I was anxious. My short tenure in Palestine had come to an end, but in order to leave Palestine, one has to navigate the Israeli Occupation Complex one last time. Stakes is high. Not as high as if I were a Palestinian from the West Bank who worked for months to get a visa that is usually denied or a Palestinian with an Israeli Passport, labeled an Israeli-Arab born on the Zionist side of the Green Line, who cannot explain why she doesn’t speak perfect Hebrew as she tries to board a plane to college in the U.S. Stakes were high for me because I want to be able to return and continue doing solidarity work or maybe just visit the family and friends I have made out here.
I spent my final hours with other Internationals and a few Palestinians, in East Jerusalem, quietly admiring their commitment, their love, and their resolve. I packed my bags and stressed out over how to transport fotos that although not very sensitive could prove I am an activist. In this climate of us versus them, subjected to the language of power, activist practically means terrorist. My sheirut picked me up near the hostel I often stayed in. I jumped on and dozed off. When I woke up I saw the tail wings, like shark fins letting me know I had arrived at David Ben Gurion Airport. I almost heard the dun-dun, dun-dun, Jaws theme music throbbing in my head.
I dismounted the sheirut at 1:45 am and took a moment to absorb the thick night air that reminded me of Puerto Rico. I needed to breathe in this warm air and relax before entering the final machsom –the last Israeli security checkpoint.
Once in, I was perplexed by the choice of mazes and the large screens flashing flight numbers like stats on horse races at an OTB. I stood back and tried to buy more time and orient myself before joining a queue; I was early. But, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a female security agent triangulating, surveying me. It was 2:00 am and my ordeal was beginning.
Her approach was awkward, nervous even. She asked me what I was doing there and if she could help me. She was instructed to do so, I presume, through the Nextel she held in her left hand. I spoke slowly, responding in English to her questions in Hebrew and Arabic. She was caught off guard. I pulled out my U.S. Passport and handed it to her and she smiled, probably at her own presumptions. We made small talk, I asked her to show me to my line, and she escorted me. I cleared the first obstacle.
Standing in file, I threw on my iPod, selected reggaeton and decided to bop my butterflies away as I stepped forward. At some point, I was stopped. Only folks with Israeli passports are welcome here; all others are a security risk. At around 2:30 am, I was escorted by a couple of security agents about 20 meters to a table, where I put my backpack down. Two other agents arrived and explained they would ask me questions for my safety and the safety of the flight I was about to board. I was also instructed not to mind the side conversations in Hebrew; this was going to be a training session –yeah, sure.
For over thirty minutes I was asked about when I bought my ticket, why I came, where I stayed, who I met, what I did, how I did it, why I extended my stay, how I extended my stay, when I extended my stay. These questions were asked one after the other and occasionally repeated. Side comments were made between the two women. They started buzzing when I claimed to stay at the Hotel Petra in Jerusalem; I was almost scolded for visiting Petra, Jordan until I corrected them. No, no, the hostel in the old city, not the city in the Arab country. The women weren’t hostile but after standing and answering questions for a little over a half hour, I was getting agitated and visibly exhausted. It was about 3:15 am. I was invited to sit down on the table right in the middle of the main lobby while the agents stepped off discussing my case. Eventually, it was determined that I would move on to the next phase of the gauntlet.
I was asked to carry my bag to another security station in the main lobby where it would undergo a thorough search. Two new women asked me to open my bag as the first two walked away. The next 30 minutes were spent opening every single compartment was and wiping them with a wand-like device which held a disposable cloth at the end. This cloth was then scanned by another appliance to determine if my bag or any of its contents had come in contact with any explosive devices.
The two women were cheerful, if not exhausted themselves. Their superiors were more elusive, giving orders under hushed tones of Hebrew, spoken so that I could not hear the contents of the conversation. The interview agents had apparently instructed the bomb-sniffing agents to guarantee that my bag would be checked in on time; it would not be allowed to fly as a carry-on, the way it came into the country, although I am sure that it was lighter and less bulky than weeks ago.
After the second set of agents finished with my bag and I successfully pleaded my case for at least carrying a few delicate personal items in a small knapsack, I was asked to empty my pockets, including my wallet and passport and place all items in a bucket on the table. I was told I would be searched using a metal detector. A young man approached me with a wand and I opened my arms, but he responded with a hand gesture asking me to follow him. I did expecting to walk through a set of metal detectors Israeli citizens were walking through on the way to picking up their boarding passes, but we passed those. We were headed to the back, to a special room with a brown curtain, benches, and seats giving it the appearance of a cross between a doctor’s office and a police precinct.
After waiting, behind the curtain, for what felt like an eternity, two agents entered and asked me to stand so one could run his hands over my entire body. I was tense and tired and oddly enough it felt like a massage. I had no weapons, nothing to be worried about, so I tried to ease into the invasive touch. Next, I was wanded with the kind of metal detector visitors to Rikers Island are familiar with. Apparently there was too much metal near my crotch and I was ordered to drop my pants so that the wand could pass over my genitals -the joy. My pants were thoroughly searched and my shoes were carted off to another room but eventually I was allowed to dress myself as they apologized for the inconvenience, to which I replied with some lie about how absolutely safe I was feeling already, impressed with this level of security. I said this to try and gain some of their trust, to get through the ordeal quicker. I was being treated like such a criminal, as a friend of Palestinians, to Israel, I guess I am.
I was escorted back to my belongings in the main lobby, around 4:00 am, and it seemed that my ordeal was over. The cheerful bomb-sniffing agents became my hospitality service and escorted me past long lines to get my boarding pass and then through regular security assuring colleagues that I was thoroughly searched and passed inspection and brought to Passport Control where I was bid farewell.
At Passport Control, I handed my passport over expecting an exit stamp. The Passport agent never looked up from her computer screen. Something must have come up when she entered my name; I am not sure what. But before I knew it, I turned around and found myself surrounded by three new security agents. They had my passport and boarding pass, it slipped out of my sight and into their hands. They started to walk away with my documents and I was instructed to follow. I was ordered to sit down while they entered an office, had a private discussion about me, and sent a stone-faced and burly plain clothes agent to watch over me.
When I asked, I was told there wasn’t a problem, but clearly there was. At 4:15 am, I was escorted back through the various gates and doorways I had already traversed and brought swiftly to the same special room where my pants had been removed for security purposes. A new and slightly larger team of 3 – 5 agents were waiting for me and I felt sure I was going to be questioned, but time was ticking and their agenda was never exactly made clear to me.
I was frisked, more invasively than before, with fingers pawing at my flesh’s every crease and curve. My pants were removed once again and I was subjected to the metal detecting wand, while standing there, arms extended horizontally, like Jesus on a cross. The irony of being forced into this position by Israeli guards in the Holy Land stung deeply. They found nothing. I was asked if I knew anyone else traveling on my flight; the answer was no. Then they proceeded to remove everything from my small carry-on knapsack. Rosaries and miniature nativity scenes for relatives, a couple of Kuffiyehs for friends, and Palestinian embroidered artisan crafts were laid on the table as a couple of agents hauled of my iPod, cell phones, digital camera, and memory disks to another room.
Tucked away in my digital camera on a folder that should not be easily accessed I had every foto I had taken on my trip. I shouldn’t have brought them with me, but I can be foolish and pig-headed. These fotos prove that I was in Palestine, not Israel but the Occupied Palestinian Territories. They show me playing with Palestinian children and attending anti-war demonstrations. They depict checkpoints and resistance graffiti. They document non-violent protests against the Apartheid Wall and separation fences as well as the damage that settlers and settlements have done to Palestinian farmers and shepherds land and homes and communities.
Time was running out, 5:00 am was approaching, and there was a buzz in the air. Apparently the various security agents wanted to make sure that I did not miss my flight even though they found me suspicious. A progressive Israeli comrade forewarned me of this treatment and reassured me that they would not keep me; Israel has no interest in keeping International activists in, ultimately I would get through this uncomfortable situation. My concern is that they do to me what they have done to dozens, maybe hundreds, of others; place me on a list that denies me reentry. This may be why they have separated me from my electronic devices a second time, even after determining they never made contact with explosives. They weren’t afraid me blowing aircrafts up, but more about the truth leaking out, in the form of pictures and documents, blowing Israel up as a racist and fascist state. Once they determined that I was not a threat to the flight, I was thanked for my cooperation and brought back to Passport Control, where I was asked to stand outside the office while my exit visa was stamped. Agents escorted me through all gates and with a sneer I was told I still had 15 minutes to shop duty-free before boarding.
And that was it, I was free to leave. I am not sure if I am free to come back. I checked my passport naively wondering if they would leave a note saying don’t think of returning. Perhaps they weren’t sure if they would welcome me, regardless of my smile and the huge heart I wear on my sleeves. Maybe they made copies of my photos and files and some drone will look at them and make a note of me for the future -fernando reals, persona non grata. That’s not really that important. The reality is that I only dropped a few tears into that vast ocean of resistance that has been rising up like a hurricane and washing the Holy Land of all of this institutionalized hatred and violence. I believe Palestine will be free and it will be because Palestinians will liberate themselves.
My only hope is that, Inshallah, I can return when this happens; and if the opportunity to return and resist, in solidarity, alongside Palestinians is extended to me during the final years of occupation, I will gladly find a way back. Palante Siempre, En Solidaridad!
Viva, Viva Palestina! Y La Lucha Clandestina!
Viva, Viva Palestina! Y La Lucha Popular!
Monday, August 28, 2006
Monday, August 21, 2006
Solidarity
On Friday, August 11th, 2006, the Christian and Muslim communities in resistance to the Apartheid Wall near Al-Khadr proceeded to march in protest as they regularly do on Fridays after Juma’a prayers. Only this time they had a new idea.
The Israeli Forces have been building a wall to contain the entire West Bank and this construction is furiously under way in the areas near Bethlehem. Ultimately, Israelis would like to cut Palestinians off from the settler roads and highways that facilitate movement to the zionist side of the Green Line. Israel also plans on annexing as much land as possible. This stretch of wall that is under construction west of Bethlehem will imprison around 20,000 Palestinians between the wall and the Green Line. To that effect a one hundred meter stretch of wall stands alone along the road to Jerusalem, seemingly randomly.
In the last few weeks, a stretch of very sharp barbed wire was erected on a ridge seperating the Muslim cemetary and a local fruit grove from the road. The popular committee against the wall of Al-Khadr decided that as the group of children and community folks descended on the Apartheid Wall, a group of International allies as well as Israeli allies whould go remove some of the razor wire as a symbolic act of defiance to these illegal barriers.
Beyond any acts of symbolic solidarity, we successfully removed all one hundred meters of razor wire and sent it down the hill towards the Israeli Occupation Forces who looked on in shock and awe.
The Israeli Forces have been building a wall to contain the entire West Bank and this construction is furiously under way in the areas near Bethlehem. Ultimately, Israelis would like to cut Palestinians off from the settler roads and highways that facilitate movement to the zionist side of the Green Line. Israel also plans on annexing as much land as possible. This stretch of wall that is under construction west of Bethlehem will imprison around 20,000 Palestinians between the wall and the Green Line. To that effect a one hundred meter stretch of wall stands alone along the road to Jerusalem, seemingly randomly.
In the last few weeks, a stretch of very sharp barbed wire was erected on a ridge seperating the Muslim cemetary and a local fruit grove from the road. The popular committee against the wall of Al-Khadr decided that as the group of children and community folks descended on the Apartheid Wall, a group of International allies as well as Israeli allies whould go remove some of the razor wire as a symbolic act of defiance to these illegal barriers.
Beyond any acts of symbolic solidarity, we successfully removed all one hundred meters of razor wire and sent it down the hill towards the Israeli Occupation Forces who looked on in shock and awe.
Saturday, August 12, 2006
Nablus, Balata, and Askar
Nablus is both beautiful and grimey at the same time. Mountains surround massive concrete buildings where business tries to boom, refugee camps are galleries for shaheed posters featuring young men killed protecting their hood, and beautiful parks cradle families who come together to picnic. Nablus is the heart of the Intifada, where communities are pushed to yearn for Paradise Now.
We arrived in the midst of a small rally of support for Hezbollah. Ya Hezbollah, Ya Habib... One of the Internationals I worked with in the South Hebron Hills has been here for a few weeks making connections with local Palestinians and is speaking on the mic, expressing our sorrow at the fact that U.S. tax dollars help fund the tools of the occupation -M16's, F15's, Apaches, and other various and sundry military goods. Kids, especially young girls, are leading the chants against Israel today.
After being introduced to the crew, we head a few blocks through the city center to the Intelectual's Forum, a center where we are very welcome, that hosts people doing "humanist" work. The ISM delgation in Nablus has been scrambling for weeks trying to organize a meeting with local organizers to develop some clear accountability mechanisms for solidarity work. The city has seen an increased level of Israeli military activity in the smokescreen of the war on Lebanon and the constant bombardment of Gaza. The PA's Ministry of the Interior building was completely destroyed by Israeli tanks in mid-July and the rubble containing archives and files was thoroughly whipped to a pulp by Caterpillar bulldozers ensuring a bitter batter of Palestinian civil society's beaten retrospection. A people are eliminated not just through attempts on their lives, but through attempts on their history and culture; Israel knows this tactic well.
Five minutes into the the offical start of our meeting, with organizers, scholars, and representatives of groups such as the Palestinian Women's Union, gunfire erupts on the nearby streets, but nobody bats an eyelash -this is normal- and the meeting continues. Minutes later there is the call to prayer and we manage to still conduct our meeting over the muezzin's call blaring from the minaret.
After the meeting, we headed to Balata Refugee Camp, where the group was staying. Balata is infamous, making Queensbridge, Bushwick, and the South Bronx' reputations, seem like the stuff of urban legends. But on the reals, as I entered Balata passed the chamacos on the corner and the legendary masjid where Islamic Jihad recruits fighters, all I could think of was that line in Enter the Dragon, "ghettos are the same all over the world..." I felt comfortable walking through the crowds of cats stoops, passed the lights of barber shops open late into the night, walking through the alleys that host dozens of brigades on night patrol.
In Balata I met Hamoudi, a charismatic brother always down to hang out, an eight year old boy who runs an internet cafe while his father tends to other business, Mahdy who dreams of being a fashion designer, and a father and son duo who embody the beauty of Islam as they explain their desire for peace and co-existance with Christians and Jews. Unfortunately, every night their lives are interrupted by Israei soldiers coming into the camp and engaging young men forced to be fighters in shoot outs. Every night, 3am, without fail, we heard gunshots.
On my last night in Balata, soldiers came into the camp, broke into Hamoudi's home and used his living room as a staging ground for an operation aimed at arresting several suspected militants. There were around 70 soldiers and some spies on the street in front of his home and several soldiers and snipers in his living room.
This is life in Balata. No wonder there are hundreds of young men and women joining Al-Aqsa Martyrs, Qassam, Abu Ali Mustafaa, Al-Quds, or any other brigades that promise to resist the occupation through armed self-defense. I do not blame them. Instead I am reminded of Tupac Shakur's proclamation of THUGLIFE meaning The Hate U Give Little Infants Fucks Everybody.
The streets are lined with hundreds of posters of the latest martyrs in this struggle for dignity in the face of occupation. Noone escapes this reality. Kids wear t-shirts with the faces of lost uncles. Most people carry the picture of a beloved relative who was killed, some wear them around their neck. A tragic ritual here is to have your photographs prepared in the event of your demise, regardless of whether or not you are a fighter. Everyone is a survivor, anyone can be a shaheed.
