Lessons from Bethlehem

FOR THE last two Christmases, businesses in Bethlehem have been shuttered and its dense network of streets left deserted. Not anymore.

Today, December 25 dawns with a hopeful change.

Businesses have reopened, festive lights have been strung up, and families have dared to return to the Palestinian city that had been off limits ever since war broke out in Gaza.

Christmas celebrations are returning to the walled city, which many Christians believe to be the birthplace of Jesus, marking a dramatic shift within the Israeli-occupied West Bank.

A fragile ceasefire made all of this possible years after the Hamas-led October 7, 2023, attack on Israel, which killed at least 1,200 people, and the subsequent offensive by Benjamin Netanyahu, which killed at least 70,000 Palestinians.

If today’s holiday comes with the hope of a return to peace in the Middle East, it also comes amid bristling tensions in our neck of the woods that threaten to drag the Americas into all-out warfare. This year, Donald Trump’s unhinged sabre-rattling must temper the traditional joy of the holiday.

Clinging on as the scandal involving his close ties to paedophile and sex trafficker Jeffrey Epstein continues to embroil his administration and ignite civil war within his MAGA base, Mr Trump seems the epitome of everything that is not Christmas.

His is a poisonous playbook that exploits racist hate and bigoted fear, deploys propaganda and misinformation, and stokes imaginary “culture wars” against regional blocs, invisible “elites,” and international human rights bodies in order to blunt the moral compass of politics.

His fans, at home and abroad, are already deploying his strategies here.

In this respect, Trinidad and Tobago and its prime minister are not isolated; Canada’s Liberal government is poised to bring sweeping laws targeting refugees soon.

So much for the message of the Nativity, in which Mary and Joseph were forced to flee Egypt to escape Herod’s decrees. Wilfully forgotten by many these days is that Jesus was a refuge, for whom there was no room at Bethlehem’s inns.

Today is a moment for people to take a break, to eat pastelles and ham, to drink sorrel and ginger beer and to exchange gifts. That might be hard to do with warships floating around, GPS signals being jammed and near-misses in the air.

You might also find it difficult to enjoy yourself knowing of the rampage of gun crime and the unprecedentedly high number of people who begged charities, NGOs, and constituency offices this year for meals, hampers and relief.

But if a city like Bethlehem can, like Christ himself, be reborn, maybe we can have, even against the odds, faith in tomorrow, too. Bright is the endurance symbolised by this season of goodwill.