The Never-Ending, Slow-Motion Train Wreck of history

This time when protestors showed up to a discussion about local transportation and infrastructure and tried to turn it into something else entirely. And when that didn’t work, they shouted down the host and the Mayor of Portland and the whole thing turned into a slow train wreck.

It has been not quite a week since this happened.
I was still recovering from surgery, and while I was glad to feel well enough to ride again I knew I wasn't up for prolonged discussion. So I went hoping to listen and learn a lot.

The lead-up to the open mic session was pleasant enough. I enjoyed short conversations with several other Bike Happy Hour regulars and admired both the size of the crowd (well over 200 people, big for this weekly gathering) and the beautiful bikes parked all around.

But before the open mic had even begun, a group of people showed up with large Palestinian flags, signboards and a table, and began setting them up next to the area where the interview with the Mayor would take place.

I had a quiet, but instinctual, reaction.

I suddenly felt a little nervous. I looked around to see how I might leave with my bicycle, and by what route, should things get out of hand. I had an internal conversation: Don't be ridiculous. No one is going to get stupid and violent here. You're totally fine.

And yet, I still looked down at my chest to see if my Star of David necklace was positioned inside or outside my shirt.

I had that reaction because I have yet to hear *anyone* working from the pro-Palestinan perspective openly and clearly disavow what Hamas did on October 7.
I had that reaction because too many Palestinian supporters are so intent on expanding the blame from “Zionists” to “Jews” so quickly, with almost no room for complexity or meaningful discourse; and that’s a much easier and faster leap to make in 2025.
I had that reaction because I have experienced direct antisemitism multiple times since childhood, including eviction, job loss and physical harm.

I hate that this has become my new default now, but this is the world in 2025, I’m a sixty-something retiree, and I don’t live in a city with a large, dense Jewish population.
And when the Mayor was late in arriving, and nearly every open mic speaker was talking about genocide and looking for people to blame, I decided it was time for me to leave.
The video that aired later confirmed that I’d made the right choice.

And I don’t know when I’ll be back.

I feel as though my age is showing, but that's okay. It just feels like there are so many more younger people who just want to break things. I remember a time when I felt that way myself, but I was twenty at the time. I grew out of that in less than a decade, because I had to. I had to grow up and get on with my life. All that black-and-white thinking and the anger that accompanied it wasn't doing me any favors. So over time, I learned to accept more of the world's imperfection and embrace smaller moments of good in each day. That helped to temper my thinking.

So did getting older, and the humility that comes with the aging process.

The sad thing is that we are now SO divided over everything that I am having a hard time knowing how to proceed in so many aspects of my life.
I don't want to stay home. I want to go out and be with people. But I am no longer interested in opening myself up to the potential for harm and pain that's connected with all this polarization. I'm not as young or robust as I used to be.

It's why I've been nervous about reaching out for volunteer opportunities. Every time I turn around, yet another progressive Portlander has come out saying that there isn't really much difference between Zionists and Jews, and that Israel really just needs to end. Do I really want to put myself out there and face that?

Not especially.

I'm tired, for so many physical and emotional reasons. I want to live a reasonably good life and I'd rather not do it as a virtual hermit. But I've been through too much in the last five years to deliberately put myself through a wringer again. I know at some point, something will have to give. I'm just not sure when or how.

I'm going for a bike ride.