We also had an opportunity to visit Askar Refugee Camp. Children were celebrating and performing on the final day of their summer camp held at the UNRWA school. I cut out to get a haircut and a shave cause everyone in the refugee camps is looking dipped and I didn't want to be too far behind. You know the saying, When In Rome... but seriously, Palestinian men in the cities come correct and refugee camps are straight hip-hop -everyone is looking on point.
Refugee Camps also happen to be the main places in Palestine where one will come across black Palestinians, descendants of african immigrants before 1948. Given the racial diversity and sheer poverty, places like Balata and Askar feel the most like home, the most like the hood in New York. At the same time, the problems we have with poverty and the sense of occupation by the NYPD make for very asymetrical metaphors with the realities of Palestine. Askar Camp was invaded and homes were demolished a week after I left.
We arrived in the midst of a small rally of support for Hezbollah. Ya Hezbollah, Ya Habib... One of the Internationals I worked with in the South Hebron Hills has been here for a few weeks making connections with local Palestinians and is speaking on the mic, expressing our sorrow at the fact that U.S. tax dollars help fund the tools of the occupation -M16's, F15's, Apaches, and other various and sundry military goods. Kids, especially young girls, are leading the chants against Israel today.
After being introduced to the crew, we head a few blocks through the city center to the Intelectual's Forum, a center where we are very welcome, that hosts people doing "humanist" work. The ISM delgation in Nablus has been scrambling for weeks trying to organize a meeting with local organizers to develop some clear accountability mechanisms for solidarity work. The city has seen an increased level of Israeli military activity in the smokescreen of the war on Lebanon and the constant bombardment of Gaza. The PA's Ministry of the Interior building was completely destroyed by Israeli tanks in mid-July and the rubble containing archives and files was thoroughly whipped to a pulp by Caterpillar bulldozers ensuring a bitter batter of Palestinian civil society's beaten retrospection. A people are eliminated not just through attempts on their lives, but through attempts on their history and culture; Israel knows this tactic well.
Five minutes into the the offical start of our meeting, with organizers, scholars, and representatives of groups such as the Palestinian Women's Union, gunfire erupts on the nearby streets, but nobody bats an eyelash -this is normal- and the meeting continues. Minutes later there is the call to prayer and we manage to still conduct our meeting over the muezzin's call blaring from the minaret.
After the meeting, we headed to Balata Refugee Camp, where the group was staying. Balata is infamous, making Queensbridge, Bushwick, and the South Bronx' reputations, seem like the stuff of urban legends. But on the reals, as I entered Balata passed the chamacos on the corner and the legendary masjid where Islamic Jihad recruits fighters, all I could think of was that line in Enter the Dragon, "ghettos are the same all over the world..." I felt comfortable walking through the crowds of cats stoops, passed the lights of barber shops open late into the night, walking through the alleys that host dozens of brigades on night patrol.
In Balata I met Hamoudi, a charismatic brother always down to hang out, an eight year old boy who runs an internet cafe while his father tends to other business, Mahdy who dreams of being a fashion designer, and a father and son duo who embody the beauty of Islam as they explain their desire for peace and co-existance with Christians and Jews. Unfortunately, every night their lives are interrupted by Israei soldiers coming into the camp and engaging young men forced to be fighters in shoot outs. Every night, 3am, without fail, we heard gunshots.
On my last night in Balata, soldiers came into the camp, broke into Hamoudi's home and used his living room as a staging ground for an operation aimed at arresting several suspected militants. There were around 70 soldiers and some spies on the street in front of his home and several soldiers and snipers in his living room.
This is life in Balata. No wonder there are hundreds of young men and women joining Al-Aqsa Martyrs, Qassam, Abu Ali Mustafaa, Al-Quds, or any other brigades that promise to resist the occupation through armed self-defense. I do not blame them. Instead I am reminded of Tupac Shakur's proclamation of THUGLIFE meaning The Hate U Give Little Infants Fucks Everybody.
The streets are lined with hundreds of posters of the latest martyrs in this struggle for dignity in the face of occupation. Noone escapes this reality. Kids wear t-shirts with the faces of lost uncles. Most people carry the picture of a beloved relative who was killed, some wear them around their neck. A tragic ritual here is to have your photographs prepared in the event of your demise, regardless of whether or not you are a fighter. Everyone is a survivor, anyone can be a shaheed.
We also had an opportunity to visit Askar Refugee Camp. Children were celebrating and performing on the final day of their summer camp held at the UNRWA school. I cut out to get a haircut and a shave cause everyone in the refugee camps is looking dipped and I didn't want to be too far behind. You know the saying, When In Rome... but seriously, Palestinian men in the cities come correct and refugee camps are straight hip-hop -everyone is looking on point.
Refugee Camps also happen to be the main places in Palestine where one will come across black Palestinians, descendants of african immigrants before 1948. Given the racial diversity and sheer poverty, places like Balata and Askar feel the most like home, the most like the hood in New York. At the same time, the problems we have with poverty and the sense of occupation by the NYPD make for very asymetrical metaphors with the realities of Palestine. Askar Camp was invaded and homes were demolished a week after I left.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Huwarra And Other Machsoms
In order to enter Nablus you must take a shared taxi to Huawarra Checkpoint, disembark with all your belongings and carry them a few hundred meters, through revolving doors, passed Israeli Occupation Forces, and continue walking or jumping in other shared taxi for another few kilometers. You do this afraid that at any moment a soldier will single you out and deny you entry, or worse yet, detain you.
I have heard of Huwarra before. Its name sends shudders down Palestinian spines. It conjurs up images of crossing the snapping jaws of a crocodile, someone is gonna get hurt. When we arrived, I was taken aback. It seems an entire industry has sprouted up to meet the needs, the needs of Palestinians stuck in this gauntlet, the needs of poor folks trying to make money in this difficult economy. There were hundreds of taxis on both sides and men hawking cheaper rides than the next. You can purchase meals for a few shekels as well as cold drinks, if you have the shekels.
On this day, we got through with no problem and no need for a dialogue with Jeish, but on the other side the line of Palestinians trying to make it to point south was terribly long.
The next day Internationals accompanied Palestinians at Beit Iba checkpoint, the Machsom for points north of Nablus such as Jenin. The line of vehicles was at least a half mile long. I am not sure how that translates into hours wait but we even watched an ambulance with lights on go through a thorough documents search. I wonder if these were the conditions a few weeks ago when a comrades uncle died of a heart attack, while laying in an ambulance, stuck in a checkpoint, awaiting approval to travel to a hospital. This uncles heart stopped, many of ours broke. This is life in Palestine.
On foot, queues of travelers were forming. One for men and another for women and children. The latter is called the humanitarian line. We advocated for yet another, I guess a more humanitarian line. We spent a few hours advocating for people to get through more quickly. We were able to negotiate with soldiers for the release of men who were being held for various non-reasons such as having similar ID numbers as wanted men, although the soldiers knew the men in custody were not wanted, and those who were being punished for trying to circumnavigate this horrific checkpoint and its long lines.
Our efforts were a drop in an ocean.
Our efforts were more politicizing than effective at creating institutional change. It made me understand further how humiliating life can be under occupation. I tip my hat off to Machsom Watch, a group of Israeli women who volunteer constantly and systematically to stop human rights abuses at these checkpoints and watchtowers.
But we also built a sense of solidarity with those who watched us, as odd as we must have looked, a bunch of foreigners talking to soldiers and pleading with them to let people through more swiftly. One uncle, at first, asked why the soldiers weren't letting us through and I told him, we didn't want to go through, we want you to be able to get through faster, we are friends of Palestinians from Amreeka and Britanya and we don't agree with Bush or Blair. The uncle told us he loved us and that many Palestinians know that the people are not reflected by the officials. Salamat.
I have heard of Huwarra before. Its name sends shudders down Palestinian spines. It conjurs up images of crossing the snapping jaws of a crocodile, someone is gonna get hurt. When we arrived, I was taken aback. It seems an entire industry has sprouted up to meet the needs, the needs of Palestinians stuck in this gauntlet, the needs of poor folks trying to make money in this difficult economy. There were hundreds of taxis on both sides and men hawking cheaper rides than the next. You can purchase meals for a few shekels as well as cold drinks, if you have the shekels.
On this day, we got through with no problem and no need for a dialogue with Jeish, but on the other side the line of Palestinians trying to make it to point south was terribly long.
The next day Internationals accompanied Palestinians at Beit Iba checkpoint, the Machsom for points north of Nablus such as Jenin. The line of vehicles was at least a half mile long. I am not sure how that translates into hours wait but we even watched an ambulance with lights on go through a thorough documents search. I wonder if these were the conditions a few weeks ago when a comrades uncle died of a heart attack, while laying in an ambulance, stuck in a checkpoint, awaiting approval to travel to a hospital. This uncles heart stopped, many of ours broke. This is life in Palestine.
On foot, queues of travelers were forming. One for men and another for women and children. The latter is called the humanitarian line. We advocated for yet another, I guess a more humanitarian line. We spent a few hours advocating for people to get through more quickly. We were able to negotiate with soldiers for the release of men who were being held for various non-reasons such as having similar ID numbers as wanted men, although the soldiers knew the men in custody were not wanted, and those who were being punished for trying to circumnavigate this horrific checkpoint and its long lines.
Our efforts were a drop in an ocean.
Our efforts were more politicizing than effective at creating institutional change. It made me understand further how humiliating life can be under occupation. I tip my hat off to Machsom Watch, a group of Israeli women who volunteer constantly and systematically to stop human rights abuses at these checkpoints and watchtowers.
But we also built a sense of solidarity with those who watched us, as odd as we must have looked, a bunch of foreigners talking to soldiers and pleading with them to let people through more swiftly. One uncle, at first, asked why the soldiers weren't letting us through and I told him, we didn't want to go through, we want you to be able to get through faster, we are friends of Palestinians from Amreeka and Britanya and we don't agree with Bush or Blair. The uncle told us he loved us and that many Palestinians know that the people are not reflected by the officials. Salamat.
On the Road
After weeks in the south of the West Bank, and before heading home, I needed to travel north to learn something new. The Al Aqsa Intifada has been described as having died down in the south but being very much alive in the north to this day.
In the Hebron region,we have been accompanying farmers to their land around Beit Ummar who face constant terrorism from settlers with Israeli military backing. We also have had the opportunity to sit on the street near Tel Rumeida settlement in Hebron to document and disrupt any settler attacks on Palestinian children. We have attended anti-war demonstrations in the south that show support for Hezbollah as it takes on Israel, the bully. And we have stayed with Bedouins, forced or indigenous, to offer some security from midnight raids by settlers in masks who beat families and burn down homes.
But we also work in other regions. ISM has been supporting Non-Violent Direct Action for at least 5 years in various regions of the West Bank and Gaza and a crew has begun to reengage work in Nablus. A couple of us headed north to support the efforts underway and to learn about life and resistance in another region.
The north is much greener than the areas near the South Hebron Hills for instance, but not all villages are as lush as Beit Ummar. On the ride up you can still see olive trees whereas in the south many fields have been leveled by Israel. I also notice that villages seem farther away from each other and on this day there isn't much military visible on the roads heading north.
As we pass a bend, another International shares with me the legend of a Palestinian sharpshooter who sat in the hills patiently waiting for a soldier to pass by. He then used an inherited Jordanian rifle to eliminate his enemy, cleanly and quietly. The sniper is said to have dropped 7 Israeli soldiers in one day but within 7 days he himself was eliminated by Israel.
This sense of sacrifice and patience pushes many Palestinians.
In the Hebron region,we have been accompanying farmers to their land around Beit Ummar who face constant terrorism from settlers with Israeli military backing. We also have had the opportunity to sit on the street near Tel Rumeida settlement in Hebron to document and disrupt any settler attacks on Palestinian children. We have attended anti-war demonstrations in the south that show support for Hezbollah as it takes on Israel, the bully. And we have stayed with Bedouins, forced or indigenous, to offer some security from midnight raids by settlers in masks who beat families and burn down homes.
But we also work in other regions. ISM has been supporting Non-Violent Direct Action for at least 5 years in various regions of the West Bank and Gaza and a crew has begun to reengage work in Nablus. A couple of us headed north to support the efforts underway and to learn about life and resistance in another region.
The north is much greener than the areas near the South Hebron Hills for instance, but not all villages are as lush as Beit Ummar. On the ride up you can still see olive trees whereas in the south many fields have been leveled by Israel. I also notice that villages seem farther away from each other and on this day there isn't much military visible on the roads heading north.
As we pass a bend, another International shares with me the legend of a Palestinian sharpshooter who sat in the hills patiently waiting for a soldier to pass by. He then used an inherited Jordanian rifle to eliminate his enemy, cleanly and quietly. The sniper is said to have dropped 7 Israeli soldiers in one day but within 7 days he himself was eliminated by Israel.
This sense of sacrifice and patience pushes many Palestinians.
Friday, August 04, 2006
Halla Ya
Everywhere you go in the West Bank there is an infectious beat driving people. Timbaland didn't produce it and its not a post-mortem treat from the one J-dilla. From car stereos, shawarma shop radios, and televisions from Al-Khalil to Nablus, speakers blare:
Halla Ya Sagir Lebanon,
Halla Ya Hasan Nasrallah,
Halla Ya Hezbollah...
Palestine has suffered so much at the hands of the Israeli state that one would be hard-pressed to find Palestinians who aren't a little excited by the fact that there is a force strong enough to slap the Zionists with a couple of bofetas.
I am not sure how this war will end. Israel has one of the strongest militaries, very advanced weaponry, and the world's most influential benefactors. But one thing is certain, Hezbollah is welcome in Palestine. Hassan Nasrallah is loved by many who see his dedication to the Palestinian people and his audacity as qualities that are missing from other arab leaders.
In communities across the West Bank there have been dozens of demonstrations in support for the Hezbollah fighters. This solidarity with the underdog freedom fighters cuts across party lines. Fatah as well as Hamas are expressing support.
In a world where a non arab-speaker is often limited to understanding everyday people's politics by using the terms 'good' or 'not good,' one finds an overwhelming amount of people of all generations who smile, give thumbs up, and proclaim that Hezbollah is 'very, very good.'
Halla Ya Sagir Lebanon,
Halla Ya Hasan Nasrallah,
Halla Ya Hezbollah...
Palestine has suffered so much at the hands of the Israeli state that one would be hard-pressed to find Palestinians who aren't a little excited by the fact that there is a force strong enough to slap the Zionists with a couple of bofetas.
I am not sure how this war will end. Israel has one of the strongest militaries, very advanced weaponry, and the world's most influential benefactors. But one thing is certain, Hezbollah is welcome in Palestine. Hassan Nasrallah is loved by many who see his dedication to the Palestinian people and his audacity as qualities that are missing from other arab leaders.
In communities across the West Bank there have been dozens of demonstrations in support for the Hezbollah fighters. This solidarity with the underdog freedom fighters cuts across party lines. Fatah as well as Hamas are expressing support.
In a world where a non arab-speaker is often limited to understanding everyday people's politics by using the terms 'good' or 'not good,' one finds an overwhelming amount of people of all generations who smile, give thumbs up, and proclaim that Hezbollah is 'very, very good.'
Palabras...
At times I can't find the palabras to express what I am seeing.
