How their lives changed: Student activist who became symbol for patriotism reflects on year since UNC pro-Palestinian protest

On April 30, a pro-Palestinian protest on the UNC-Chapel Hill campus exploded in violence. The most famous scene from that day was then-interim Chancellor Lee Roberts, surrounded by law enforcement, returning an American flag to the flagpole on Polk Place, a short time after demonstrators had replaced it with a Palestinian flag.

Two students, Laura Saavedra Forero and Brendan Rosenblum, played central roles on that day, albeit in different ways and for different reasons. But for all their differences, they share a commitment to their cause and a deep humanity that has gotten lost in all that happened that day – and since.

WUNC’s Brianna Atkinson spent considerable time with both and tells their stories, one year later.

The morning of April 30 began like any other Tuesday for Brendan Rosenblum. It was the last day of the semester, and as always Rosenblum started it off in a political science class.

As his professor lectured, Rosenblum’s phone started buzzing with text messages. It was from a group chat he joined that monitors antisemitic activity on UNC-Chapel Hill’s campus.

The messages said police disbanded the pro-Palestinian encampment that had been on the Quad for the past couple of days, but a large group had returned and was protesting in the center of campus.

Rosenblum waited for his class to finish, ran home to grab his Israeli flag, and headed to Polk Place.

It was afternoon when he and four other students from the group chat made it to the protest. By the time they arrived, the crowd was hundreds of students and community members deep. Messages like “resistance is not terrorism,” “Zionists off our quad,” and “if you support Israel, you have blood on your hands,” filled signs and sidewalks leading to Polk Place.

Rosenblum cleared his schedule for the rest of the day and sent a group message to his Jewish fraternity, Alpha Epsilon Pi, asking them to join him.

“You could see everyone was really passionate and everybody was here to support Palestine. Everyone was here to support the anti-war efforts that were going on,” Rosenblum said. “I respected that, I still do, but I just felt that there were a lot of things that were misconstrued in support of Palestine that ended up being antisemitic and anti-Jewish. And not respecting the fact that Israel has a right to exist, and you can criticize the government without criticizing the Jewish people.”

Rosenblum came to the protest to represent his Jewish identity. Before arriving, he made a pact with one of his friends: they’d hold the Israeli flag together but wouldn’t speak to protesters unless they were approached first.

“No one that day during the protest came up to me and asked me what my beliefs are. All I had was an Israeli flag. And what happened? I was called a racist, a fascist,” Rosenblum said. “They just assumed I was this horrible human being — and right there shows you why I was there.”

As Rosenblum held his flag, people in the crowd started throwing items in his direction. Some chucked plastic bottles at his head, another sprayed water and yogurt on him, and others stole his flag and he had to chase them down.

Rosenblum kept holding the flag up, staying mostly on the outskirts of Polk Place. That was until a commotion started near the flagpole at the center of the Quad.

Peyton Sickles

/

For WUNC

Protesters took down the American flag and replaced it with a Palestinian one. Shortly after, over a dozen police officers led Chancellor Lee Roberts to the flagpole, a folded replacement flag in tow. Officers pepper sprayed the crowd as Roberts put the American flag back up and counter protesters chanted “U.S.A., U.S.A.”

After Roberts left the area, protesters attempted to take down the American flag again. A group, mostly made of fraternity students, rushed in to stop them. Among the mix was Rosenblum and several brothers from his Jewish fraternity.

“We’re Jews, we’re Americans, we’re students,” Rosenblum said. “There are certain values that we feel, and although other people might disagree with them, we’re gonna stick to them. We didn’t believe that the American flag should be taken down. I understand that’s a valid form of protest, but we didn’t agree with it. And so, we were gonna stand there holding it up proudly.”

Rosenblum circled the group with his Israeli flag. He, his brothers, and several other fraternity students stayed there for two hours.

