I began to write this post in the early days of ongoing siege of the Gaza strip and international demands for a ceasefire back in October 2023. In the first days and weeks, I have found myself looking at the region not just through numerous posts on social media and news segments, but also the physical space of Gaza through the magic that is Google Maps. This post is not about that crisis; many more informed and articulate individuals are making better arguments for the end of ongoing bombing of Palestinian civilian homes and settlements than I ever could. But, it has made me think deeply about the roles of borders in our everyday lives here in the United States.

From this view you can see the boundary between Gaza and Israel, labeled as the 1950 Armistice Agreement line. This is what I call a ‘loud boundary’, one that delineates both difference between two spaces but also a sense of hierachy among them. In its past, America has been littered with such delineations by natural and man-made features; rivers and hills, or train tracks and highways.

What people are more familiar with are the many invisible lines we traverse everyday. From state lines to municipality borders to simple neighborhood boundaries, crossing these invisible lines are both important and yet mundane. And yet many such lines have shaped the trajectories of communities and how people, who in theory should share some level of common interest if not through sheer proximity, often don’t see themselves as part of a community together. It is easy to take for granted how these socially created obstacles erode the ability for diverse populations to collaborate and address some of the meaningful challenges of our day.

Take, for example, the state of housing in many large cities around the country. For most people, affordable housing (read “subsidized moderate and lower income”) is a common good that they say they value. However when the conversation becomes more tangible, everyday citizens can become hostile to the reality of their communities having taller buildings and residents that make less money than they do. Looking at the state level conversation here in New York, Governor Hochul attempted to include requirements in last year’s state budget mandating communities build a certain percentage of housing within their municipalities every 3 years. Not only were her plans widely rejected by constituencies across the state, they disappeared from this year’s budget conversation all together.

The invisible lines and loud boundaries that move people into organizing for their communities must also be addressed in our bases and consituencies. How do we navigate the loud and unavoidable presences of class, gender and race while also skillfully negotiating the invisible lines of social capital, gender expression and ethnicity in a increasingly fluid world? I’m not sure, but I do think this is an analogy I may return to in the future.