It is getting harder and harder as time passes. Someone I met here said that an International once visited Palestine and was so moved they wanted to write a book, so they returned to start the interviews and research for their book and could only manage to write an article, then they learned even more and couldn't sit down to write an e-mail.
I never took a moment to consider how dangerous apuntes can be; I want folks to read these and read the tons of other blogs and books on Palestine. I want people to do something beyond reading and writing. When will more people start rebeling?
One of my dearest comrades forwarded me these words from one of my favorite writers:
Gracias Junot Diaz, for your palabras...
It is getting harder and harder as time passes. Someone I met here said that an International once visited Palestine and was so moved they wanted to write a book, so they returned to start the interviews and research for their book and could only manage to write an article, then they learned even more and couldn't sit down to write an e-mail.
I never took a moment to consider how dangerous apuntes can be; I want folks to read these and read the tons of other blogs and books on Palestine. I want people to do something beyond reading and writing. When will more people start rebeling?
One of my dearest comrades forwarded me these words from one of my favorite writers:
We all know that there are language forms that are considered impolite and out of order, no matter what truths these languages might be carrying. If you talk with a harsh, urbanized accent and you use too many profanities, that will often get you barred from many arenas, no matter what you’re trying to say. On the other hand, polite, formal language is allowed almost anywhere even when all it is communicating is hatred and violence.
Power always privileges its own discourse while marginalizing those who would challenge it or that are the victims of its power.
Just watch what’s happening in Palestine.
I find the language of Israel, for example, the language of an occupying army that practices collective retaliation, that drops bombs on villagers because someone utterly unconnected to them kills an Israeli soldier, this language is considered (by many in the world community) as rational and civilized, yet the language of a Palestinian revolutionary, fighting to end the occupation, with whatever limited means he or she has at their disposal, is considered the language of savagery and of barbarism and of terrorism. It would seem to me that the Israelis deploy their language privilege to cloak the reality of what they’re doing and distort what the Palestinian struggle for liberation is all about.
Gracias Junot Diaz, for your palabras...
Monday, July 31, 2006
Passing
After weeks building with families in the West Bank it feels awkward to be able to pass through a checkpoint headed to Jerusalem. But I needed out of the Bank for a few days. I watched F-16's bomb Gaza and I needed out... But I am only a visitor, a volunteer, an International, a friend. Imagine I were a Palestinian. Imagine I did not possess the proper ID or permission to pass through the checkpoints, pass the walls, fences, barbed wire, border police and Israeli Occupation Forces.
I might see dozens of atrocities committed in my community, to my friends, to my family and I would have no authority to go, to run, no ability to pass through...
I come from NYC so after a few weeks in Beit Ummar and several nights camping in the semi-desert, I went through neon-light withdrawal and craved the fast pace of a city. I tried West Jerusalem. The final night of a fellow travelor. We went for some Murphy's Irish Stout. We passed through a bouncer, a video camera, and the prejudices of a bar owner who only lets the "right people in." We have a couple of pints and make small talk with locals, with Israelis.
My Irish comrade is the bolder of the two this night. When asked if we like Israel, he responds the place is great except for the little problem with the Palestinians. Why can't folks just learn to live side by side? Our Israeli acquaintance explains that he does not like the mixing between the races. It is fucked up. He explains that he cannot enter a Palestinian neighborhood without getting his throat slit. He has just finished his military duty, he served in a combat unit, and is heading to travel throughout the east. He has not yet attended college.
We tell him we have spent weeks traveling through the West Bank and no one has threatened or attempted to slit our throats. He says that we are foreigners and we don't understand or face the same problems. We say that Palestinians often say Shalom to us as we pass them in the Bank because they assume we must be Israeli, when they don't assume I'm Arab. He does not respond. I think we proved him wrong; I don't know what he thinks.
In Jerusalem I get dirty looks, or not, it depends on the situation. Yeah, Puerto Ricans look like Palestinians and vice versa and the same dynamics play out with Israelis, actually. Some would say that semitic people are cousins. Puerto Ricans are so mixed up we just look like cousins. I don't understand race dynamics here, I don't understand this hatred. In places like Old Jaffa I cannot tell who is who. I wonder how many people could pass on either side. I wonder who might be friends, who might be enemies.
Ramallah feels a whole lot better. The whole city reminds me of the South Bronx or El Barrio at night. No confusion. Everyone is Palestinian and Apartheid seems distant. West Jerusalem is a whole lot more like the gentrified Lower East Side, fine for a night but watch out, zionism is at work, oppression abounds.
Passing back and forth through the Green Line is a luxury. On another night, another comrade and I need to make our way to Jerusalem so that we can head north for an action; some Palestinians are planning on removing a roadblock, so they can enter their village with ease. We are quite late and miss the last bus. It is the Shabbat and we are stuck near Bethlehem. Three Palestinian taxi drivers keep us company while we decide what to do and offer to drive us to the farthest checkpoint they can pass on the road up north.
Before we grab our bags to go, a humvee arrives carrying two soldiers who dismount with a flashlight attached to the barrel of their U.S. military-issued M-16 assault rifle. They point the guns at all of us. I have no patience and when asked something in Hebrew, I respond, Do you speak English? Yes, what are you doing here? We are leaving Bethlehem -Church of the Nativity- and heading back to Jerusalem, I say without a second thought or a nervous stutter. Lying to authorities is becoming quite natural. They never mind their business so I have plenty of opportunities to practice. They ask the Palestinians for ID but I play pendejo and take out my pasport as well. I didn't want to pass. I wanted to feel the same humiliation the warm men who kept us company felt. The Jeish rejected ours and inspected theirs.
Then they addressed us Internationals directly. We would advice you to leave the area immediately and not to come around here because it is dangerous for you. An American doctor had his throat slit near Tel Aviv. What is it with Israelis and their Palestinian boogeyman with a knife going around slicing throats? What does Tel Aviv have to do with Bethlehem? The poor young soliders make no sense as they seem earnest about their concern for our safety and theirs; they obviously swallow the Anti-Palestinian propaganda whole. My comrade says to me, I feel a whole lot safer in the West Bank than in Jerusalem around more of these 19 year olds with guns. I agree wholeheartedly.
We ride to the checkpoint and find a long line of cars. We flag a cab willing to take us to Jerusalem, if we have passports that will let us pass the checkpoint. We are grateful. The car is carrying a young boy and a woman. We try to fit in. There is wall between people erected by this zionism and hatred. The woman has a Palestinian dress so she must be, and this cab is Israeli, and the boy can pass for either. Life here, crossing borders, is so complicated.
As we inch our way north, the ice begins to melt, the wall slowly dismantled. The woman is the driver's mother and boy his son. The grandmother is headed to a wedding and we are getting a ride because the driver understands it is difficult to cross the checkpoints to Jerusalem on this night. Never ride across the checkpoints on the Sabbath, Jews don't drive that day so every car must be Palestinian and with less Israelis on the road, Jeish can take their time inspecting those Palestinians.
I might see dozens of atrocities committed in my community, to my friends, to my family and I would have no authority to go, to run, no ability to pass through...
I come from NYC so after a few weeks in Beit Ummar and several nights camping in the semi-desert, I went through neon-light withdrawal and craved the fast pace of a city. I tried West Jerusalem. The final night of a fellow travelor. We went for some Murphy's Irish Stout. We passed through a bouncer, a video camera, and the prejudices of a bar owner who only lets the "right people in." We have a couple of pints and make small talk with locals, with Israelis.
My Irish comrade is the bolder of the two this night. When asked if we like Israel, he responds the place is great except for the little problem with the Palestinians. Why can't folks just learn to live side by side? Our Israeli acquaintance explains that he does not like the mixing between the races. It is fucked up. He explains that he cannot enter a Palestinian neighborhood without getting his throat slit. He has just finished his military duty, he served in a combat unit, and is heading to travel throughout the east. He has not yet attended college.
We tell him we have spent weeks traveling through the West Bank and no one has threatened or attempted to slit our throats. He says that we are foreigners and we don't understand or face the same problems. We say that Palestinians often say Shalom to us as we pass them in the Bank because they assume we must be Israeli, when they don't assume I'm Arab. He does not respond. I think we proved him wrong; I don't know what he thinks.
In Jerusalem I get dirty looks, or not, it depends on the situation. Yeah, Puerto Ricans look like Palestinians and vice versa and the same dynamics play out with Israelis, actually. Some would say that semitic people are cousins. Puerto Ricans are so mixed up we just look like cousins. I don't understand race dynamics here, I don't understand this hatred. In places like Old Jaffa I cannot tell who is who. I wonder how many people could pass on either side. I wonder who might be friends, who might be enemies.
Ramallah feels a whole lot better. The whole city reminds me of the South Bronx or El Barrio at night. No confusion. Everyone is Palestinian and Apartheid seems distant. West Jerusalem is a whole lot more like the gentrified Lower East Side, fine for a night but watch out, zionism is at work, oppression abounds.
Passing back and forth through the Green Line is a luxury. On another night, another comrade and I need to make our way to Jerusalem so that we can head north for an action; some Palestinians are planning on removing a roadblock, so they can enter their village with ease. We are quite late and miss the last bus. It is the Shabbat and we are stuck near Bethlehem. Three Palestinian taxi drivers keep us company while we decide what to do and offer to drive us to the farthest checkpoint they can pass on the road up north.
Before we grab our bags to go, a humvee arrives carrying two soldiers who dismount with a flashlight attached to the barrel of their U.S. military-issued M-16 assault rifle. They point the guns at all of us. I have no patience and when asked something in Hebrew, I respond, Do you speak English? Yes, what are you doing here? We are leaving Bethlehem -Church of the Nativity- and heading back to Jerusalem, I say without a second thought or a nervous stutter. Lying to authorities is becoming quite natural. They never mind their business so I have plenty of opportunities to practice. They ask the Palestinians for ID but I play pendejo and take out my pasport as well. I didn't want to pass. I wanted to feel the same humiliation the warm men who kept us company felt. The Jeish rejected ours and inspected theirs.
Then they addressed us Internationals directly. We would advice you to leave the area immediately and not to come around here because it is dangerous for you. An American doctor had his throat slit near Tel Aviv. What is it with Israelis and their Palestinian boogeyman with a knife going around slicing throats? What does Tel Aviv have to do with Bethlehem? The poor young soliders make no sense as they seem earnest about their concern for our safety and theirs; they obviously swallow the Anti-Palestinian propaganda whole. My comrade says to me, I feel a whole lot safer in the West Bank than in Jerusalem around more of these 19 year olds with guns. I agree wholeheartedly.
We ride to the checkpoint and find a long line of cars. We flag a cab willing to take us to Jerusalem, if we have passports that will let us pass the checkpoint. We are grateful. The car is carrying a young boy and a woman. We try to fit in. There is wall between people erected by this zionism and hatred. The woman has a Palestinian dress so she must be, and this cab is Israeli, and the boy can pass for either. Life here, crossing borders, is so complicated.
As we inch our way north, the ice begins to melt, the wall slowly dismantled. The woman is the driver's mother and boy his son. The grandmother is headed to a wedding and we are getting a ride because the driver understands it is difficult to cross the checkpoints to Jerusalem on this night. Never ride across the checkpoints on the Sabbath, Jews don't drive that day so every car must be Palestinian and with less Israelis on the road, Jeish can take their time inspecting those Palestinians.
Saturday, July 29, 2006
Rebuilding Palestine
A few days after watching Israeli F-16's further the destruction of Palestine, I felt like I needed to contribute to the reconstruction of Palestine, so I volunteered for a day with ICAHD -the Israeli Committee Against House Demolitions.
ICAHD has been instrumental in challenging one of the most nefarious features of the Israeli occupation of Palestine - the demolition of Palestinian homes. ISM’ers have begun to pitch in and lend a helping hand with ICAHD’s summer rebuilding camps when not supporting non-violent direct action against the occupation in other regions of the West Bank. ICAHD is currently constructing a home in the Anata community, which nebulously falls under East Jerusalem and West Bank designations. This is the fourth summer in a row that ICAHD has organized a house construction summer work camp for internationals volunteers.
As bombs and rockets are launched on Gaza and Lebanon, internationals and Palestinians are working under the radar to reconstruct a Palestinian home that was demolished by the Israeli Army. What Israel destroys, Palestinians rebuild with the help of allies. Many Palestinian homes are subjected to military demolition every year. Four main reasons guide this destructive activity: Palestinian homes are demolished to assassinate alleged terrorists, as collective punishment for family members of alleged terrorists, to clear a path for the Apartheid Wall, or because the houses are deemed illegal under Israel’s Apartheid laws.
The reality is that many homes have been demolished for these or apparently no reasons by the Israeli military and dozens others have been destroyed by settlers in an effort to terrorize Palestinians into leaving their homes, community, and land.
In order to struggle against this injustice ICAHD organizes direct action to block the demolition of homes and it also take on the task of rebuilding, not just homes but also relationships between Palestinians, Israelis, and internationals through shared work. This is a form of active non-violent direct action against the occupation; the very act of building homes for Palestinians is illegal in this racist power structure.
In the Anata community, entire sections have been demolished as part of the ethnic cleansing of “Greater Jerusalem”. The ICAHD project currently underway is a challenge to this institutional violence. In just a few days a Palestinian family will receive keys to their newly rebuilt home. The community council has selected this family among dozens to receive this gift of solidarity and as the work camps continue, more families will be able to reclaim their homes.
Salim is a member of ICAHD and an example of Palestinian summoud, steadfastness; his family’s home has been demolished four times by the Israeli military and each time ICAHD has rebuilt. Now, in its fifth reconstruction, Salim has named the home Beit Arabeia and dedicated it as a center in memoriam to Rachel Corrie and Noha Sweeden. This is the base camp for internationals who work arduous hours building. This is also where folks convene to sharpen their analysis of the occupation and meet other activists involved in local struggles such as Ta’ayush, Anarchists Against the Wall, Bustan, Active Stills, and the Bio-Falha Budrus Project.
ICAHD has been instrumental in challenging one of the most nefarious features of the Israeli occupation of Palestine - the demolition of Palestinian homes. ISM’ers have begun to pitch in and lend a helping hand with ICAHD’s summer rebuilding camps when not supporting non-violent direct action against the occupation in other regions of the West Bank. ICAHD is currently constructing a home in the Anata community, which nebulously falls under East Jerusalem and West Bank designations. This is the fourth summer in a row that ICAHD has organized a house construction summer work camp for internationals volunteers.
As bombs and rockets are launched on Gaza and Lebanon, internationals and Palestinians are working under the radar to reconstruct a Palestinian home that was demolished by the Israeli Army. What Israel destroys, Palestinians rebuild with the help of allies. Many Palestinian homes are subjected to military demolition every year. Four main reasons guide this destructive activity: Palestinian homes are demolished to assassinate alleged terrorists, as collective punishment for family members of alleged terrorists, to clear a path for the Apartheid Wall, or because the houses are deemed illegal under Israel’s Apartheid laws.
The reality is that many homes have been demolished for these or apparently no reasons by the Israeli military and dozens others have been destroyed by settlers in an effort to terrorize Palestinians into leaving their homes, community, and land.
In order to struggle against this injustice ICAHD organizes direct action to block the demolition of homes and it also take on the task of rebuilding, not just homes but also relationships between Palestinians, Israelis, and internationals through shared work. This is a form of active non-violent direct action against the occupation; the very act of building homes for Palestinians is illegal in this racist power structure.