An image of the fraternity brothers went viral, setting off a nationwide fundraiser where nearly 16,000 donors raised over $515,000 that would go to throw the fraternity brothers a “rager.” The national attention piqued the interest of Donald Trump’s campaign team, which would later invite several UNC-Chapel Hill fraternity members to speak at the Republican National Convention.

The viral image would also throw Rosenblum into a political media frenzy that largely ignored his Jewish advocacy and instead painted him as a conservative folk hero.

“People were making us these conservative frat boys putting down these liberal Hamas supporters and that’s not what that day was — it’s just not,” Rosenblum said. “And it was a tragedy to me to see that kind of thrown out into the news.”

‘It’s important people have a voice’

Rosenblum isn’t a native North Carolinian, and he didn’t start his college career at UNC-Chapel Hill. He grew up in Clarkstown, New York, and started at Swarthmore College in Pennsylvania.

He was first intrigued by the small liberal arts school’s baseball program. He’s loved the sport since he was five years old, becoming a pitcher at age eight.

Those years of playing, however, took a toll on his arm. After 12 years of pitching, a bone in Rosenblum’s elbow split in half. It took three surgeries over the course of four years to correct the injury, and even then he never fully recovered.

He pushed through the injury to play at Swarthmore but ultimately had to give up his dream of being a collegiate athlete.

“For a lot of college athletes, sports is an identity. When you lose that, it’s like you’re losing who you are,” Rosenblum said. “When I realized baseball or the competitive part was kind of over, I had to sit back and figure out who I was and what I wanted to do in my life, my purpose. And I think Israel advocacy definitely ended up being a part of that.”

His first experience with advocacy work was at Swarthmore, as a fellow for the Israel on Campus Coalition. According to the organization’s website, its mission is to empower pro-Israel students and faculty by providing resources and support to combat antisemitism.

Rosenblum organized speaker events and crafted Instagram posts sharing educational opportunities for students on campus.

“Swarthmore was a very, in my opinion, anti-Israel campus. People didn’t understand what Israel was, what it meant to be a Jewish person connected to Israel,” Rosenblum said. “It was really hard to be pro-Israel, and it was really hard to support Israel in any way.”

He and three friends also restarted the Swarthmore chapter of Students for Israel in 2020, with the goal of creating a safe space on campus for students with pro-Israel views.

“We felt it was important that people had a voice,” Rosenblum said. “To us, the other side silenced that voice — accused us of being genocide supporters, accused us of being anti-human rights. When you have people that are openly doing that, no one wants to speak up.”

Sophomore year came and Rosenblum decided he needed a change. He began to become overwhelmed by the advocacy work, and he didn’t quite feel at home on such a small campus. So, he took a year off from school and started applying to bigger universities.

When Rosenblum got accepted into Carolina, he immediately committed. He saw the school as a vibrant community and was drawn to how passionate students and alumni seemed to be about being a Tar Heel.

He was also impressed by their Jewish student organizations on campus like Hillel and Chabad. He got involved with both after he started at Chapel Hill.

“Carolina is a super accepting campus. I’ve felt proud to be Jewish on campus,” Rosenblum said. “(There’s) other Jewish students taking the lead on bringing speakers, giving students the opportunity to voice their Jewish identity, or however they’re feeling through different events. I think overall, Carolina’s campus is a great place to be not just a Jewish student, but any religious student.”

Rosenblum also kept baseball in his life. He couldn’t play competitively anymore due to his injury, so instead he joined the club baseball team. There, he pitched for the first time in four years without any pain.

During his sophomore year, Rosenblum decided to get even more involved with Jewish life on campus by joining Alpha Epsilon Pi. Rushing as a 21-year-old was quite unusual, Rosenblum said, but he was used to being unconventional.

“AEPi really does represent those Jewish values and applies them to college life in the best way possible, and I think it’s something beautiful,” Rosenblum said. “I know people think fraternities are all ‘rah rah, let’s get drunk’ but to me, this is a lot more than that. I’ve established some really meaningful connections. And I’ve learned about myself and who I want to be through experiences with them, like what happened on (April 30).”

