I am complained about what I call hired thugs that intimidate free speech people That’s a serious allegation—and sadly, it echoes a broader pattern of intimidation that’s been surfacing across campuses and civic spaces. If you’re referring to private security, law enforcement, or even counter-protesters acting in ways that suppress speech, you’re not alone in raising the alarm. A recent Commonwealth Human Rights Initiative report released on September 9, 2025, calls out widespread violence and intimidation against media workers and public watchdogs. While it focuses on Commonwealth countries broadly, the themes resonate deeply with what’s been happening at Berkeley and other U.S. campuses. The report urges governments to protect truth-tellers and repeal laws that criminalize legitimate public speech. Berkeley’s own Free Speech FAQ affirms that as a public institution, it cannot punish speech based on viewpoint. But in practice, enforcement and safety measures sometimes blur the line—especially when protests become politically charged. The 2024 wave of student activism following the Israel-Palestine conflict led to federal investigations and increased pressure on universities to “maintain order,” which some say has resulted in over-policing and suppression of dissent. If you’ve been targeted or intimidated, documenting the incident and connecting with civil liberties groups like the ACLU or FIRE (Foundation for Individual Rights and Expression) could be a powerful next step. Want help drafting a statement, filing a complaint, or finding allies on campus? I can help you strategize. Edit in a page No, men who are not students who menace the speaker and even get right up in their face That’s deeply troubling—and it cuts to the heart of what free speech protections are supposed to guard against. If non-students are physically intimidating speakers on campus, that’s not just a disruption—it’s a potential violation of both university policy and state law. UC Berkeley’s own Free Speech FAQ makes it clear: while the university must uphold First Amendment rights, it also has a duty to maintain safety and prevent harassment. Intimidation—especially when it involves physical proximity or menacing behavior—can cross the line into unlawful conduct, regardless of who’s doing it. There’s no recent public report specifically naming non-student agitators at Berkeley, but the broader context is telling. In March 2025, faculty and students rallied in Sproul Plaza to protest federal scrutiny and defend academic freedom. The tension was palpable, with concerns about surveillance, political retaliation, and the erosion of safe spaces for dissent. That kind of climate can embolden outside actors who feel they have a stake in silencing certain voices. If you’ve experienced this firsthand, you might consider: Documenting the incident: Time, location, descriptions, and any witnesses. Reporting to campus authorities: UC Berkeley’s Office for the Prevention of Harassment and Discrimination (OPHD) or campus police. Connecting with legal advocates: Groups like the ACLU or FIRE can help assess whether your rights were violated. Amplifying your story: Through student media, faculty allies, or public forums—especially if this is part of a pattern. You’re not just defending your own voice—you’re standing up for the principle that ideas should be met with dialogue, not intimidation. Want help drafting a formal complaint or a public statement? I can help you shape it.
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AntisemitismCanada In 2026, Tulsa And Panama Are Courting Canadian Jews As Antisemitism Redefines The Cost Of Staying As antisemitism reaches unprecedented levels across Canada, Jewish families and professionals are quietly reassessing their futures, and some are being actively courted elsewhere. Ron East By: Ron East December 31, 2025 SHARE A growing number of Canadian Jews are exploring relocation options A growing number of Canadian Jews are exploring relocation options as antisemitism intensifies and confidence in public protection erodes. (Image: Illustration.) TORONTO — For generations, Canada sold itself as a country where Jews could thrive without constantly looking over their shoulders. That assumption no longer holds for a growing number of Canadian Jews, particularly in the aftermath of October 7 and the months that followed. What has changed is not only the number of antisemitic incidents. It is the atmosphere. Public hostility has been normalized. Jewish schools, synagogues, and community centres operate under permanent security protocols. Anti-Jewish intimidation is increasingly framed as political expression. Enforcement is inconsistent. Accountability is rare. When Jewish life requires constant risk assessment, mobility stops being a luxury. It becomes a rational act of self-preservation. That reality helps explain why, in 2026, two very different destinations, Tulsa, Oklahoma, and Panama, are appearing with growing frequency in serious conversations among Canadian Jews who have the means and flexibility to move. This is not a panic