In the Anata community, entire sections have been demolished as part of the ethnic cleansing of “Greater Jerusalem”. The ICAHD project currently underway is a challenge to this institutional violence. In just a few days a Palestinian family will receive keys to their newly rebuilt home. The community council has selected this family among dozens to receive this gift of solidarity and as the work camps continue, more families will be able to reclaim their homes.
Salim is a member of ICAHD and an example of Palestinian summoud, steadfastness; his family’s home has been demolished four times by the Israeli military and each time ICAHD has rebuilt. Now, in its fifth reconstruction, Salim has named the home Beit Arabeia and dedicated it as a center in memoriam to Rachel Corrie and Noha Sweeden. This is the base camp for internationals who work arduous hours building. This is also where folks convene to sharpen their analysis of the occupation and meet other activists involved in local struggles such as Ta’ayush, Anarchists Against the Wall, Bustan, Active Stills, and the Bio-Falha Budrus Project.
Friday, July 28, 2006
Watching War Live
It has been very difficult to document and share what I have seen and what I learn; there is so much everyday. While in Suseya last weekend, each night at sundown a few of the farmers, old and young, would take a respite from tea and conversation to pray. The first night I sat back and watched and thought about how beautiful it was to be so connected to the land and to each other and to god. The night was just beginning to set in and everything was serene. The environment facilitated feeling spiritual.
Watching the group flow from standing to kneeling to prostrating and back in rhythm with the melodic Allah uh Akbar being chanted was phenomenal. I am not trying to romaticize this moment, I've seen Muslims pray before, but the cantor's voice was soothing and the group moved like family. Then as if a DJ were fading in the next track, a plane flew into the aural mix. From where I was sitting back on a mattress under my tent, I saw a fighter jet flying through my peripheral vision above the heads of the prayerful. I stared in awe.
Once prayers ceased, I stood up and got a better view of the not one but two or more F-16 Fighter Jets slicing the desert sky into pieces. I didn't know what to think as I marveled at these foreign objects. I had no clue of my exact location, I could not fathom what was about to unfold.
A few of us were stirred out of our tent and proceeded to note the flight patterns and wonder what these fighter jets were doing until we all saw a flash of light burst out of one jet and head directly towards land at 45 degrees or so. The unimaginable came into our heads, could we be witnessing the bombing of Gaza?
The following day we confirmed with our Palestinian hosts the direction of Gaza; it was indeed the direction the F-16's traveled. That evening as the men prayed the fighter jets returned and we were left to witness the bombing of Gaza, approximately 60 miles from where we stood. I felt powerless, voiceless, miserable.
Later, via internet we learned that 5 people died the night we were watching war live.
Watching the group flow from standing to kneeling to prostrating and back in rhythm with the melodic Allah uh Akbar being chanted was phenomenal. I am not trying to romaticize this moment, I've seen Muslims pray before, but the cantor's voice was soothing and the group moved like family. Then as if a DJ were fading in the next track, a plane flew into the aural mix. From where I was sitting back on a mattress under my tent, I saw a fighter jet flying through my peripheral vision above the heads of the prayerful. I stared in awe.
Once prayers ceased, I stood up and got a better view of the not one but two or more F-16 Fighter Jets slicing the desert sky into pieces. I didn't know what to think as I marveled at these foreign objects. I had no clue of my exact location, I could not fathom what was about to unfold.
A few of us were stirred out of our tent and proceeded to note the flight patterns and wonder what these fighter jets were doing until we all saw a flash of light burst out of one jet and head directly towards land at 45 degrees or so. The unimaginable came into our heads, could we be witnessing the bombing of Gaza?
The following day we confirmed with our Palestinian hosts the direction of Gaza; it was indeed the direction the F-16's traveled. That evening as the men prayed the fighter jets returned and we were left to witness the bombing of Gaza, approximately 60 miles from where we stood. I felt powerless, voiceless, miserable.
Later, via internet we learned that 5 people died the night we were watching war live.
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Settlers Eyes
On Saturday, we were asked to head south to Suseya. If you look on a map you will find a settlement in the West Bank, just south of Hebron called Suseya, but that is not the community that invited us.
We were asked to come to meet with Palestinians who live off the map, off the grid, in a horseshoe-like spread of tents and other structures on hills around this settlement. This community is similar to Qawawis and it is close to it.
Like Qawawis, families in Suseya face terrorism from settlers who want Palestinians to just disappear, to leave the land, so that the myth of "a land without a people for a people without a land" may make some sort of sense. These families are "forced-Bedouins." They are not necessarily connected to the rich history of bedouins in the region but have no other choice but to live like them due to the lack of employment opportunities in Israel since the Second Intifada.
Around a month ago, settlers came in the middle of the night and attacked a Palestinan family with knives and sticks. They also burned the fabric roof off of their stone and mud hut. The family has sinced moved further from the settlement and in with relatives. This is exactly what the settlers want -an exodus. But the Palestinian people are not so easily scared off.
Internationals and progressive Israelis, such as Ta'ayush, were invited to assist this community in setting another roof on the damaged home and watering their crops.
However, while we were there a group of masked settlers approached the area where we were gathered and proceeded to try and intimidate us with their presence. They took pictures of us and stood their ground, right in the middle of where we were walking back and forth. When we turned the cameras on them and challenged them to remove their masks, they proceeded to attack the camera-woman. A few of us got in between and provided a measure of safety until the aggressive settlers began to calm down a little and step back.
What I remember most vividly was their eyes, staring at us with venom through their make-shift masks. Settlers' eyes are icy, cold, and stoic. They must believe they belong where they stand, the land they occupy, and stand their ground fervently against the truth.
Interestingly enough, the settlers called Jeish who arrived and asked all parties involved what was going on. The result was the soldiers ordered the settler to go home and leave the area. It is rare that Israeli soldiers do what is best and take the side of innocent Palestinians over settlers, but it happened. However, the families were frightened by the potential for renewed violence and they asked us to stay with them for a few days.
We stayed and for two days. We learned about the serenity of the semi-desert environment, good company, farming, and shepherding. No settlers returned in an aggressive manner, although some young Israeli shepherds did bring their herd near the renovated Palestinian home. Overall, we felt safe amidst the farmers as we sorted through limited English and Arabic and they seemed to appreciate our presence.
After two days, we left. Made our way back to Beit Ummar and received a call that the moment we left settlers rode in to the village and threatened to burn down their houses again. I can imagine what their eyes looked like.
We will continue to support these "forced-bedouins."
We were asked to come to meet with Palestinians who live off the map, off the grid, in a horseshoe-like spread of tents and other structures on hills around this settlement. This community is similar to Qawawis and it is close to it.
Like Qawawis, families in Suseya face terrorism from settlers who want Palestinians to just disappear, to leave the land, so that the myth of "a land without a people for a people without a land" may make some sort of sense. These families are "forced-Bedouins." They are not necessarily connected to the rich history of bedouins in the region but have no other choice but to live like them due to the lack of employment opportunities in Israel since the Second Intifada.
Around a month ago, settlers came in the middle of the night and attacked a Palestinan family with knives and sticks. They also burned the fabric roof off of their stone and mud hut. The family has sinced moved further from the settlement and in with relatives. This is exactly what the settlers want -an exodus. But the Palestinian people are not so easily scared off.
Internationals and progressive Israelis, such as Ta'ayush, were invited to assist this community in setting another roof on the damaged home and watering their crops.
However, while we were there a group of masked settlers approached the area where we were gathered and proceeded to try and intimidate us with their presence. They took pictures of us and stood their ground, right in the middle of where we were walking back and forth. When we turned the cameras on them and challenged them to remove their masks, they proceeded to attack the camera-woman. A few of us got in between and provided a measure of safety until the aggressive settlers began to calm down a little and step back.
What I remember most vividly was their eyes, staring at us with venom through their make-shift masks. Settlers' eyes are icy, cold, and stoic. They must believe they belong where they stand, the land they occupy, and stand their ground fervently against the truth.
Interestingly enough, the settlers called Jeish who arrived and asked all parties involved what was going on. The result was the soldiers ordered the settler to go home and leave the area. It is rare that Israeli soldiers do what is best and take the side of innocent Palestinians over settlers, but it happened. However, the families were frightened by the potential for renewed violence and they asked us to stay with them for a few days.
We stayed and for two days. We learned about the serenity of the semi-desert environment, good company, farming, and shepherding. No settlers returned in an aggressive manner, although some young Israeli shepherds did bring their herd near the renovated Palestinian home. Overall, we felt safe amidst the farmers as we sorted through limited English and Arabic and they seemed to appreciate our presence.
After two days, we left. Made our way back to Beit Ummar and received a call that the moment we left settlers rode in to the village and threatened to burn down their houses again. I can imagine what their eyes looked like.
We will continue to support these "forced-bedouins."
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Closed Military Zone
Last Friday, the Beit Ummar Popular Resistance Committee and ISM'ers headed to Al-Khader to support the weekly community protest against the Apartheid Wall. Shebab led the way, adults backed them up and International allies were on hand to confront Jeish along with the lot.
The Jeish cut us off at ever pass and although the youth and community members were fierce, this direct action ended in a stand off on a ridge near a main road through the West Bank. Some folks appreciate the truly decentralized approach of these actions, a few of us were left frustrated. I wish more adults were present at these protests. I wish the youth would coordinate a clear plan with some definite goals.
As the action came to a halt, a few Palestinian members of the Beit Ummar crew had their ID's seized by Jeish for a few minutes before being freed to go. We were concerned but glad that noone was taken in. We made our way back to the Beit. On the road, some Internationals in another car notice they are being tailed by a white car. When we arrive at the Machsom, or military checkpoint, to get into Beit Ummar we notice the presence of Jeish. A minute later the white car pulls up, parks, and the two men inside wave at all of us.
Our suspicionsseem correct, they are probably Shabak -Israel's answer to the FBI.
Some of the Palestinians we roll with have a long history of being targetted by this nefarious group. As we try to enter our village the Jeish pull the ID's of our Palestinian comrades and hold them while doing absolutelt nothing for about an hour. We try and negotiate their release but are met with condescending remarks and a feigned inability to understand English. Although they understand U.S. made assault rifles, they do not understand American English -when it is convenient.
Finally, our comrades ID's are returned but only under the condition that the Internationals do not enter the village. We agree because our ultimate concern is the safety of the Palestinian community organizers, but the Jeish have no right. Once the Palestinians were freed we started heading north on the highway with two shebab as our guides. Our plan was to cut in through the fields and make our way back to the house.
A few meters down the road we notice we are being followed, no longer by thw white car, now by a few Humvees. We slide into a shop to buy time and some soft drinks. We call the ISM media office and friends to explain pour situation and as we exit we are met by the commanding officer who proceeds to misinform us that Beit Ummar is a Closed Military Zone. Fortunately, experience runs deep with some of the International volunteers and we videotape the soliders as they pull out a map that clearly shows that the road and Machsom are temporary Closed Military Zones but that the village itself is not.
We proceeded to state very clearly that we will enter the village through another route and that we understood our rights. We also forced the Jeish to acknowledge the narrow perimeters of their legal document. This ruffled their feathers but their hands were tied. Jeish proceeded to blame Internationals for their problems with Palestinians and said that if any problems occured while were in the village, we would be rounded up and arrested for our meddling in affairs. We left them with their words on their lips and proceeded to follow our young shebab guides through the orchards back into the village.
We are starting to learn Summoud ourselves, as long as we are guests and allies of Palestinians, we are not going anywhere.
The Jeish cut us off at ever pass and although the youth and community members were fierce, this direct action ended in a stand off on a ridge near a main road through the West Bank. Some folks appreciate the truly decentralized approach of these actions, a few of us were left frustrated. I wish more adults were present at these protests. I wish the youth would coordinate a clear plan with some definite goals.
As the action came to a halt, a few Palestinian members of the Beit Ummar crew had their ID's seized by Jeish for a few minutes before being freed to go. We were concerned but glad that noone was taken in. We made our way back to the Beit. On the road, some Internationals in another car notice they are being tailed by a white car. When we arrive at the Machsom, or military checkpoint, to get into Beit Ummar we notice the presence of Jeish. A minute later the white car pulls up, parks, and the two men inside wave at all of us.
Our suspicionsseem correct, they are probably Shabak -Israel's answer to the FBI.
Some of the Palestinians we roll with have a long history of being targetted by this nefarious group. As we try to enter our village the Jeish pull the ID's of our Palestinian comrades and hold them while doing absolutelt nothing for about an hour. We try and negotiate their release but are met with condescending remarks and a feigned inability to understand English. Although they understand U.S. made assault rifles, they do not understand American English -when it is convenient.
Finally, our comrades ID's are returned but only under the condition that the Internationals do not enter the village. We agree because our ultimate concern is the safety of the Palestinian community organizers, but the Jeish have no right. Once the Palestinians were freed we started heading north on the highway with two shebab as our guides. Our plan was to cut in through the fields and make our way back to the house.
A few meters down the road we notice we are being followed, no longer by thw white car, now by a few Humvees. We slide into a shop to buy time and some soft drinks. We call the ISM media office and friends to explain pour situation and as we exit we are met by the commanding officer who proceeds to misinform us that Beit Ummar is a Closed Military Zone. Fortunately, experience runs deep with some of the International volunteers and we videotape the soliders as they pull out a map that clearly shows that the road and Machsom are temporary Closed Military Zones but that the village itself is not.
We proceeded to state very clearly that we will enter the village through another route and that we understood our rights. We also forced the Jeish to acknowledge the narrow perimeters of their legal document. This ruffled their feathers but their hands were tied. Jeish proceeded to blame Internationals for their problems with Palestinians and said that if any problems occured while were in the village, we would be rounded up and arrested for our meddling in affairs. We left them with their words on their lips and proceeded to follow our young shebab guides through the orchards back into the village.
We are starting to learn Summoud ourselves, as long as we are guests and allies of Palestinians, we are not going anywhere.
Friday, July 21, 2006
Watching War
Yesterday, Yussuf invited me to have lunch in his home. He is a member of the poular committee in Beit Ummar. There were no actions planned for our region and I got busy with the important task of playing with kiddies!
The day was beautiful in Beit Ummar, but a few kilometers north and south the streets were overflowing with blood. This was the scene we heard about from friends and we watched the television. Yussuf whispered, with warmth, a plea that I go back to America and tell my friends to come to Palestine and witness this occupation with their own eyes.
We ate tuna, eggs, tomatos, with pita and tea, while watched the death toll rise in Gaza and South Lebanon on t.v. I wanted to cry, but didn't feel I had the right to, Yusuf wasn't crying, neither was Fida, his wife. It seems people adapt to "very difficult."
Watching war from a living room in Palestine is very different than watching it from the U.S. The stakes are higher, everyone knows someone affected. The news is clear, the gory details go uncensored. We can see U.S. tax dollars raining on innocent civilians. Bodies put in freezers. Caskets accumulating. Doctors trying to rescue children. I can go on but maybe Yussuf is right, you need to come here and watch war for yourself.
The day was beautiful in Beit Ummar, but a few kilometers north and south the streets were overflowing with blood. This was the scene we heard about from friends and we watched the television. Yussuf whispered, with warmth, a plea that I go back to America and tell my friends to come to Palestine and witness this occupation with their own eyes.
We ate tuna, eggs, tomatos, with pita and tea, while watched the death toll rise in Gaza and South Lebanon on t.v. I wanted to cry, but didn't feel I had the right to, Yusuf wasn't crying, neither was Fida, his wife. It seems people adapt to "very difficult."
