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.

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.

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.

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."

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Tuesday, July 04, 2006

Ahlan wa sahlan

We got into the West Bank with no hitches.

Unfortunately, I did not get to visit the old city of Al-Quds or Jerusalem, like I promised folks back home I would. I will when I get the opportunity. Around a dozen of us, Internationals -from U.S., Ireland, Scotland, Sweden, and Denmark- and Palestinians who live outside of the West Bank, crossed into the West Bank and were trained to integrate into ISM, the International Solidarity Movement.

Although Israel announced they would close the West Bank to Internationals, there are a surprising number from various countries working in different organizations. ISM's purpose is to support communities that are resisting the Israeli occupation using non-violent direct action. There are many ways to resist an occupation, many strategies, many tactics, and it is up to Palestinians to decide which one's are acceptible and most effective for their own liberation.

Palestinians have invited Internationals to support non-violent direct action through ISM and that seems to make the most sense for us as allies. It is quite a challenge and it very humbling to learn about how Palestinians use non-violent tactics in the face of such virulent aggression from settlers and the Israeli Occupation Forces. You need to participate in it to understand it.

A few blocks from us in Ramallah, there is a memorial for a shaheed, a martyr, who used armed struggle to fight for the liberation of Palestine. He was shot dead on a corner. The Israeli Special Forces who killed him let him bleed to death from his wounds. He could easily have been captured and given the proper medical care but instead he was killed like a dog in the street. The images of this patriot are posted throughout the neighborhood and on the corner he was killed there is a solemn place for remembrance. Being there I thought of Filiberto Ojeda Rios, commander of the Ejercito Popular Boricua - Macheteros. Filiberto, a grandfather and Puerto Rican patriot, was gunned down in the doorway of his home, where he lived with his wife, violently ending 15 years of resistance in clandestinity. Seeing the posters and memorial of this Palestinian martyr helped me recognize that although I have not visited Puerto Rico since Filiberto's death, I am not far removed from those who die for freedom, they are all around us.

Filastine has many Filibertos.

Sunday, July 02, 2006

Public Service Announcement

The road to Palestine is rife with checkpoints.

Checkpoint number one: I spent a few hours in a European city, had my favorite beer in it's home country, and made it back to the airport to check in for my flight to Tel Aviv with plenty of time. I got on line, made small talk with a UFC hopeful -gotta love MMA, and then realized the line was moving slow because everyone was being interviewed. Butterflies set in since I thought I had a whole flight to rehearse my tourism story, so I threw on my iPod and listened to Jay-Z, Le Album Noire.

I got a hustler spirit, nigga period
Check out my hat yo, peep the way I wear it
Check out my swag' yo, I walk like a ballplayer
No matter where you go, you are what you are player
And you can try to change but that's just the top layer
Man, you was who you was 'fore you got here
Only God can judge me, so I'm gone
Either love me, or leave me alone
- J'hova

I pulled out my Let's Go Israel tour book and dog-eared a few pages with sights in Tel Aviv, Haifa, and Jerusalem. Although a bit jittery inside, I manage to charm the inspector with my beach bum tourist tale and even got her to show me other Israeli hotspots -Eilat seems to be the place to party. I was also warned not to venture into the West Bank, Gaza, or Jordan -you wouldn't want to go there. While I gummed it up with the lady, some surly suit came over and grilled me like a fresh salmon and looked through my passport, then tossed it down, but I aced the interview; the investigator seemed pleased with my cara de yo no fui. Thank you very much, Jay-Z.

Checkpoint number two: I arrived refreshed and full of energy in Tel Aviv, thanks to Fela Kuti, Bob Marley, and Cultura Profetica -Hacen Falta Ideas Nuevas... Passport Control moved slowly as well. I was asked various questions about where I was staying and what I was doing and why did I choose Israel for my vacation. The fact that I have no friends or family in the country makes me suspicious, the fact that I am staying for around five weeks with no employment or academic purposes is almost criminal. Again, part-charm and part-cara de pendejo unlocked the gate, with a smile on my face, I proceeded with a three month tourist visa.

Checkpoint number three: I didn't walk 20 feet and a young man and lady asked to see my passport and visa. The dude was young, and obviously a herb with too much authority; he took me aside and proceeded to ask me questions while holding my passport. Is this really you? What is your date of birth? Where do you live? What do you do? When did you travel last? When? Why? Why are you here? Do you have any family here? Are you sure you don't, anywhere within Israel? As I told this story to Mohamed, a new friend in East Jerusalem, he mentioned I might as well been asked if I were Palestinian. Show me your book, the interogation continued, and the dog-eared pages helped again, Tel Aviv, Haifa, and now Eilat are my itinerary, of course. Finally, after asking the same questions in a dizzying whirl and responding to my every reply in a zombie's, yes, yes, I understand, the herb let's me go. I am in.

After a day in Tel Aviv, a place that reminds me of El Condado in Puerto Rico, or what I imagine Miami Beach to be like, I headed to Jerusalem, a city that reminds me of El Viejo San Juan and D.F. Mexico City all rolled into one. West Bank-bound. One more checkpoint to go, let's see how it goes.