An Open Letter to Chris Martin

Dear Chris,

Firstly, I’m a big Coldplay fan and love your music and the spirit you bring to your concerts. Over the years, you have consistently invited fans on stage, using those moments not for spectacle but to underscore a theme: our shared humanity, our common dignity, and the possibility of peace. That is a vision I deeply admire, and one that resonates with many of us who believe in the healing power of music.

It’s in that light that I want to reflect on a moment from your recent show in London.

You invited two women—Avia and Tal—onstage at Wembley Stadium. When they revealed they were from Israel, sections of the crowd began to boo. In response, you addressed the audience from the piano: “I’m very grateful that you’re here as humans. We are treating you as equal humans on Earth, regardless of where you come from.” You then added: “Although it’s controversial, maybe, I also want to welcome people in the audience from Palestine. I believe that we’re all equally human.”

I believe you intended to convey a message of compassion and unity—offering protection, signaling belonging, and reminding the audience that every life matters—but many people, especially within Jewish and Israeli communities, felt your phrasing was inadvertently demeaning.

Some called the remarks “dehumanizing,” arguing they left the women feeling “conditionally tolerated, dehumanized and guilty of being Jewish.”

Chris Martin speaks to two fans who turn out to be Israeli at a concert in London, on August 31, 2025. (Screenshot/ TikTok)

Antisemitism has always attacked not only Jewish safety, but Jewish humanity itself. The Nazi regime could carry out genocide only by declaring Jews subhuman—vermin, disease, an infection in the body of the world. Stripped of humanity, we were stripped of protection. That wound is not buried in history; it remains close to the surface of Jewish identity. So when we hear “you are human,” however well-meant, it can echo a darker suggestion: perhaps you are not.

I believe this was not your intent. Jewish tradition reminds us: “judge every person on the side of merit (Ethics of the Fathers 1:6). I choose to see your words through the lens of your larger message of peace. Another teaching adds: “Do not judge another until you have stood in their place” (ibid 2:4). I have never stood in your place. Under the lights, in front of 80,000 people, carrying the responsibility of uniting a diverse crowd. For that, I honor the difficulty of your role.

But I ask you, for a moment, to stand in ours. Imagine what it feels like, after centuries of hearing our humanity denied, to have it named aloud as though it were uncertain. Imagine how vulnerable it feels when our humanity comes not as something assumed, but as something granted.

The example is not unique to Jews. If an artist turned to Black fans and said, “You are intelligent, regardless of your skin color,” the intent might be affirming, but the impact would be painful—because it would remind them of centuries of degradation. In the same way, telling Jews, “I am treating you as equal humans on earth regardless of where you come from” touches a place of historical trauma, no matter how kind the intent.

I do not write this to condemn. On the contrary, I respect your effort to bring humanity and peace into a divided world. My request is simple: let belonging be assumed, not declared; let inclusion be natural, not exceptional. The deepest welcome is not in saying, but in showing: of course you are human, of course you belong, of course you are one of us.

If this moment sparks deeper understanding—between you, your fans, and the Jewish people—then even a misstep can become part of the music of healing.

With respect,
Sam Bergman