Watching war from a living room in Palestine is very different than watching it from the U.S. The stakes are higher, everyone knows someone affected. The news is clear, the gory details go uncensored. We can see U.S. tax dollars raining on innocent civilians. Bodies put in freezers. Caskets accumulating. Doctors trying to rescue children. I can go on but maybe Yussuf is right, you need to come here and watch war for yourself.
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Hatebron
In the southern region of the West Bank lies a big city known by most as Hebron. In order to catch a ride down using public transportation you must know it by its arabic name, Al-Khalil. The heart of the city is in Bab al-Zawiya, a huge outdoor market, where you can find anything from fresh vegetables to fly kuffiyehs.
A few steps away from the market, around a corner from the busiest point, lies a checkpoint. A pedestrian checkpoint! At first, I thought it was a curious thing. I am a teacher in a jail so I go through metal detectors daily, and I took a flight to arrive here so I am familiar with safety procedures, but I wasn't mentally prepared to pass a metal detector to get from one block to the next. That is the reality of Hatebron, a city ripped apart by the occupation.
I had been in Hebron for a few minutes once before to get a used cellfone a pizza and return to the village I love, but that visit didn't afford me the time to see the occupation in all its shock and awe. After a weekend in Qawawis, three of us made our way to Al-Khalil on the way back to Beit Ummar.
Parched, we thought we would drop in to see Joe Skillet, an ISM'er who has put in weeks of work documenting and confronting the violence of settlers on Palestinians in the neighborhood that lies behind the checkpoint, and get some water.
Security measures were lax, perhaps because we were obviously not Palestinian, but we put our bags on a counter walked through a metal detector and then picked up our unchecked bags. Hmmm, is this thing here just for show, I thought, Is it meant to frustrate and intimidate folks rather than really afford any real safety? Through the checkpoint, we turned an immediate right and walked up a Bay Area-calibre hill, passed two military booths with soldiers on standby. NYC is militarized, but its got nothing on Hebron.
On the corner of the spot where ISM and the Tel Rumeida Project share an apartment there is a soldier stationed and hanging off the roof of the building there is military-issue camo netting. This place looks like a war zone. I am told that I have just entered H2 an area populated by close to 50,000 Palestinians and around 500 Israeli settlers spread out over 4 settlements. The military presence is designed to protect the Israeli settlers.
Hebron has been split into H1 and H2 since the Oslo period and more specifically by the Hebron Protocol. H1 consists of about 80 percent of the city and is predominantly Palestinian and H2 consists of the other 20 percent and its also predominantly Palestinian. The difference lies in the form of occupation. H1 is occupation lite while H2 is extra-strength.
In order for the 500 Israeli settlers to feel safe they are given the right to defend themselves at all cost and face little to no consequence while Palestinians have little to no rights. Hebron is the example of Apartheid perfected.
I saw a man walk down Al-Shuhada street accompanying a group of little girls, carrying a very large assault rifle strapped to his back. He was an Israeli settler. I couldn't imagine a Palestinian man making it very far claiming the same right to bear arms to defend himself and Palestinian youth from Israeli settlers.
I watched this scene from a cement path constructed by an NGO so that Palestinian children can walk to the Cordoba school. The path is the only option for Palestinian children since they are forbidden to walk down Al-Shuhada Street beyond a certain point guarded by Jeish. Palestinian children are treated like terrorist by the residents of the Beit Hadassah settlement across the street from their school. This cement path is the object of Israeli aggression determined to push Palestinians out of H2, if not the West Bank, if not Palestine.
A man walked with four little girls towards the checkpont from the H1 side was stopped in his path by Jeish. A few meters behind them something was occuring around the bend causing soldiers to draw their assault rifles and to stop pedestrian traffic. A bunch of us busy-body Internationals began to videotape and snap fotos, while asking questions. One daring American asked why the man with the four little girls were being held practically at gunpoint and the soldier responsed, "because they want to kill us." The man and children were Palestinian. I feel like I have to tell you that I am not exagerating; I saw this with my own eyes this past week.
On another occassion, in the same two days, a Palestinian man was attempting to go home when a knife he uses for work caused much alarm at the checkpoint. This mistake caused the man to be taken down, beaten by Jeish, and arrested. Our own guide and a local ISM contact was asked to kneel, at the same time, and when he refused he was physically submitted into a kneeling position.
All of this is contained in downtown Al-Khalil. A group of us walked down streets where Palestinian businesses used to boom but have been forced to close, where residents once lived but have since left for fear of settler or military violence. We visited the mosque that is the Tomb of the Patriarchs, where Abraham, Issac, and others are said to be buried, and had to go through two sets of metal detectors. Imagine doing this to enter your house of worship. Palestinians and Israeli settlers gaze at each other through barred windows on diametrically opposed sides of Abraham's tomb. This is a metaphor for Hatebron, a settlement built on Al-Khalil.
The occupation's strength is in its ability to control Palestinians, to destroy economies, families, and to dehumanize them. The potential for humiliation that Palestinians have to face daily is incredible. It is a wonder there aren't more suicide bombers, more people so fed up with this Israeli institutional violence that they are willing to take their own lives while taking out a few of their oppressors.
A few steps away from the market, around a corner from the busiest point, lies a checkpoint. A pedestrian checkpoint! At first, I thought it was a curious thing. I am a teacher in a jail so I go through metal detectors daily, and I took a flight to arrive here so I am familiar with safety procedures, but I wasn't mentally prepared to pass a metal detector to get from one block to the next. That is the reality of Hatebron, a city ripped apart by the occupation.
I had been in Hebron for a few minutes once before to get a used cellfone a pizza and return to the village I love, but that visit didn't afford me the time to see the occupation in all its shock and awe. After a weekend in Qawawis, three of us made our way to Al-Khalil on the way back to Beit Ummar.
Parched, we thought we would drop in to see Joe Skillet, an ISM'er who has put in weeks of work documenting and confronting the violence of settlers on Palestinians in the neighborhood that lies behind the checkpoint, and get some water.
Security measures were lax, perhaps because we were obviously not Palestinian, but we put our bags on a counter walked through a metal detector and then picked up our unchecked bags. Hmmm, is this thing here just for show, I thought, Is it meant to frustrate and intimidate folks rather than really afford any real safety? Through the checkpoint, we turned an immediate right and walked up a Bay Area-calibre hill, passed two military booths with soldiers on standby. NYC is militarized, but its got nothing on Hebron.
On the corner of the spot where ISM and the Tel Rumeida Project share an apartment there is a soldier stationed and hanging off the roof of the building there is military-issue camo netting. This place looks like a war zone. I am told that I have just entered H2 an area populated by close to 50,000 Palestinians and around 500 Israeli settlers spread out over 4 settlements. The military presence is designed to protect the Israeli settlers.
Hebron has been split into H1 and H2 since the Oslo period and more specifically by the Hebron Protocol. H1 consists of about 80 percent of the city and is predominantly Palestinian and H2 consists of the other 20 percent and its also predominantly Palestinian. The difference lies in the form of occupation. H1 is occupation lite while H2 is extra-strength.
In order for the 500 Israeli settlers to feel safe they are given the right to defend themselves at all cost and face little to no consequence while Palestinians have little to no rights. Hebron is the example of Apartheid perfected.
I saw a man walk down Al-Shuhada street accompanying a group of little girls, carrying a very large assault rifle strapped to his back. He was an Israeli settler. I couldn't imagine a Palestinian man making it very far claiming the same right to bear arms to defend himself and Palestinian youth from Israeli settlers.
I watched this scene from a cement path constructed by an NGO so that Palestinian children can walk to the Cordoba school. The path is the only option for Palestinian children since they are forbidden to walk down Al-Shuhada Street beyond a certain point guarded by Jeish. Palestinian children are treated like terrorist by the residents of the Beit Hadassah settlement across the street from their school. This cement path is the object of Israeli aggression determined to push Palestinians out of H2, if not the West Bank, if not Palestine.
A man walked with four little girls towards the checkpont from the H1 side was stopped in his path by Jeish. A few meters behind them something was occuring around the bend causing soldiers to draw their assault rifles and to stop pedestrian traffic. A bunch of us busy-body Internationals began to videotape and snap fotos, while asking questions. One daring American asked why the man with the four little girls were being held practically at gunpoint and the soldier responsed, "because they want to kill us." The man and children were Palestinian. I feel like I have to tell you that I am not exagerating; I saw this with my own eyes this past week.
On another occassion, in the same two days, a Palestinian man was attempting to go home when a knife he uses for work caused much alarm at the checkpoint. This mistake caused the man to be taken down, beaten by Jeish, and arrested. Our own guide and a local ISM contact was asked to kneel, at the same time, and when he refused he was physically submitted into a kneeling position.
All of this is contained in downtown Al-Khalil. A group of us walked down streets where Palestinian businesses used to boom but have been forced to close, where residents once lived but have since left for fear of settler or military violence. We visited the mosque that is the Tomb of the Patriarchs, where Abraham, Issac, and others are said to be buried, and had to go through two sets of metal detectors. Imagine doing this to enter your house of worship. Palestinians and Israeli settlers gaze at each other through barred windows on diametrically opposed sides of Abraham's tomb. This is a metaphor for Hatebron, a settlement built on Al-Khalil.
The occupation's strength is in its ability to control Palestinians, to destroy economies, families, and to dehumanize them. The potential for humiliation that Palestinians have to face daily is incredible. It is a wonder there aren't more suicide bombers, more people so fed up with this Israeli institutional violence that they are willing to take their own lives while taking out a few of their oppressors.
Monday, July 17, 2006
Summud
Palestinian resistance can be summed up in one word, summud.
On Friday night Musa ran into the internet center we use to write reports and share our notes on the occupation with the world we know. He seemed out of breath. He had just received a call from an old man, who lived with his families in caves, detailing a terrorizing experience with settlers that occurred a few hours before. Earlier that day a group of settlers rode into town, we are not clear what they did, but the families were frightened and requested some Internationals come and spend the night to confront and document the terrorism.
Without much preparation, three of us were sent with camcorders and digital cameras to spend a night in Qawawis, a phantom of a village with only about three families, to be present if settlers decided to return in the middle of the night. We went willingly with heavy hearts and with wobbly knees.
Thirty minutes down the highway, past Hebron, our ride turned left and went off the road and into the darkness. There were no signs welcoming us to Qawawis, there was no electricity . Just a foggy darkness and our trust in our local coordinators. A few steps across moonlit rocks and thorny brush, we met an old man. His name was Hajj Ibrahim. In the middle of the darkness, two old men and a handful of women shuffled to and fro along with some shebab. We were given the choice of staying indoors, in a storage constructed out of rocks and cement with a heavy fabric roof, or on the roof of a cement two room house noone seemed to sleep in. We weren't feeling daring so we chose the indoor accomodations. They turned on our gas lamp and promised to knock loudly if the settlers arrived in the middle of the night. Within minutes, after taking in the starry night, we were sound asleep.
When we woke up in the morning, our biggest fear was that settlers came and we had done nothing. Our fears were laid to rest with a knock on the door. Hajj Ibrahim wanted us to say hello to Hajj Mahmoud and the rest of the residents. We had breakfast and met with the shebab who spoke more English than we did Arabic.
They showed us where settlers had rode in on tractors and introduced us to the sheep who have survived stone attacks at the hands of local settlers. In these parts the settlements are trailor park outposts and not the more developed and architecturally uniformed gated communities. Settlers are more like cowboys on the frontier in these parts. Life is more rugged in these parts.
Although many Palestinians have been forced to leave their homes since Al-Nakba, the boldest of the bold continue to hold on. The folks we were with live in some ways like Bedouins. Qawawis is their home and they would not be removed by settlers employing terrorism. This defiance, this determination to stay put, this steadfastness is summud.
On Friday night Musa ran into the internet center we use to write reports and share our notes on the occupation with the world we know. He seemed out of breath. He had just received a call from an old man, who lived with his families in caves, detailing a terrorizing experience with settlers that occurred a few hours before. Earlier that day a group of settlers rode into town, we are not clear what they did, but the families were frightened and requested some Internationals come and spend the night to confront and document the terrorism.
Without much preparation, three of us were sent with camcorders and digital cameras to spend a night in Qawawis, a phantom of a village with only about three families, to be present if settlers decided to return in the middle of the night. We went willingly with heavy hearts and with wobbly knees.
Thirty minutes down the highway, past Hebron, our ride turned left and went off the road and into the darkness. There were no signs welcoming us to Qawawis, there was no electricity . Just a foggy darkness and our trust in our local coordinators. A few steps across moonlit rocks and thorny brush, we met an old man. His name was Hajj Ibrahim. In the middle of the darkness, two old men and a handful of women shuffled to and fro along with some shebab. We were given the choice of staying indoors, in a storage constructed out of rocks and cement with a heavy fabric roof, or on the roof of a cement two room house noone seemed to sleep in. We weren't feeling daring so we chose the indoor accomodations. They turned on our gas lamp and promised to knock loudly if the settlers arrived in the middle of the night. Within minutes, after taking in the starry night, we were sound asleep.
When we woke up in the morning, our biggest fear was that settlers came and we had done nothing. Our fears were laid to rest with a knock on the door. Hajj Ibrahim wanted us to say hello to Hajj Mahmoud and the rest of the residents. We had breakfast and met with the shebab who spoke more English than we did Arabic.
They showed us where settlers had rode in on tractors and introduced us to the sheep who have survived stone attacks at the hands of local settlers. In these parts the settlements are trailor park outposts and not the more developed and architecturally uniformed gated communities. Settlers are more like cowboys on the frontier in these parts. Life is more rugged in these parts.
Although many Palestinians have been forced to leave their homes since Al-Nakba, the boldest of the bold continue to hold on. The folks we were with live in some ways like Bedouins. Qawawis is their home and they would not be removed by settlers employing terrorism. This defiance, this determination to stay put, this steadfastness is summud.
Bethlehem
Most Christians may not realize that Bethlehem is a small town in Palestine. In order to visit the village where the virgin Mary gave birth to her son, Jesus Christ, one must pass through a checkpoint. If Israel has it's way, on the road to Bethlehem one will encounter a wall, enclosing the entire West Bank, meant to keep Palestinians in. This wall is already under construction and cuts off Palestinians from the north and is being built around the west and south.
To some Jesus is a saviour, for those who give the bible a closer read, Jesus was also a rebel. Apparently Jesus was not the last rebel born in Bethlehem. Last Friday, we were invited to support Palestinian resistance to the Apartheid Wall construction near Bethlehem.
After Jum'aa Prayers at a local mosque near Al-Khader, shebab, parents, community members, and Israeli & International allies decended on the highway that carries passengers from Jerusalem to points south. The goal, under the best conditions, was to stop traffic on this highway, under the worst, to display placards so tourists and residents alike could learn of the injustice affecting this holy land.
On this particular Friday, police and soldiers were prepared for the protest. As the group of non-violent demonstrators descended on the highway, we were met with a wall of jeeps and fully-armored soldiers unwilling to allow people near the road. But this did not put a damper on the people's resistance.
A fiery group of community members insisted on having their voices heard. Palestinian flags waved in the air as children challenged soldiers directly, planting their flags on the land and reaffirming Palestine. Soldiers stood their ground a bit bewildered by the ferocity and determination of the community.