‘They had no idea who I was’

Leading up to the encampment, pro-Palestinian protesters had led several smaller demonstrations on the Chapel Hill campus. The protests picked up less than a week after Oct. 7, which Rosenblum said didn’t give him and fellow Jewish students space to openly mourn the loss of their people on campus.

Rosenblum viewed the April 30 protest as a chance to take a stand for himself and other Jewish students. And when news reporters started calling after the fraternity flag photo went viral, he looked at it as an opportunity to amplify the hurt his people were feeling even more.

Peyton Sickles

/

For WUNC

He started by speaking with local media outlets in the Triangle who had been at the protest. But he soon garnered attention from national conservative outlets like Fox News, the Washington Examiner, and NewsNation.

“When you’re supporting something and you believe in something, it doesn’t matter what happens (to you),” Rosenblum said. “Like, it’s important for me to speak up, because if I have that passion where I cannot care what happens to me or I cannot care what is done to me for my cause, then it’s something that I’ll be willing to openly speak about.”

Soon enough, his name and face were everywhere. Some outlets mentioned his Jewish heritage and Rosenblum attending the protest with an Israeli flag. Others largely ignored his Jewish identity and got the name of his fraternity wrong — focusing instead on patriotism and the upcoming $515,000 “rager.”

Not long after Rosenblum’s news appearances, his friends DMed him on Instagram, showing him that he was the new face of a Donald Trump campaign ad.

The anti-protest campaign video was a montage of news coverage about fraternity students holding up the American flag. It included multiple clips from a Fox News interview, where Rosenblum told anchor Jesse Watters protesters had called him a white supremacist, fascist, and told him to kill himself.

The ad was ironic, however, considering Rosenblum planned to vote for then-candidate Joe Biden. He and his friends thought the mischaracterization was funny at first, but soon realized it spoke to a bigger issue.

“I’m a Jewish liberal American and that’s a complex identity. I’m happy that’s who I am, but they had no idea who I was.” Rosenblum said. “They assumed just because we did a patriotic event, we were supporting the Republican cause. But it shouldn’t matter whether you’re Democrat or Republican — you should support America. And it doesn’t matter if you’re pro-Israel or pro-Palestine — you should support human life. Like it’s not one or the other.”

Trump would later invite members of AEPi, Pi Kappa Phi, and several other fraternities to speak at the Republican National Convention. Rosenblum did not attend.

‘No one was there to get honored with a party’

Rosenblum also chose to skip out on another honorary event: Flagstock.

It started with a fundraiser on GoFundMe. John Noonan, a former military and defense advisor for Republican representatives, asked the public to donate money to throw the fraternity brothers a party.

He described the fundraiser as a “modest” attempt to buy the “Brohemians (that) protected Old Glory from the unwashed Marxist horde” a few kegs. Less than two days later, nearly 16,000 people contributed, raising $515,492.

Hundreds of people left comments commending the fraternity students for their actions that day. It was reminiscent of the overall reception Rosenblum’s received since April 30, which he says has been “99% positive” feedback.

“To have Jewish students, to have Jewish families reach out and thank me for what I did, for what this fraternity did, that was amazing,” Rosenblum said. “I’m really glad that I was able to at least uplift the voices of the Jewish people that felt silenced and felt that they couldn’t speak up.”

Rosenblum believes Flagstock, however, lost that intent.

The event ended up being on Labor Day and had all the fixings of a patriotic bash – barbecue, beer, cornhole, and country singers. But it didn’t end up being the large, epic party organizers had promoted.

At the time, organizers told media they’d handed out 3,000 tickets to several fraternities and sororities and expected thousands to attend. Only about 400 people, including non-students, showed up. Still, organizers managed to spend all but $13,000 on the festivities, funds they said they later donated to fraternity-nominated charities.

