The Chumash wale
The Chumash are one of the indigenous peoples of California, with a history stretching back at least 13,000 years. They lived along the central and southern coastal regions, including the Channel Islands, and thrived in one of the most ecologically diverse regions of North America.
Unlike many other Native American groups who relied primarily on agriculture, the Chumash were expert maritime people. They built sophisticated plank boats called tomols, constructed from redwood and pine, which enabled them to navigate the Pacific waters and trade across vast distances. Today, replicas of these canoes can be seen at the Santa Barbara Maritime Museum and in Chumash cultural ceremonies.
Whales, particularly gray and humpback whales, played a significant role in Chumash culture. They were seen as symbols of abundance and spirituality, often depicted in artefacts, rock art and oral traditions. The annual whale migrations along the California coast were moments of reverence, a reminder of the cycles of nature that sustained their people. When I came across the whale effigy below, I froze. Centuries ago, a child held it while a parent shared whale stories. That was before the genocide of Native Americans, of course.
Beyond their seafaring skills, the Chumash were also expert botanists. They possessed deep knowledge of their natural surroundings, utilizing at least 150 different plants for food, medicine, dyes, and construction. They knew how to extract acorns to make a nourishing porridge, how to use willow bark as a pain reliever, and how to craft tule reeds into baskets and mats.
Today, the Chumash continue to exist, though their presence has been significantly reduced. Unlike many other Native American tribes, they have maintained a foothold in their ancestral lands across Southern California. However, only one Chumash tribe — the Santa Ynez Band of Chumash Indians — is federally recognized, which grants them certain legal rights but also limits their broader recognition and sovereignty. The Santa Ynez Chumash Museum and Cultural Center offers a compelling look into their traditions, artefacts, and ongoing struggles.
Is this the future of genocide? Is this the future of Gaza, the future of Ukraine? When a people are displaced, their culture fragmented, and their voices reduced to museum exhibits, what does it mean for humanity? If we are to resist the abyss, we must learn from history and commit to tolerance, peace, and the preservation of all cultures — not just as relics, but as living communities.
Mistaken identity
Mordechai Brafman, a 28-year-old Florida resident and self-proclaimed terrorist, was arrested in Miami Beach for shooting at two tourists. He believed he had killed two Palestinians, but the victims turned out to be Israeli tourists. (I doubt many Palestinians are able to go on holiday in Miami Beach these days.) The victims, injured but alive, later described the attack as an act of anti-Semitism while also expressing anti-Arab sentiments on social media post-attack.
What to make of this nonsense? This situation reflects my own experience and understanding of the region. Arabs and Jews are not as different as people claim. There is no inherent historical hatred. For large parts of history, they lived side by side. This is certainly true of my country, Tunisia. The Bey of Tunis, Moncef Bey, protected his Jewish subjects from the Nazis, particularly during the Vichy regime period. When German forces demanded a list of Jews in Tunisia, he refused and famously declared, “The Jews are under our patronage and we are responsible for their lives.” Tunisians take pride in this history and the deep cultural connection we share with the Tunisian Jewish community. This only makes the current events even more heartbreaking.
This case of mistaken identity brought back memories of my own experiences. I was mistaken for an Israeli on more than one occasion. During my junior year in Paris, I landed a summer internship at the Wistar Institute in Philadelphia. It was my first time in the U.S. and my first experience in a lab. I loved every bit of it, ready to embrace the academic lifestyle of long hours and shared commiserations. I often stayed late in the lab, sharing space with a rotation PhD student from Israel. Of course, I was curious about her life and motivations, and it was fun to occasionally grab a late-night pizza after finishing experiments. What we shared was a Mediterranean culture and a vague physical resemblance.
At the end of my summer, I had to go back to Paris. The lab hosted a farewell event open to others outside our group. Many attendees didn’t really know me, having only seen me in the hallways or near the coffee machine. They also didn’t know where I was from. To my surprise, many assumed I was from the same country as the Israeli student.
It was striking, given the distorted global perspective — especially the uninformed American view — that Jews and Arabs have been fighting for centuries. In reality, we share much more in common than we are led to believe.
Mandela is a terrorist
The first step toward peace is recognizing our common humanity. Nelson Mandela understood that true reconciliation required turning a page.
During my time at Ohio State, I hosted a renowned scientist for a seminar visit. At the end of the visit, I volunteered to drive the speaker to the airport — an hour-long drive to Cleveland on a Friday afternoon. The speaker asked if I was really making the drive just for them, and I explained that I was a film buff and a fan of the Cinematheque at the CIA — the Cleveland Institute of Arts — where I planned to watch a movie that evening.
“What movie?” they asked.
“A documentary about Nelson Mandela,” I replied.
“Mandela?” they exclaimed. “But he’s a terrorist.”
I was speechless. I could never see that person in the same way again. Maybe it was unfair, maybe not. But empathy and humanity are “the most essential qualities of civilization”. Sadly, they are not universal traits, and even great scientists are not immune to prejudice.
Portraying Mandela as either a freedom fighter or a terrorist obviously warps the impression you would have of the man. Framing is critical in shaping narratives, which is why there is such a strong push to control social media. In theory, social media enables uncensored news and information. For a long time, it did. But now, those in power are pushing back.
For years, efforts to ban TikTok in the U.S. faced strong opposition, notably by Democrats. “Freedom of speech,” they said. “It would set a dangerous precedent.” Then something changed. A bill to ban TikTok suddenly passed overwhelmingly. “We can’t let China control our kids,” they claimed.
The TikTok ban is insane for a supposedly liberal democracy. Journalist Sophia Smith Galer has investigated cases of linguicide, where “authoritarian regimes burn dictionaries or imprison people simply for singing a song.” She sees alarming parallels with the TikTok ban, equating it to “stealing half the books in a library.”
But was it really about China? The tipping point seemed to be the flood of videos showing slaughtered children and the outrage it sparked among young people, leading to the #FreePalestine campus protests. Recent statements from U.S. lawmakers confirmed that the push to ban TikTok was influenced by criticism of Israel, particularly after the events of October 7th. The real reason for the ban? Controlling the narrative around Gaza rather than concerns over data security.
Think about it. Silencing free speech to suppress outrage against genocide. We have reached the abyss. These are dark times.
Acknowledgements
I’m grateful to everyone who inspired this post. This article was written with assistance from ChatGPT.
This article is available on a CC-BY license via Zenodo.
Cite as: Kamoun, S. (2025). Three tales from the abyss. Zenodo. https://doi.org/10.5281/zenodo.14883111