There was one particular boy who caught my attention. He carried his chin high and fought back tears, and defiant laughter, as he stood up to authority and challenged soldiers to look at him, to listen to him. His name is Mohamed. His house was demolished by soldiers, recently. It must have stood in the way of the wall. He was determined to stand in place of his home. He carried a Palestinian flag like a torch, meant to illuminate the truth to the soldiers -Palestinians are here to stay.
This action near Bethlehem was another Palestinian lesson in dignity.
To some Jesus is a saviour, for those who give the bible a closer read, Jesus was also a rebel. Apparently Jesus was not the last rebel born in Bethlehem. Last Friday, we were invited to support Palestinian resistance to the Apartheid Wall construction near Bethlehem.
After Jum'aa Prayers at a local mosque near Al-Khader, shebab, parents, community members, and Israeli & International allies decended on the highway that carries passengers from Jerusalem to points south. The goal, under the best conditions, was to stop traffic on this highway, under the worst, to display placards so tourists and residents alike could learn of the injustice affecting this holy land.
On this particular Friday, police and soldiers were prepared for the protest. As the group of non-violent demonstrators descended on the highway, we were met with a wall of jeeps and fully-armored soldiers unwilling to allow people near the road. But this did not put a damper on the people's resistance.
A fiery group of community members insisted on having their voices heard. Palestinian flags waved in the air as children challenged soldiers directly, planting their flags on the land and reaffirming Palestine. Soldiers stood their ground a bit bewildered by the ferocity and determination of the community.
There was one particular boy who caught my attention. He carried his chin high and fought back tears, and defiant laughter, as he stood up to authority and challenged soldiers to look at him, to listen to him. His name is Mohamed. His house was demolished by soldiers, recently. It must have stood in the way of the wall. He was determined to stand in place of his home. He carried a Palestinian flag like a torch, meant to illuminate the truth to the soldiers -Palestinians are here to stay.
This action near Bethlehem was another Palestinian lesson in dignity.
Friday, July 14, 2006
War Games
Old McSettler stole some land
Jeishee, Jeishee, Jeish
and on this land he built a fence
Jeishee, Jeishee, Jeishee...
With a Jeish Jeish here
and a Jeish Jeish there
Here a Jeish,
there a Jeish,
everywhere a Jeish Jeish...
ISM'ers are a corny bunch, at least the Internationals are. The local Palestinian organizers are much cooler than us nerds. However, in order to not combust from all the stress and sheer absurdities of occupation we have resorted to singing Old McSettler, a song we wrote while making the road walking.
After visiting the family of Yusuf Abumariya we headed to the house of another family. We were served tea and fresh fruit and before we were able to fully get the gentleman's name and story, Ahmed, one of our local contacts got a call that Musa's house had been teargassed and that his brother was in a car accident. We gave our shukrans and immediately ran out the door.
We found Musa's sister and others frantically cleaning the house with soap and water, eyes tearing and gas hanging heavily in the air. Apparently the family was sitting in their garden on the side of the house when Jeish rolled by and shot two canisters of teargas at the house. One of the volunteers who was staying in the house went after them.
We thought about splitting up, half staying behind and the others going up to the main road to document any military activities, but our feet did the voting and we all ended up on the main road. What unfolded before our eyes is still inexplicably absurd. The main street of Beit Ummar was under seige by a Hummer, two smaller jeeps, and a platoon of young soldiers. It looked like a scene out of a war movie.
It was't clear what was going on. Soldiers were letting some cars through and turning others away. Old women held grandchildren's hands a little tighter as they walked through the street. One thing was for sure, the soldiers were in town and their presence was making people very uneasy.
One of the Humvees crashed into a taxi causing 1000 shekels worth of damage. The cab belonged to Ahmed's brother and he was staying with some more of our folks trying to get some answers. We managed to fight fear and walk by the Jeish and through them to assess the situation.
Up ahead Jeish were rolling deeper into town and taunting shebab into wargames. Young soldiers took their positions, tucked safely behind the armor of their jeeps. They rolled passed old ladies who sat on their stoops gazing at this mini-invasion through tired eyes.
This carried on for about two hours. Jeish changed positions, held positions, talked into their walkie talkies and stood by buildings and in little alleys. In packs of four or at times in pairs. They reminded me of me and my friends playing G.I.Joe as kids in Riverside Park.
Their opponent, mighty as mice, were shebab. Those teenagers who defied their parents orders to go inside and stay out of trouble. Los que buscan problemas. Those who find dignity in never backing down to an enemy with far more superior equipment and orders to shoot. For two hours the Jeish deliberated and comiserated about how many times they would shoot rubber bullets at kids who scurried back and forth, drawn into the wargames, proving an uncertain sense of manhood in the face of hate.
Eventually, the Jeish retreated. They may have received orders to, or maybe they realized the absurdity of their existance -shooting rubber-coated metal bullets at kids who threw stones and slung them with makeshift slinghsots. But more realistically they were ordered to retreat, because men so entrenched in the work of occupation rarely realize the absurdity of it. My audible comments about how pathetic it was for a bunch of young men to position themselves and shoot at children was rejected with a perfect American-english "Could you please shut the fuck up." I have heard young Zionist Americans make sure to serve their compulsory military service in Israel in order to ensure their citizenship and glory.
In the end the shebab won the Battle of Beit Ummar. Every time the children face off against the military, and cast stones, and suffer no casualties, they win. The occupation grows a little weaker, perhaps not in a material sense, but certainly in the spiritual. The young shebab regain a little bit of dignity -a dignity that is at stake under the heels of occupation. Let's be clear, stone throwing is not encouraged by the majority of the adults. Many scuffles break out between paternal adults and rebellious youth, but boys will be boys. And if Jeish will be Jeish, Shebab will be Shebab.
In the meantime, Jeish detained the taxi driver, we rushed to the D.C.O [detention center] to await his release, and returned to the village with him for another cup of tea.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Free Musa!
Back in Beit Ummar we were getting into work mode. The popular committee of resistance to the wall and israeli occupation met with the ISM delegates in town to discuss our plan of action. There are popular committees in most villages of the West Bank and there are ISM folks in various regions supporting non-violent direct action.
It is difficult at times to negotiate the role of allies, privilege, organizing experience, language, and whole truckload of issues that may come up but mish mushkulah -not a problem. One way or another we come up with ways to support local popular resistance. One tension that is real is the fact that as internationals we tend to be men and women engaging male committees. Palestinian women are the backbone of the home and the community but they are not present at the meetings we have attended, nor at the actions. International women are strategizing to at least meet with more local women.
While some of us were back in the Beit others were in court engaging in courtroom solidarity with Musa Abumariya, popular committee member and local ISM contact. He was beaten pretty badly and arrested my first day in town. A progressive Israeli lawyer took on his case and ISM paid his bail, now we have to develop his defense, but this doesn't hold back a fiery Musa. Prison does not scare him, he has been imprisoned before, and he will continue to organize.
All of the men we have been working with and getting to know have spent time in prison. Although I teach in jail back home, I am astonished at how pervasive incarceration is here; it reminds me of working-class communities in New York. Everyone knows someone currently in or who has been in. Maybe we can draw some connections... the South Bronx and Southside Jamaica Queens, in some ways, are occupied, Palestine is occupied. We need to free our sisters and brothers. We need to free the land!
So Tuesday night we decided that on Wednesday we would meet families of prisoners and others directly affected by the settler occupation, Thursday would be a meeting with the village council and Friday & Saturday we would support actions here and in other villages. We managed to drink tea with the family of Yusef Abumariya, a popular committee member from Beit Ummar who has been in prison for a short while.
His mother and his nieces and nephews miss him so much. So does the popular committee in Beit Ummar. Imprisonment is an effective tool in disrupting the organizing necessary to change the conditions here. That is why alliances between local organizers, progressive Israelis, and internationals are crucial. Together we can outsmart the Zionists.
Many of you are aware of the incredible bombing campaign Israel has launched on Gaza. Some may know it has something to do with an Israeli soldier being captured, but less may understand the roots of this particular conflict. There are around 9000 Palestinian prisoners in Israeli jails. Over 1000 prisoners have not been charged but are in detention nonetheless. Numerous women and around 400 children under the age of 18 are a part of this lot. This is why an Israeli soldier was captured; Palestinians are demanding the release of women and children from Israeli prisons and are willing to release this soldier in exchange. As a man, a teacher, an anti-imperialist, and a witness to the silent terror of incareceration, I can understand the families' outrage and the nations demand. Can you?
It is difficult at times to negotiate the role of allies, privilege, organizing experience, language, and whole truckload of issues that may come up but mish mushkulah -not a problem. One way or another we come up with ways to support local popular resistance. One tension that is real is the fact that as internationals we tend to be men and women engaging male committees. Palestinian women are the backbone of the home and the community but they are not present at the meetings we have attended, nor at the actions. International women are strategizing to at least meet with more local women.
While some of us were back in the Beit others were in court engaging in courtroom solidarity with Musa Abumariya, popular committee member and local ISM contact. He was beaten pretty badly and arrested my first day in town. A progressive Israeli lawyer took on his case and ISM paid his bail, now we have to develop his defense, but this doesn't hold back a fiery Musa. Prison does not scare him, he has been imprisoned before, and he will continue to organize.
All of the men we have been working with and getting to know have spent time in prison. Although I teach in jail back home, I am astonished at how pervasive incarceration is here; it reminds me of working-class communities in New York. Everyone knows someone currently in or who has been in. Maybe we can draw some connections... the South Bronx and Southside Jamaica Queens, in some ways, are occupied, Palestine is occupied. We need to free our sisters and brothers. We need to free the land!
So Tuesday night we decided that on Wednesday we would meet families of prisoners and others directly affected by the settler occupation, Thursday would be a meeting with the village council and Friday & Saturday we would support actions here and in other villages. We managed to drink tea with the family of Yusef Abumariya, a popular committee member from Beit Ummar who has been in prison for a short while.
His mother and his nieces and nephews miss him so much. So does the popular committee in Beit Ummar. Imprisonment is an effective tool in disrupting the organizing necessary to change the conditions here. That is why alliances between local organizers, progressive Israelis, and internationals are crucial. Together we can outsmart the Zionists.
Many of you are aware of the incredible bombing campaign Israel has launched on Gaza. Some may know it has something to do with an Israeli soldier being captured, but less may understand the roots of this particular conflict. There are around 9000 Palestinian prisoners in Israeli jails. Over 1000 prisoners have not been charged but are in detention nonetheless. Numerous women and around 400 children under the age of 18 are a part of this lot. This is why an Israeli soldier was captured; Palestinians are demanding the release of women and children from Israeli prisons and are willing to release this soldier in exchange. As a man, a teacher, an anti-imperialist, and a witness to the silent terror of incareceration, I can understand the families' outrage and the nations demand. Can you?
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
World Cup West Jerusalem
Having grown up in the U.S. the World Cup isn't something my friends and I talk about, but all good Anti-imperialists love a sport that does not center the U.S.
In Palestine the majority of the folks I talked to were going for Faransa. Rumors had it that France had won before and gave the World Cup to Palestine. I imagine the fact that France has arab players makes them a favorite in the West Bank.
However, I wasn't in the West Bank for the cup, I was in Jerusalem. Since I hadn't gotten a chance to be a tourist and things were relatively calm in Beit Ummar, I had come in to 48 to visit the "old city." It was also one ISM'ers 30th birthday and we were interested in getting something different to eat: burgers and beer!
We were feeling adventurous and since the old city didn't offer much in the late hours we ventured into West Jerusalem. If Tel Aviv is Miami Beach, West Jerusalem is Soho or some city in Europe. Most women sounded like they were on vacation from the Upper East side. Guys were real macho and draped in Polo and brands much grander than that.
After dropping enough shekels on Burgers to feed a family in the West Bank,for a week,we moved to drift through the night air absorbing the World Cup blaring from every cafe, pub, and restaurant in the vicinity. I moved with mixed emotions, missing the humility of Beit Ummar, but yearning to experience the contrast of nightlife in Israeli Al-Quds.
As Zidane headbutted Materazzi, Israelis booed. I laughed because I imagine Materazzi said something to set Zidane off but I didn't imagine the gravity of it all and it's connections to where I stood. Israelis were going for Italy and I wondered if they knew their despised but more humble neighbors were going for the opposing team and secretly so was I.
We ended up in a plaza where Israelis watched the match on a big screen from a plaza, the doorways of pubs and balconies. I was a bit distracted during the penalties by the fact that there were young men, not in uniform, carrying large guns. This was the cherry on top of a Big McMilitarized Jerusalem Sundae. Less than 7 hours in the city and I was completely freaked out by the blatant big-brother fascism.
After Italy won, the three of us shimmied our way through a crowded alley, past mobs of drunken youth taking to the streets in celebration, and headed back to East Jerusalem where it just feels safer despite what you might read in Israeli tour books.
A day later an old friend put me on to what was said on that field. It seems Materazzi called Zidane, who is a French natonal of Arab/Algerian parents, a "Dirty Terrorist." I wonder how much of these race dynamics were at play in that plaza in Jerusalem.
In Palestine the majority of the folks I talked to were going for Faransa. Rumors had it that France had won before and gave the World Cup to Palestine. I imagine the fact that France has arab players makes them a favorite in the West Bank.
However, I wasn't in the West Bank for the cup, I was in Jerusalem. Since I hadn't gotten a chance to be a tourist and things were relatively calm in Beit Ummar, I had come in to 48 to visit the "old city." It was also one ISM'ers 30th birthday and we were interested in getting something different to eat: burgers and beer!
We were feeling adventurous and since the old city didn't offer much in the late hours we ventured into West Jerusalem. If Tel Aviv is Miami Beach, West Jerusalem is Soho or some city in Europe. Most women sounded like they were on vacation from the Upper East side. Guys were real macho and draped in Polo and brands much grander than that.
After dropping enough shekels on Burgers to feed a family in the West Bank,for a week,we moved to drift through the night air absorbing the World Cup blaring from every cafe, pub, and restaurant in the vicinity. I moved with mixed emotions, missing the humility of Beit Ummar, but yearning to experience the contrast of nightlife in Israeli Al-Quds.
As Zidane headbutted Materazzi, Israelis booed. I laughed because I imagine Materazzi said something to set Zidane off but I didn't imagine the gravity of it all and it's connections to where I stood. Israelis were going for Italy and I wondered if they knew their despised but more humble neighbors were going for the opposing team and secretly so was I.
We ended up in a plaza where Israelis watched the match on a big screen from a plaza, the doorways of pubs and balconies. I was a bit distracted during the penalties by the fact that there were young men, not in uniform, carrying large guns. This was the cherry on top of a Big McMilitarized Jerusalem Sundae. Less than 7 hours in the city and I was completely freaked out by the blatant big-brother fascism.
After Italy won, the three of us shimmied our way through a crowded alley, past mobs of drunken youth taking to the streets in celebration, and headed back to East Jerusalem where it just feels safer despite what you might read in Israeli tour books.
A day later an old friend put me on to what was said on that field. It seems Materazzi called Zidane, who is a French natonal of Arab/Algerian parents, a "Dirty Terrorist." I wonder how much of these race dynamics were at play in that plaza in Jerusalem.
Abu Ja'bar
The popular committee of Beit Ummar told us about a man who has been having problems on his land. He is an older, religious gentleman and is quite respected by people in the village. Everyday he travels to the edge of town and rides a tractor down a steep and narrow strip of earth that hardly passes for a road. His name is Abu Ja'bar.
