I served beneath her colors, my grandfather was buried beneath her honor, and now she lay beneath the feet of a crowd who despised her, rejoicing in her demise.
Shailen Sharma
Managing Editor, The Beacon
She could not soar anymore, her wings torn. Her country would not hold her up as she fell to the ground. The very people who lived under her gaze cheered at her demise. While this scene may have mirrored the tearing down of our nation’s flag at last semester’s Occupy Beinecke protest, it was in fact not that protest. This was Mao’s revolution incarnate—student protestors who worked tirelessly to tear down every flag of the country that birthed them. While these attacks on China’s flag, monuments, and traditions may have seemed inconsequential at the time, the actions of the student protesters ultimately paved the violent path toward the communist state that China is today.
What did the encampment in Beinecke Plaza last spring have to do with the violent revolution that altered the entire course of a nation? At first glance, nothing. It was a scene of solidarity and camaraderie. However, just as Mao’s revolution sought to upend every aspect of China’s society, the protest on our campus embodied the same bitter disdain for our country and its symbols. Actions like tearing down the American flag, forming human barriers to block police, and dedicating artwork to controversial figures demonstrated profound defiance–a stark echo of the revolutionary fervor that Mao’s youth unleashed. As the Presidential election approaches, in light of the recent failed assassination attempts against the former president, the parallels between the past and present compel us to reflect on how radical ideologies continue to shape our society.
If you had some time to explore near the end of last semester, you may have found the protest scene in Beinecke Plaza to be a curious one. During the day there were students attending to their studies on their laptops, artists painting posters, and families with children sitting on rugs alongside the students, listening to the speakers share their thoughts. One of the first sights that may have caught your eye was a prominent memorial poster dedicated to a Palestinian man, Walid Daqqa, who had recently passed away. The poster featured Daqqa in military fatigues, backdropped by the Palestinian flag painted behind him. To the casual observer, it could have been a memorial, symbolizing the feats of a great hero, a life of service dedicated to his nation.
Walid Daqqa
The Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine (PFLP) is a Marxist terrorist organization that originated in Palestine. Before the collapse of the Soviet Union, it spread terror through bloodshed far beyond its borders, leading a violent revolution with the aim of destroying Israel, overthrowing conservative Arab governments, and integrating Marxism into the Palestinian ideology through “armed struggle.” Airports were a favored target for their gruesome attacks.
In 1972, the PFLP terrorists launched an attack at Israel’s Lod International Airport. They unleashed devastation by opening fire on a crowd of 300 people. Grenades exploded, and machine guns rattled through the terminal. When the chaos subsided, 25 innocent people lay dead, and 72 were left wounded.
In 1984, amid decades of terror under the PFLP, Moshe Tamam was a 19-year-old IDF soldier serving as a heavy machinery instructor in his unit. After a year of service, he went home on vacation to spend time with his girlfriend and her mother. At the end of his visit, he was waiting for a bus in Tiberias to return to base. However, he disappeared at the bus stop and was never seen again.
Moshe was abducted by members of the PFLP who intended to hold him for ransom. When they were unable to do so, his captors subjected him to brutal torture, removing his eyes and castrating him before executing him. At the time of his death, Walid Daqqa was a commander in the PFLP. He was convicted by Israeli authorities of ordering his soldiers to carry out the kidnapping. Daqqa was sentenced to life in prison for his role in this tragic case.
Angela Davis
In a much subtler display of admiration compared to the prominent Walid Daqqa poster, tucked away on the raised platform near the entrance of the Schwarzman Center and hidden by the tents was a bookshelf featuring a large poster dedicated to Angela Davis’ book Freedom Is a Constant Struggle.
Angela Davis, celebrated as a revolutionary icon, has a complex and controversial past that is often overshadowed by her public image. Known for her close ties to extremists, including a romantic relationship with George Jackson, a Black Panther leader serving a prison sentence for armed robbery, Davis’ connection to radical movements further complicates her legacy.
Davis was connected to a failed prison break in 1970, orchestrated by Jonathan Jackson, who used her shotgun to murder a judge and paralyze an assistant district attorney. Though the weapons were registered in her name, Davis was ultimately acquitted of the charges.
As a committed communist, Davis’ rhetoric called for revolution, even justifying violent acts as desperate measures against oppression. This was during an era when left-wing extremists detonated a total 2,500 bombs across America, a grim backdrop that underscored the radical intensity of her views.
At the Beinecke protest, both Daqqa and Davis were being heralded as symbols of revolution, yet their legacies are deeply interwoven with violence and infamy. It is disturbing that the imagery of this protest was dedicated to extremists who worked tirelessly to tear apart the fabric of innocent lives around them.
A Night of Transformation
When night fell, Beinecke Plaza transformed from a quiet daytime gathering spot into a scene of intense activity. Hundreds gathered, led by familiar student faces and many unfamiliar ones. The peaceful gathering morphed into a militant stronghold, a formidable display of intimidation meant to deter Yale or New Haven police from intervening.
One night during the protest, millions watched as video circulated online showing the American flag being torn down from its place over Beinecke Plaza. The act sparked immediate reactions. Trevor MacKay, a Yale student who witnessed the event, recalled, “When the flag was torn down, cheering and hollering immediately erupted from the crowd.” Despite the excitement around him, MacKay felt differently, “More than being angry, I felt a deep sadness at the fundamental disrespect that my fellow students had demonstrated.”
In the days following, Palestinian flags were draped all over Beinecke Plaza as though a great battle had been won. A new symbol emerged to replace the flag of the country that watches over them. No longer to soar in the sky where she once kept vigil, our nation’s flag lay at their feet, surrounded by those she protected, who had come to disdain her.
Unity and Division
This display wasn’t merely a rejection of our flag; it was a repudiation of the values it stands for, the principles that unite the country. In its place, the protesters raised flags and emblems of defiance, aligning themselves with distant idols, like Angela Davis and Walid Daqqa, who harbored desires to see the fabric of our nation torn apart. Their fractured identity found unity not in the flag that soars above us, but in a struggle so distant from our own as our American symbol was replaced with that of a foreign cause. They didn’t just desecrate the flag, they turned their backs on all that it represents—enduring freedom, unity, and the enormous sacrifices that keep it upheld—instead embracing those who seek its destruction.
This event served as a reminder that our actions, even those intended as a protest, have the power to build bridges or deepen divides within our campus community. The desecration of our flag raises critical questions about the line between freedom of expression and contempt for our nation’s symbols, actions that can further fracture campus unity. As MacKay pointed out, “That flag serves as a symbol for their very right to protest and speak out about the issues they feel strongly about, and it also flies in honor of Yalies who have given the ultimate sacrifice for freedom at home and around the world.”
Yale has a deep-rooted tradition of service to this country. From the Nathan Hale memorial to the hallowed halls of the Schwarzman Center, many Yalies have served—and even died—under our flag. This flag and these memorials embody the values of unity and resilience that I learned in the Marine Corps, much like my grandfather, who inspired me through his decades of service as a firefighter and responded to terrorist attacks like 9/11—an event I witnessed as a child, too young to make a difference.
This flag not only represents our shared heritage and the sacrifices made by Yalies–it embodies the values of freedom and unity that we all cherish. Desecrating our flag wasn’t simply an affront against the symbol of our nation, it was a deliberate attempt to fracture the unity that all Yalies strive to maintain.
