It was a cold February afternoon in 2019, and I was about to start my usual workout at my local gym in Hackney. I made my way into the men’s changing room, weaving in and out of a large group of topless men. The primary function of the changing room at my gym is for you to change out of your everyday clothes and into your gym clothes, but it also serves as a meeting place for men to have long, intense conversations whilst also probably comparing physiques.
On this day, I entered into what appeared to be a political discussion. ‘You see it all the time, Jews are at the head of all big media companies,’ said one gentleman.
‘Yeah, I did notice that,’ said another man. ‘But how do they get away with it?’
‘Well, they’re just very good at making money, it’s in their blood.’
I paused as I was putting my key into my locker. I felt a stinging in my eyes and a rush of blood to my face. I felt angry, embarrassed and exposed. This conversation was taking place at a time when antisemitism was a very talked about topic, particularly among Labour voters, and Hackney is one of the most staunchly Labour areas in London. The leader of the Labour party at the time, Jeremy Corbyn, had been widely accused of antisemitism and a general lack of leadership when it came to addressing antisemitism within the Labour party. Hackney’s member of parliament, Diane Abbott, was one of Corbyn’s closest allies. Naturally, a lot of constituents were questioning what this meant for their belief system. Labour has always been the party of tolerance and reason, but under Corbyn’s leadership it had taken a sharp turn to the left. Unfortunately, a lot of ignorant and misguided socialists see Jews as inherently part of the capitalist agenda, which is a hangover from Nazi propaganda still present in society today.
I changed into my gym clothes and left the changing room. I slowed down as I walked towards the gym, and eventually sat down on the floor. I was still shaking. I didn’t know what to do or how to address what had just happened. I decided to share the story on my Facebook page in the hope that some of my friends could give me advice. In the end, I decided to grasp the nettle and go back into the changing room to talk to this man about why he held such views. The group of men were still there when I swung the door open. ‘Excuse me,’ I said, my voice shaking. ‘I have to say, I heard what you were talking about before, and as a Jewish person I take offence to what you said.’
‘Oh, I’m not antisemitic,’ he fired back. What followed was a tour de force of excuses, reasoning and analysis all packaged up in the defensive nutshell of a seemingly liberal man who had been challenged on his viewpoint. It got to the point where I checked out of the situation. He didn’t want to address how he had made me feel, he just wanted to convince himself that he wasn’t antisemitic. He spoke at me until he had bits of spit around his mouth. I have no idea whether he considered his behaviour that day or whether he took what I said on board, but the important thing for me was that I confronted the situation. ‘He’s not racist, you know,’ a younger man said to me after he had left the changing room. ‘He’s gay and he’s married to a black man.’ Ok, whilst that may be the case it didn’t mean that what he said was ok.
I left the gym that day feeling extremely confused about what had happened, and heartbroken that it had happened in my hometown. I could see a shift in the general public’s relationship towards Jewish people. I also felt a strong sense of guilt. The guy who defended him at the gym said he wasn’t racist, but this wasn’t about racism, it was about antisemitism. I felt guilty that I could have an (albeit one-sided) discussion about antisemitism, then leave the situation and carry on with my life. What would my non-white friends think when they saw my Facebook post? Was I being insensitive? I am Jewish but I am also a white man, and with that comes the ultimate privilege of walking around unjudged by the colour of my skin. These men didn’t know I was Jewish, I could’ve joined in the conversation if I wanted. I had the freedom to choose whether I wanted to enter the situation, a freedom not accessible to black people.
Like most people, I have feelings of intense anger and despair seeing videos of police brutality towards black people at recent protests across America. My first thought was for my bandmate Ed, so I decided to check in with him to talk about how he was feeling. We spoke for a little bit about his perspective on the situation, and we shared a general feeling of helplessness and uncertainty. ‘I mean, you’re from the other most defiled race on the planet, people just don’t quite fear the Jewish population in the same way,’ he said. I relayed what happened to me that day in February, and the feelings of guilt I felt that my experience with antisemitism was nowhere near what black people are exposed to every day of their lives. ‘Your problems are still your problems though, Max, I don’t think anybody should have to feel guilty when being persecuted. Bias is bias, persecution is persecution. Even if it more often than not doesn’t end in the same way for Jewish people, the mantra of those inciting hate crimes and violence is the same and needs to be fought on all fronts.’
Ed’s perspective on my brush with antisemitism helped me to understand the way I was feeling. My guilt was misplaced. What I had experienced was no better or worse than racism, in both cases the end result is always the same, and one experience is no more or less valid than the other. One thing still remains the same though — I had the privilege of leaving the changing room and getting on with my life. That privilege was something awarded to me from birth, and something I unconsciously take with me everywhere I go, and with everything I do. Up until now, I considered being ‘not racist’ and anti-racist’ as mutually exclusive — they’re not. From now on I will strive to be anti-racist. I want to look at myself, understand my place in the world and how that relates to the marginalisation of the black community. I don’t want to be part of the problem anymore.
Things feel quite hopeless right now. Protests are still happening across the USA, and the situation shows no signs of improving. My only hope lies with future generations. I don’t believe you can change the mind of Trump supporters. My only hope is that they will one day die out, to be replaced by a fairer and more tolerant people intent on building an equal society, rather than upholding the racist building blocks instilled by our colonial ancestors. One day, I hope we can tear down the changing room and start again.