Abu Ja'bar invited ISM to come down to his farm and see the problems with our own eyes. Now imagine a group of city folks from the U.S., Ireland, and Sweden riding a FIAT tractor. The scene was pure comedy as we tried to balance taking in the beauty of our surroundings, the length of the commute, and our butts on various parts of this vehicle.
What we encountered, however, was astonishing. Deep within the hills behind Beit Ummar, in tough terrain, men grew grapes and plums and olives and more. I am not a farmer but I have always imagined farms as flat lands with rich soil. Tucked away in a tough valley the land was burdened with thousands of stones but deep beneath the stones lay the roots of these rich crops growing, reaching for soil and moisture.
Far above us, on a hill opposite the direction we came from, there are lightposts and red roofs. These serve a similar purpose to Starbucks in New York City; you know what neighborhood you are in by the number of them. You can tell settlements by their red roofs, Palestinians can too. They are symbols of the anabolic gentrification process under way in the West Bank. These settlements steal land away from Palestinians, who have already been pushed into a reservation-like existence. That is not all...
Settlements are an ideological project of Israel, but they take advantage of interesting socio-economic conditions. On the one hand there are ideological settlers who act very much like cowboys on the frontier using their guns to ward of the "barbaric injuns." But in some cases the settlers are working class families in search of subsidized housing and are less enthusiastic about the Israeli jingoism that drives the civilian occupation. Nevertheless, they live in homes with red roofs which serve as signals of trouble.
In Abu Ja'bar's case, settlers descend the steep hills with their hungry sheep and take advantage of the unguarded fruit and other crops. Entire vines have lost their fruit. Trees have been stripped bare by animals shepherded by nefarious settlers. Maliciousness covers this plot of land like a mantle set before supper, only the settlers would prefer Abu Ja'bar to be the main course. He is literally being eaten out of his farm and home.
Abu Ja'bar has gone to Israeli officials numerous times to complain about the invasion of his crops by settlers and although he has filed complaints, there has been no resolution. He and others have been threatened by armed settlers and have been forced to leave their land in fear of being shot on several occasions. Some trees have been purposely kicked and uprooted, others have had their roots sawed off, while still others have been victims of arson. Wires have been cut, gasoline spilled, and if you can imagine this, boulders have been pushed off the hill, all in hopes of destroying this source of Palestinian fruit.
Abu Ja'bar, like most Palestinians, is valiant. He returns to his farm despite the perils. Isolated as it was I trembled at the idea of returning in the face of such colonial actions and attitudes, but Abu Ja'bar refuses to relinquish his land. He embodies that everpresent Palestinian steadfastness -un guille de nos quedamos. What in Palestine is called summud.
Abu Ja'bar invited ISM to come down to his farm and see the problems with our own eyes. Now imagine a group of city folks from the U.S., Ireland, and Sweden riding a FIAT tractor. The scene was pure comedy as we tried to balance taking in the beauty of our surroundings, the length of the commute, and our butts on various parts of this vehicle.
What we encountered, however, was astonishing. Deep within the hills behind Beit Ummar, in tough terrain, men grew grapes and plums and olives and more. I am not a farmer but I have always imagined farms as flat lands with rich soil. Tucked away in a tough valley the land was burdened with thousands of stones but deep beneath the stones lay the roots of these rich crops growing, reaching for soil and moisture.
Far above us, on a hill opposite the direction we came from, there are lightposts and red roofs. These serve a similar purpose to Starbucks in New York City; you know what neighborhood you are in by the number of them. You can tell settlements by their red roofs, Palestinians can too. They are symbols of the anabolic gentrification process under way in the West Bank. These settlements steal land away from Palestinians, who have already been pushed into a reservation-like existence. That is not all...
Settlements are an ideological project of Israel, but they take advantage of interesting socio-economic conditions. On the one hand there are ideological settlers who act very much like cowboys on the frontier using their guns to ward of the "barbaric injuns." But in some cases the settlers are working class families in search of subsidized housing and are less enthusiastic about the Israeli jingoism that drives the civilian occupation. Nevertheless, they live in homes with red roofs which serve as signals of trouble.
In Abu Ja'bar's case, settlers descend the steep hills with their hungry sheep and take advantage of the unguarded fruit and other crops. Entire vines have lost their fruit. Trees have been stripped bare by animals shepherded by nefarious settlers. Maliciousness covers this plot of land like a mantle set before supper, only the settlers would prefer Abu Ja'bar to be the main course. He is literally being eaten out of his farm and home.
Abu Ja'bar has gone to Israeli officials numerous times to complain about the invasion of his crops by settlers and although he has filed complaints, there has been no resolution. He and others have been threatened by armed settlers and have been forced to leave their land in fear of being shot on several occasions. Some trees have been purposely kicked and uprooted, others have had their roots sawed off, while still others have been victims of arson. Wires have been cut, gasoline spilled, and if you can imagine this, boulders have been pushed off the hill, all in hopes of destroying this source of Palestinian fruit.
Abu Ja'bar, like most Palestinians, is valiant. He returns to his farm despite the perils. Isolated as it was I trembled at the idea of returning in the face of such colonial actions and attitudes, but Abu Ja'bar refuses to relinquish his land. He embodies that everpresent Palestinian steadfastness -un guille de nos quedamos. What in Palestine is called summud.
Saturday, July 08, 2006
Wild, Wild, West Bank
Jesus, where do I begin? Again, there is so much going on and so much to do that it is difficult to post what is on my mind when I think it. In some ways we have an important role as Internationals in the West Bank to build relationships with folks and break the isolation caused by the Israeli occupation, so many times internet cafe sessions become English-Arabic mutual learning sessions with local college students. Other times our time at the cafe is limited because we spend so much time talking to the super-friendly children on the street, who insist on escorting us on foot or on bike.
I've gotta admit I am in love with Beit Ummar, it sort of reminds me of Aguas Buenas, Puerto Rico, a place I used to love to visit when I was growing up.
Residents of Beit Ummar and Halhoul, another local community, have been continuing to organize against the Karme Tzur Israeli settler expansion in spite of the Israeli violence inflicted on Palestinians & International volunteers and the arrest of local activist and Popular Committee member Musa Abumariya. Yesterday, Friday July 7th at around Noon, over 300 farmers and residents of the Palestinian villages of Beit Ummar and Halhoul held Friday prayers together on their land that has been ravaged by Israeli bulldozers in the past week. International and Israeli supporters accompanied Palestinians in a non-violent march to the land in order to observe the activities of the military and the settlers, and support their struggle against the illegal expansion of the settlement Karme Tzur.
They demonstrators marched around the settlement on the land where trees and grape vines have been uprooted because of the construction of a new wall that will enclose the settlement, illegally annexing Palestinian land to it. The residents, mostly men and children, carried signs that said, “No to the Policy of Damaging Land and Human Beings” and other things. The Israeli soldiers attempted to stop the demonstration but eventually we got through.
The march and prayer were beautiful and non-violent, however armed settlers descended on the group and waved their rifles in the air as they called in reinforcements from the military. More military arrived and they lined the hill above the demonstrators as prayer services ended.
At 7pm in the evening, three jeeps entered the village shooting tear gas, rubber bullets, and sound grenades at people in the streets for about an hour. Some of us stayed with the Abumariya family, to calm down the children, while others took to the street with still and video cameras in hand. On our tractor ride through town we bumped into army jeeps shooting rubber bullets at children on the street. It was an unbelievable scene. I still can't get used to this level of drama unfolding before my eyes. I felt like I was in the Wild, Wild West. I later found out that the Jeish took a young man from the village for supposedly throwing stones.
Later in the night, while I was writing up the Apartheid piece, new friends from called to me from the street to come down and photograph soldiers. I immediately ran down the stairs with camera in hand when the friends said, "our soldiers." I froze as I saw that there wasn't another hostile incursion occurring, put away my camera, and watched a small platoon of camouflaged masked men with AK-47's, swords, and spraypaint. The Jeevara, Palestinian for Guevara or the PFLP were on the street.
Top City Krew in New York City, never rolled so tough.
I'd be lying if I didn't say I was a little eager to get back to our house. Two other Internationals were still e-mailing, while I was invited to observe the platoon of freedom fighters enchanting the children and young men out on the street with their presence. This spectacle of solidarity was fantastic and frightening at the same time, not because I felt that these armed men would mistake us for enemies, but because their presence highlights the intensity of the struggle over Palestinian land and the constant peril of violence. We walked right through the throng of fighters and observers and headed straight home for some sleep. Last night I dreamt of The Macheteros leaving their mark in Barrio Obrero letting Boricuas now that someone had their back.
I've gotta admit I am in love with Beit Ummar, it sort of reminds me of Aguas Buenas, Puerto Rico, a place I used to love to visit when I was growing up.
Residents of Beit Ummar and Halhoul, another local community, have been continuing to organize against the Karme Tzur Israeli settler expansion in spite of the Israeli violence inflicted on Palestinians & International volunteers and the arrest of local activist and Popular Committee member Musa Abumariya. Yesterday, Friday July 7th at around Noon, over 300 farmers and residents of the Palestinian villages of Beit Ummar and Halhoul held Friday prayers together on their land that has been ravaged by Israeli bulldozers in the past week. International and Israeli supporters accompanied Palestinians in a non-violent march to the land in order to observe the activities of the military and the settlers, and support their struggle against the illegal expansion of the settlement Karme Tzur.
They demonstrators marched around the settlement on the land where trees and grape vines have been uprooted because of the construction of a new wall that will enclose the settlement, illegally annexing Palestinian land to it. The residents, mostly men and children, carried signs that said, “No to the Policy of Damaging Land and Human Beings” and other things. The Israeli soldiers attempted to stop the demonstration but eventually we got through.
The march and prayer were beautiful and non-violent, however armed settlers descended on the group and waved their rifles in the air as they called in reinforcements from the military. More military arrived and they lined the hill above the demonstrators as prayer services ended.
At 7pm in the evening, three jeeps entered the village shooting tear gas, rubber bullets, and sound grenades at people in the streets for about an hour. Some of us stayed with the Abumariya family, to calm down the children, while others took to the street with still and video cameras in hand. On our tractor ride through town we bumped into army jeeps shooting rubber bullets at children on the street. It was an unbelievable scene. I still can't get used to this level of drama unfolding before my eyes. I felt like I was in the Wild, Wild West. I later found out that the Jeish took a young man from the village for supposedly throwing stones.
Later in the night, while I was writing up the Apartheid piece, new friends from called to me from the street to come down and photograph soldiers. I immediately ran down the stairs with camera in hand when the friends said, "our soldiers." I froze as I saw that there wasn't another hostile incursion occurring, put away my camera, and watched a small platoon of camouflaged masked men with AK-47's, swords, and spraypaint. The Jeevara, Palestinian for Guevara or the PFLP were on the street.
Top City Krew in New York City, never rolled so tough.
I'd be lying if I didn't say I was a little eager to get back to our house. Two other Internationals were still e-mailing, while I was invited to observe the platoon of freedom fighters enchanting the children and young men out on the street with their presence. This spectacle of solidarity was fantastic and frightening at the same time, not because I felt that these armed men would mistake us for enemies, but because their presence highlights the intensity of the struggle over Palestinian land and the constant peril of violence. We walked right through the throng of fighters and observers and headed straight home for some sleep. Last night I dreamt of The Macheteros leaving their mark in Barrio Obrero letting Boricuas now that someone had their back.
Friday, July 07, 2006
Apartheid
Our first time traveling from Ramallah to Beit Ummar we took the long way. We avoided Jerusalem and drove through back roads and small villages avoiding checkpoints. There were a few Internationals in the car and our comrade and guide, a brother named Ash from the Jenin area. Since Ash is a Palestinian from the West Bank his identification does not allow him to enter Jerusalem or any of 48 -what we call Israel "proper." There are also Palestinians who live within 48 -considered arab-Israeli citizens- who can travel back and forth but are instructed not to do so "for their own safety." There may be another category but I am unable to keep track of all of these restrictions. All I know is that this situation is fucked. This land is divided and administered in an apartheid manner and it is painful to experience it as a visitor; I cannot imagine what it is like to live under its rule.
Dompas, or Pass Laws, were a dominant feature of Apartheid South Africa. How can the situation here can be mistaken for anything else? It is compulsory for all people to carry ID's and these ID's determine where one can travel, if one can work, or see relatives. The Gaza Strip has been cut off from the West Bank and practically the rest of the world for a chunk of time and the West Bank suffers from a methodical isolation. Gazans must travel to Egypt to take a flight elsewhere in the world; West Bankers must leave through Jordan. Ben Gurion Airport in Tel Aviv is off limits, as is the beautiful beach on the Mediteranean Sea.
Some Palestinians used to work in Jerusalem but once the second intifada began, in Septemeber 2000, they were denied entry into 48 and lost their jobs. This in turn forced Israeli employers to hire new immigrant labor -another source of cheap labor. Besides the passes, Israel has also been building an Apartheid Wall around and through sections of the West Bank. This Annexation Wall seperates families much like the U.S.-Mexico border does in North America. This wall as well as the many other walls and fences being erected around Israeli settlements is grabbing more land from Palestinians and further pushing communities apart physically.
There are also checkpoints set up throughout the West Bank and floating checkpoints that appear and disappear as they see fit. Anything that can be employed to make life miserable is. Everytime Israel decides they need to further suffocate the Occupied Palestinian Territories, they just close the checkpoints and don't allow people through. Yesterday and today many Palestinians were killed in Gaza so checkpoints were absolutely horrendous to get through. Beyond daily misery, I believe the checkpoints are designed to squash organizing in a large scale making it terrifying to move from village to village.
Palestinians in a village called Bil'in have been battling the construction of the wall running illegally through their village decided to unsettle a settlement by squatting newly built houses on their land. Our crew of ISM'ers were asked to come from Beit Ummar to support this action. We had to jump in a taxi from our village to a checkpoint, where our passports were inspected by soldiers and border police who also inspected Palestinians who had passes to enter Jerusalem. Moments after our passports and passes were inspected, the checkpoint vanished, all the soldiers jumped into jeeps and moved on to create another floating checkpoint.
We then jumped on a service -like a dollar van- and made it to another checkpoint where we all had to dismount and stand on line while border police inspected passes, ID's, and passports while the army and special forces stared from afar. We then went on our way to Jerusalem where our service was stopped just a few meters away from Jaffa gate, the beautiful entry to the old city. Three young female border police agents were especially stoic and hateful as they demanded the ID's and passes of all Palestinians on board while disregarding the passports of the Internationals. I thought I was going to be sick as an older man was humiliated by the whole experience. I could only offer an Ana aasif, which came from a pained heart and fell on tired ears.
We made it into Jerusalem, where we switched to another service headed to Ramallah, passed a checkpoint where noone is checked on the way in, because who cares what goes into the Occupied Palestinian Territories and then from Ramallah on to Bil'in. After traveling both routes, I am not quite sure there is a short way.
A quick note on Bil'in, the Palestinians succesfully squatted the settlement houses and raised a Palestinian flag for a few hours before being evicted; our contribution was to keep Palestinians, who were not allowed in passed a gate, company as we chanted and protested the Israeli occupation, chanting in Arabic, Spanish, and English.