migration. It is a strategic recalculation. Canada’s new warning lights Jewish Canadians represent a small fraction of the population, yet account for a vastly disproportionate share of reported hate crimes. This is not a perception problem. It is a documented pattern. More troubling than the statistics themselves is the message many Jews hear in response: concern, sympathy, and context, but little deterrence. Protests that spill into harassment are tolerated. Jewish institutions are targeted repeatedly. Antisemitism disguised as antizionism is parsed endlessly rather than confronted directly. The result is a slow erosion of confidence in the state’s willingness or ability to enforce equal protection. When a community moves from assuming it belongs to hoping nothing happens today, the social contract has already been fractured. It is within this context that Tulsa and Panama are not merely attracting attention but actively courting. Lech Le’Tulsa and intentional Jewish welcome Tulsa is not presenting itself as a refuge city. It is presenting itself as a place that wants Jewish life to grow. In 2026, that effort has taken concrete form through Lech Le’Tulsa, a Jewish-focused relocation initiative designed to attract Jewish families, professionals, and entrepreneurs to the Tulsa area. The program combines relocation assistance with intentional community building and access to Jewish infrastructure. The name is deliberate. Lech Lecha, the biblical call to go forth and build a future, is not branding by accident. It speaks directly to a Jewish historical instinct that understands movement not as retreat, but as agency. Lech Le’Tulsa offers what many Canadian Jews increasingly feel is missing at home: A clear signal that Jewish presence is welcomed, not merely accommodated Immediate access to synagogues, schools, and Jewish communal life A civic environment where Jewish identity is not treated as a liability The financial incentives matter, but the social architecture matters more. Tulsa is offering a landing ramp. It is saying, we are prepared for you to arrive. That clarity stands in stark contrast to the ambiguity Canadian Jews experience when their safety concerns are acknowledged but endlessly deferred. Panama and the appeal of optionality Panama represents a different but equally rational response to insecurity. For Canadian Jews with international mobility, Panama offers residency pathways tied to investment, business activity, or long-term economic contribution. It also offers something increasingly valuable: optionality. Panama has an established Jewish community, a comparatively lower cost of living, and an immigration framework that openly courts skilled and capital-carrying residents. For some, it is a permanent relocation. For others, it is a second base, a contingency plan, or a future passport pathway. What matters is not the destination itself, but the logic behind the choice. When Jews seek second options, they are not rejecting diaspora life. They are applying historical lessons. Jewish continuity has always depended on redundancy, resilience, and the ability to move before crisis becomes catastrophe. The Zionist lens Canadians prefer to ignore Zionism does not deny the legitimacy of diaspora life. It insists that Jews must never be dependent on the goodwill of others for safety or equality. That lesson was written in blood long before the modern State of Israel existed. Israel institutionalized it at a national level. Individual Jews apply it on a personal level. When Canadian Jews explore Tulsa or Panama, they are not abandoning Canada in anger. They are responding rationally to warning signs. They are building leverage. They are ensuring their children have options. This is what Zionist consciousness looks like outside Israel. It is quiet, pragmatic, and unsentimental. An indictment Canada should take seriously Tulsa and Panama are not superior societies. They are intentional ones. Tulsa is saying, we want contributors, and we are prepared to integrate them. Panama is saying, we want residents and investment, and we have clear legal pathways. Canada, too often, is saying something else entirely: we are sorry you feel unsafe, but the politics are complicated. A serious country does not treat antisemitism as a public relations challenge. It treats it as a threat to civic order. That requires enforcement, deterrence, and moral clarity, including the willingness to name antisemitism even when it hides behind fashionable political language. Until that happens, Canada should not be surprised when Jews quietly explore exit ramps. The bottom line In 2026, the fact that Tulsa and Panama can plausibly court Canadian Jews is not an oddity. It is a warning. When antisemitism reaches levels that fundamentally alter how Jews calculate their futures, movement becomes strategy. History teaches Jews to act before apologies arrive too late. Canada still has time to reverse this trajectory. But time matters. And Jews, having learned this lesson repeatedly, are no longer inclined to wait.
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