Author’s note: The names of the others involved with this experience have been changed out of respect.  

A random customer stormed up to me while I stood by the register at work. “I’ve reported you to your leader on duty,” he spat. What was he talking about? What did I do wrong just by standing here? “You shouldn’t be wearing that,” he said, pointing directly to my keffiyeh. “This is the second time I have walked into your store and seen this.” Now the pieces fall into place, and I realize what his problem is.  

This encounter transformed a routine retail shift into a grave situation. Before this point, I had received no complaints from management or other customers. Yet I discovered he had lodged a complaint against me before this occurrence, information my manager withheld. He confronted me with hostility and bile. So, being someone who doesn’t tolerate disrespect, I clapped back.   

“I wear it because I believe no one should bomb or punish children for the actions of a specific group. No amount of violence justifies genocide,” I snapped, blood boiling and temper rising.  

He raised his tone, and I raised mine in return. The tension thickened with each word between us. He called me antisemitic and said I was supporting terrorists. I responded by calling out his attitude towards Palestine as a whole. It was a messy, intense argument. When my manager noticed my tears forming, she stepped in and steadied me with a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Rowan, go to the back and take a breath.” I begrudgingly made my way to the breakroom while she took care of the customer.  

Within the next few days, the gentleman (and what I assume to be one of his friends or an alternative account) left critical reviews. Of course he did. His messages claimed I was antisemitic and that I was promoting my “pro- Hamas” agenda, as if he knew my intentions behind wearing the keffiyeh. It ruined my day and sent me into a spiral.   

Additional information came out a few days later. Just as I was settling in for the night, my coworker, Helen, texted me. She requested a meeting to talk without providing specifics. I was curious, but agreed and waited until she drove to my house to pick me up.   

I got into her car, and we drove around the neighborhood in uncomfortable silence. Then she pulled onto an empty street and parked the car.  

“Hey.” Helen’s hands clutched the steering wheel. “Something else happened Tuesday once that guy left the building. It was pretty fucked up, and you need to know.” Her voice was carefully controlled, but her face betrayed the anxiety she felt.  

“Okay…what happened?” I responded, fiddling with my fingers in my lap. I must have done something wrong.  

“The minute that asshole left, while you were in the break room, he called the store and freaked Melissa out. He said some nasty things, thinking it was you.” She reached into her purse. “Hold on, let me get her on the phone, and she can give you specifics.”  

Within a few rings, Melissa answered, and we had a lengthy, unpleasant conversation about the events. Apparently, the guy called the store almost 20 times trying to reach me. He referred to me as the “bitch with the keffiyeh” and said, “I hope you burn in hell and get gang-raped.”   

As they told me, I could hear Melissa’s voice cracking over the phone and noticed Helen, who usually doesn’t cry, tearing up. Meanwhile, I tried to stay calm despite internally panicking. Despite not threatening to hurt me himself, he still wished harm on my life. I walked to and from work; what if he followed me one day? Or what if he showed up again with a weapon, ready to attack me, simply because no one should ever want to see the slaughter of children upheld as though it were justified? 

I couldn’t afford to panic in a situation like this. Following this conversation, I immediately confronted my supervisor. How could they keep something so important from me? Thankfully, they had my back and agreed to ban him from the premises. I also took the advice of my friends and used some PTO to process the situation while the team waited for corporate to get involved.   

I had to stop wearing my keffiyeh to work due to this incident, but that doesn’t mean I care any less. However, this experience made me realize the significant risks people take while they protest for the human rights of the oppressed. I wish I could have told this guy that I am Jewish, so my argument isn’t based on antisemitism. How much worse would it have been if I were an actual Palestinian? I’m lucky to have a solid support system. Not everyone has that, and many lose their lives fighting for these causes.   

As a person with privilege, it’s up to me to use my voice and do what I can to help aid in the fight for the issues that matter.  

I refuse to let fear control me and will keep doing what I can to support the end of the occupation in Gaza. I will be vocal, share resources, donate when I can afford to, and look for even more ways to help. Nobody is free until all the oppressed are free. I encourage others to do the same, whether it be attending your local protest, calling your representatives, donating, or simply sharing the perspectives of those suffering so they reach more people.   

Together, we can fight for freedom and hold tyrannical governments accountable for the crimes they commit. So keep going and remember that we are all human. In the end, we each deserve a chance at life, no matter what.  

Editor: Shannon Hensley