On our way back to Beit Ummar we heard about closures due to Israeli's fear of retaliation due to the murder of over 18 Palestinians in Gaza, so we chose the long way back passing only one check point. We instructed our driver to corroborate our story, that we were headed to Bethlehem. We arrived at the checkpoint late and the soldiers opened our service with assault rifles in hand and demanded our passports. They asked our driver, then us, where we were headed and I spoke for the group and explained Bethlehem, the Church of the Nativity, and a hostel for the night. They asked to see my tourist book and closely examined the pages on Gaza and the Golan Heights. I swear they were looking for invisible ink or finger grease marks. They asked if we were in Gaza, Golan, or Nazareth and I remembered the cara de pendejo tourist story they love. Gaza, Golan, No. Nazareth not yet. Tel Aviv, Haifa, and now Bethelehem. I love Haifa. Je Je Je... With a pat on my arm and passports returned we went on with our trip shaking from the close call and thanking Jesus.
Dompas, or Pass Laws, were a dominant feature of Apartheid South Africa. How can the situation here can be mistaken for anything else? It is compulsory for all people to carry ID's and these ID's determine where one can travel, if one can work, or see relatives. The Gaza Strip has been cut off from the West Bank and practically the rest of the world for a chunk of time and the West Bank suffers from a methodical isolation. Gazans must travel to Egypt to take a flight elsewhere in the world; West Bankers must leave through Jordan. Ben Gurion Airport in Tel Aviv is off limits, as is the beautiful beach on the Mediteranean Sea.
Some Palestinians used to work in Jerusalem but once the second intifada began, in Septemeber 2000, they were denied entry into 48 and lost their jobs. This in turn forced Israeli employers to hire new immigrant labor -another source of cheap labor. Besides the passes, Israel has also been building an Apartheid Wall around and through sections of the West Bank. This Annexation Wall seperates families much like the U.S.-Mexico border does in North America. This wall as well as the many other walls and fences being erected around Israeli settlements is grabbing more land from Palestinians and further pushing communities apart physically.
There are also checkpoints set up throughout the West Bank and floating checkpoints that appear and disappear as they see fit. Anything that can be employed to make life miserable is. Everytime Israel decides they need to further suffocate the Occupied Palestinian Territories, they just close the checkpoints and don't allow people through. Yesterday and today many Palestinians were killed in Gaza so checkpoints were absolutely horrendous to get through. Beyond daily misery, I believe the checkpoints are designed to squash organizing in a large scale making it terrifying to move from village to village.
Palestinians in a village called Bil'in have been battling the construction of the wall running illegally through their village decided to unsettle a settlement by squatting newly built houses on their land. Our crew of ISM'ers were asked to come from Beit Ummar to support this action. We had to jump in a taxi from our village to a checkpoint, where our passports were inspected by soldiers and border police who also inspected Palestinians who had passes to enter Jerusalem. Moments after our passports and passes were inspected, the checkpoint vanished, all the soldiers jumped into jeeps and moved on to create another floating checkpoint.
We then jumped on a service -like a dollar van- and made it to another checkpoint where we all had to dismount and stand on line while border police inspected passes, ID's, and passports while the army and special forces stared from afar. We then went on our way to Jerusalem where our service was stopped just a few meters away from Jaffa gate, the beautiful entry to the old city. Three young female border police agents were especially stoic and hateful as they demanded the ID's and passes of all Palestinians on board while disregarding the passports of the Internationals. I thought I was going to be sick as an older man was humiliated by the whole experience. I could only offer an Ana aasif, which came from a pained heart and fell on tired ears.
We made it into Jerusalem, where we switched to another service headed to Ramallah, passed a checkpoint where noone is checked on the way in, because who cares what goes into the Occupied Palestinian Territories and then from Ramallah on to Bil'in. After traveling both routes, I am not quite sure there is a short way.
A quick note on Bil'in, the Palestinians succesfully squatted the settlement houses and raised a Palestinian flag for a few hours before being evicted; our contribution was to keep Palestinians, who were not allowed in passed a gate, company as we chanted and protested the Israeli occupation, chanting in Arabic, Spanish, and English.
On our way back to Beit Ummar we heard about closures due to Israeli's fear of retaliation due to the murder of over 18 Palestinians in Gaza, so we chose the long way back passing only one check point. We instructed our driver to corroborate our story, that we were headed to Bethlehem. We arrived at the checkpoint late and the soldiers opened our service with assault rifles in hand and demanded our passports. They asked our driver, then us, where we were headed and I spoke for the group and explained Bethlehem, the Church of the Nativity, and a hostel for the night. They asked to see my tourist book and closely examined the pages on Gaza and the Golan Heights. I swear they were looking for invisible ink or finger grease marks. They asked if we were in Gaza, Golan, or Nazareth and I remembered the cara de pendejo tourist story they love. Gaza, Golan, No. Nazareth not yet. Tel Aviv, Haifa, and now Bethelehem. I love Haifa. Je Je Je... With a pat on my arm and passports returned we went on with our trip shaking from the close call and thanking Jesus.
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Shebab and Jeish
For some reason people back home in the U.S. get the impression that Israel and Palestine are somewhat equal and share equally in violence. However, this is not the case here.
Israel has a well-trained, heavily armed military which is supported fully by its superpower benefactor, the United States. Palestine has fighters, from various small associations, who pull together guns, rockets, and tragically suicide belts in order to resist the occupation.
This is the violence that we read about and see in the news.
What we don't know about is the everyday violence of the occupation that may be less bloody, but no less deadly. A form of genocide and gentrification is at work here. Apartheid is alive and well. Ethnic cleansing is the order of the day.
We also don't know enough about the daily resistance of the Palestinian people. It is not suicide bombers and terrorists like the western media would have us believe. There is armed struggle in Palestine; there are freedom fighters and guerilleros. However, the majority of the resistance is non-violent direct action, civil disobedience, and daily rebellion against the occupation. Think of the civil rights movement in the United States and Blacks fighting against apartheid in South Africa.
The masses are simply surviving this difficult dynamic and many are pushed to engage in what we would call activism -organizing protests, demonstrations, marches and building solidarity. Overall there is a culture of resistance. Palestinian flags are beautiful symbols of life and love in the face of hate. The rose that grew from concrete.
In the U.S. there are some who imagine Palestinians as ultra-violent, even the kids throw rocks at Israelis, but that is far from what I have experienced walking through neighborhoods in Ramallah, Hebron, or in the small village of Beit Ummar.
The majority of the people are warm and inviting. Many people assume that my buddy and I are Israeli and often offer us Shalom. The majority of the Palestinians on the streets in Beit Ummar are children. When they discover that we are Amriki, they often ask What is your name or say Hello, how are you, over and over and over again. In the cities, people keep to themselves and we are obvious outsiders but all is peace.
So who are the rock throwers? What is that all about? Let's see, Israeli Occupation Forces have soldiers posted around illegal Israeli settlements [colonies] in the West Bank. These settlements are built on land grabbed from the Palestinians and the soldiers treat the indigenous community with vitriolic hate for the most part. It is not uncommon for soldiers to drive through the towns shooting. In Gaza, the site of heightened violence, fighter jets fly low over head and create sonic booms to disturb the Palestinian families where they live. On any given day soldiers dehumanize Palestinians in their own communities and homes. So what happens?
This oppression is fertile ground for a growing resistance. I am surprised Palestinians aren't cold-hearted and callous. They are loving but they are defiant. The children are especially valiant. These youth are the Shebab. They weave makeshift slingshots out of found materials and launch stones at Israeli jeeps that taunt and threaten the Palestinian communities by driving back and forth on the roads that lead to the center of town.
I saw Israeli soldiers, the despised Jeish, drive halfway down a road, park their jeep and proceed to instigate children with their rifles. The Shebab responded to this by cautiously positioning themselves hundreds of meters away and sending stones in the air toward the Jeish. The scene is absurd. Jeish pointing arms at kids is revolting; Shebab whirling slingshots in the air and sending stones at the Jeish is incredible. Your heart breaks that this is their reality, that defiance is their game. They practically play hide and seek with Jeish, but the stakes are high. The Shebab are as graceful as playful in their contribution to the resistance, and they are brave.
Yesterday I watched this scene play out after we were beaten by Jeish and Musa was arrested. A 15 year old named Asim was arrested for being the farmlands near the settlement and children were driven down a street by soldiers.
The Jeish shot their rubber bullets and the Shebab slung their stones. Everyone cheered when the soldiers finally retreated. The Shebab won this battle.
Israel has a well-trained, heavily armed military which is supported fully by its superpower benefactor, the United States. Palestine has fighters, from various small associations, who pull together guns, rockets, and tragically suicide belts in order to resist the occupation.
This is the violence that we read about and see in the news.
What we don't know about is the everyday violence of the occupation that may be less bloody, but no less deadly. A form of genocide and gentrification is at work here. Apartheid is alive and well. Ethnic cleansing is the order of the day.
We also don't know enough about the daily resistance of the Palestinian people. It is not suicide bombers and terrorists like the western media would have us believe. There is armed struggle in Palestine; there are freedom fighters and guerilleros. However, the majority of the resistance is non-violent direct action, civil disobedience, and daily rebellion against the occupation. Think of the civil rights movement in the United States and Blacks fighting against apartheid in South Africa.
The masses are simply surviving this difficult dynamic and many are pushed to engage in what we would call activism -organizing protests, demonstrations, marches and building solidarity. Overall there is a culture of resistance. Palestinian flags are beautiful symbols of life and love in the face of hate. The rose that grew from concrete.
In the U.S. there are some who imagine Palestinians as ultra-violent, even the kids throw rocks at Israelis, but that is far from what I have experienced walking through neighborhoods in Ramallah, Hebron, or in the small village of Beit Ummar.
The majority of the people are warm and inviting. Many people assume that my buddy and I are Israeli and often offer us Shalom. The majority of the Palestinians on the streets in Beit Ummar are children. When they discover that we are Amriki, they often ask What is your name or say Hello, how are you, over and over and over again. In the cities, people keep to themselves and we are obvious outsiders but all is peace.
So who are the rock throwers? What is that all about? Let's see, Israeli Occupation Forces have soldiers posted around illegal Israeli settlements [colonies] in the West Bank. These settlements are built on land grabbed from the Palestinians and the soldiers treat the indigenous community with vitriolic hate for the most part. It is not uncommon for soldiers to drive through the towns shooting. In Gaza, the site of heightened violence, fighter jets fly low over head and create sonic booms to disturb the Palestinian families where they live. On any given day soldiers dehumanize Palestinians in their own communities and homes. So what happens?
This oppression is fertile ground for a growing resistance. I am surprised Palestinians aren't cold-hearted and callous. They are loving but they are defiant. The children are especially valiant. These youth are the Shebab. They weave makeshift slingshots out of found materials and launch stones at Israeli jeeps that taunt and threaten the Palestinian communities by driving back and forth on the roads that lead to the center of town.
I saw Israeli soldiers, the despised Jeish, drive halfway down a road, park their jeep and proceed to instigate children with their rifles. The Shebab responded to this by cautiously positioning themselves hundreds of meters away and sending stones in the air toward the Jeish. The scene is absurd. Jeish pointing arms at kids is revolting; Shebab whirling slingshots in the air and sending stones at the Jeish is incredible. Your heart breaks that this is their reality, that defiance is their game. They practically play hide and seek with Jeish, but the stakes are high. The Shebab are as graceful as playful in their contribution to the resistance, and they are brave.
Yesterday I watched this scene play out after we were beaten by Jeish and Musa was arrested. A 15 year old named Asim was arrested for being the farmlands near the settlement and children were driven down a street by soldiers.
The Jeish shot their rubber bullets and the Shebab slung their stones. Everyone cheered when the soldiers finally retreated. The Shebab won this battle.
Beit Ummar
Before our training was over, we received calls that there was need for Internationals to come out and support farmers and activist fighting for their land. We immediately responded to the call and headed to the community as allies. Others went to another community that has built an outpost defying the apartheid wall and are helping plan the weekly protest action.
On Monday July 3rd, in Beit Ummar, a farming town near Hebron, Palestinian farmers and landowners have been laying down in front of bulldozers tearing up their land in order to expand settlements. This project is part of Israel's land grab policy in the Occupied Palestinian Territory. We learned that an elder's leg was broken by Israeli Occupation Forces and that Musa, a local activist, had risked his life by laying under a bulldozer in order to stop it. Three International activists were detained for hours and released in the middle of the night. That evening a group of us received them, we met with Musa and the popular committee, and decided to confront the bulldozers the next morning and attempt to halt the uprooting of trees and tearing up of farmland.
Today we headed out to the site of the struggle and were greeted by children on the street, on bicycles, standing in stoops, staring curiously, and far less curious adults. Musa led us into the orchards and over a ridge where we were confronted by two pieces of machinery, a bulldozer and a backhoe, and about 15 soldiers.
We wanted to stop the destruction of Palestinian farmland, the machines wanted to destroy Palestine, and the soldiers wanted to stop us.
These young soldiers began to yell, push, and beat us. They directed the majority of their wrath towards Musa because he is Palestinian so we attempted to protect him using our bodies. They grabbed him and hit him causing him to fall and we hugged him and tried to aid him and tell the soldiers he was hurt and there was no reason for such violence.
We are aware that there is a rich history of soldiers killing Palestinians, but they need to be a hell of a lot more careful with Internationals. They pulled us off Musa and beat us but the worse thing was they detained him. He is now in the hands of Shebak or Shin Beit, the Israeli secret police, according to them.
Please read the ISM website for more details and ways to help!
No worries, I am doing fine and will write more when I get the opportunity. There is so much to tell and so much to do, it is difficult to strike a balance. Friends, please read these words and share them and find ways to do something concrete to change the conditions here... Ma'asalama.
On Monday July 3rd, in Beit Ummar, a farming town near Hebron, Palestinian farmers and landowners have been laying down in front of bulldozers tearing up their land in order to expand settlements. This project is part of Israel's land grab policy in the Occupied Palestinian Territory. We learned that an elder's leg was broken by Israeli Occupation Forces and that Musa, a local activist, had risked his life by laying under a bulldozer in order to stop it. Three International activists were detained for hours and released in the middle of the night. That evening a group of us received them, we met with Musa and the popular committee, and decided to confront the bulldozers the next morning and attempt to halt the uprooting of trees and tearing up of farmland.
Today we headed out to the site of the struggle and were greeted by children on the street, on bicycles, standing in stoops, staring curiously, and far less curious adults. Musa led us into the orchards and over a ridge where we were confronted by two pieces of machinery, a bulldozer and a backhoe, and about 15 soldiers.
We wanted to stop the destruction of Palestinian farmland, the machines wanted to destroy Palestine, and the soldiers wanted to stop us.
These young soldiers began to yell, push, and beat us. They directed the majority of their wrath towards Musa because he is Palestinian so we attempted to protect him using our bodies. They grabbed him and hit him causing him to fall and we hugged him and tried to aid him and tell the soldiers he was hurt and there was no reason for such violence.
We are aware that there is a rich history of soldiers killing Palestinians, but they need to be a hell of a lot more careful with Internationals. They pulled us off Musa and beat us but the worse thing was they detained him. He is now in the hands of Shebak or Shin Beit, the Israeli secret police, according to them.
Please read the ISM website for more details and ways to help!
No worries, I am doing fine and will write more when I get the opportunity. There is so much to tell and so much to do, it is difficult to strike a balance. Friends, please read these words and share them and find ways to do something concrete to change the conditions here... Ma'asalama.
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