“No one was there to get honored with a party, people were there to stand up for people that are suffering,” Rosenblum said. “And how do you help people that are suffering? You give them aid. And we could have provided so much aid, but instead we’re buying beers and we’re buying cornhole boards instead. It really lost the meaning.”

Rosenblum had another idea: use the money to create dialogue spaces on campus. Students with opposing ideals, he said, could use these spaces to calmly express their views.

“It was a tragedy of miscommunication, disrespect to one another’s humanity, villainization of the other, not understanding how to have proper dialogue — that’s what that day was,” Rosenblum continued. “When they asked us about it, we all wanted to donate it, and we didn’t have a choice. It’s really sad to think about the impact you could have had with all of that that just went to waste.”

And while Rosenblum’s idea for funding dialogue spaces didn’t happen, he’s been taking a class this semester that does just that.

‘I was just someone that wasn’t afraid to speak up’

Rosenblum spends every Monday afternoon in “Courageous Conversations: Israel and Palestine on Campus.”

The course has a couple of dozen students, some pro-Palestine and others pro-Israel. It lasts for three hours, which students spend listening to lecturers, reading current events, or debating with each other.

The class has become a label-free space for Rosenblum to both strengthen and question his beliefs, while fueling his longing for dialogue. But the most meaningful conversations happened outside of the classroom, in another country.

The class traveled to Israel for spring break. The university funded the trip, which was part of the course’s curriculum. At the time, the U.S. Department of State labeled the area as high risk and had it under a level three travel advisory.

Rosenblum spent the time speaking with families living in the West Bank and eating Shabbat dinner with Jewish Israelis in Jerusalem.

“There’s humanity in both the Israeli story and the Palestinian story, and we try to compare these humanities,” Rosenblum said. “We try to compare pain, but both are painfully human. We have to acknowledge them for what they are and not try to compare them, that’s how you move forward. This class has allowed (us) to look at that and then come to a conclusion without yelling in each other’s face.”

The class is taught in UNC’s new School for Civic Life and Leadership. Faculty, students, and community members have criticized the school since its inception. UNC’s Board of Trustees circumvented a typically faculty-led process to build the school, which critics claim is a conservative think tank. The Courageous Conversations class itself has also generated criticism.

Rosenblum doesn’t need the class to graduate, but he said it became a personal requirement after seeing and responding to the protest on campus last year.

“If you really care about what’s going on in Gaza and you really care about the atrocities that are taking place, then you need to do it in a way that’s receptive by people. To me, taking down the American flag, while it’s a completely allowable action, is not the way to do that,” Rosenblum said. “Also, me standing there with an Israeli flag, with a bunch of people surrounding the American flag, might not be the best way to voice my qualms with the protests and my beliefs on the Israeli side.”

‘People want to paint me out to be something that I’m not’

In the year since the protests, Rosenblum’s taken a break from advocacy work. He still attends Hillel or Chabad events but isn’t involved in planning ones of his own.

He’s spent his extra time exploring Franklin Street with his friends, bonding with his fraternity brothers, and pitching for the club baseball team. His grandparents came to see his last game, which ended with hugs and tears of reflection as they all realized that season of his life was over.

Next month, Rosenblum will graduate with a degree in political science. He took the LSAT a couple of weeks ago and plans to be in law school by fall next year. He isn’t sure where that’ll be but knows he doesn’t want to return to Carolina.

If he had a chance to redo the last year, he wouldn’t change anything.

He’s proud of holding up his Israeli flag and believes that speaking with different media outlets is the best way to get his advocacy out to the most people. Plus, his friends, family, and community members know what type of person he really is — no matter what caricature others draw him out to be.

“I don’t care what people have to say. I’ve learned if people want to hear your story and want to know who you are, they’ll do the work to understand that,” Rosenblum said. “I feel that I’m doing what’s right, I’m sticking up for people who didn’t have a voice that day and before that day. If people want to paint me out to be something that I’m not, then that’s their freedom to do it. But it’s also my freedom to speak up for myself and describe my story.”

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