wider region.

Ms Chapman’s comments were wrong, and she was right to withdraw them, but they are in no way, shape, or form the most problematic comments made in the past week. The extent to which certain elements of the Scottish partisan divide have attempted to draw dividing lines on the conflict precisely along those partisan boundaries is shocking but, again, in no way surprising.

LBC’s Gina Davidson had to turn off replies to an interview with Humza Yousaf she had posted in which he condemned Hamas’ actions and was asked about his own family trapped in Gaza, as a result of users replying with comments like “Vote Humza get Hamas”. Similar allegations of support for Hamas revolved around the Scottish Labour leader, Anas Sarwar.

One prominent figure on the unionist right responded to the First Minister’s mother-in-law’s appeal for aid by coldly arguing that “polling” suggested that most of a population of almost 50% children is involved with Hamas.

These are examples of obscenity. They are not unique to Scotland’s discussion of this conflict, but they do epitomise a sickness in parts of our political culture: the compulsion felt by so many to pick a side, ignore evidence and place one’s existing opponents on the other side, to demonise them, and to deny all nuance and complexity in the righteous certainty of one’s position.

But amid these spectacles, many have charted a better course, discussing the conflict with compassion and empathy. Rightly condemning Hamas’ terrorist atrocities as what they are, rightly endorsing Israel’s right to defend itself, rightly calling for the protection of civilians, and rightly urging against collective punishment.

There are too many examples to mention, but the First Minister is foremost among them. With family trapped in Gaza, forced to tell his four-year-old child that the sound of explosions in calls to her grandmother is just thunder, Mr Yousaf stood before a service of solidarity in Giffnock Newton Mearns synagogue. He expressed his solidarity with the Jewish community, called for an end to the violence, and called for peace.

He embraced the mother of Bernard Cowan, murdered by Hamas the previous Saturday. He demonstrated that amid even great pain and anguish, bitterness and division, it is possible to maintain human decency towards one another.

Words are not enough, but they matter. Our words tell a story about who we are. Too many have debased themselves in the past week, imposing myopic partisanship onto a nuanced and complex conflict. But we have also seen plentiful examples of the power that compassion and empathy still have in such moments of great darkness.

As Mr Yousaf quoted from Leviticus on Thursday: “Love your neighbour as yourself”.

I suspect I will continue to struggle to find the words to discuss what we have seen and will see in the coming weeks. But I will strive to do so always with empathy and compassion at the front of my mind and invite the rest of you to do so, too.