Handala

Hawiyye

2011-11-15T13:00:00.001-08:00

http://vimeo.com/22248122

Handala the film in three parts

2011-11-15T12:50:00.000-08:00

http://vimeo.com/20306041

http://vimeo.com/20336125

http://vimeo.com/20475216

11:30pm in Ashraf's Taxi Office

2008-09-04T15:25:00.000-07:00

Eleven thirty PM and the men in Ashraf’s tiny taxi office were up to their normal nightly rituals. Cohwe (coffee), cigarettes in plenty, and the usual half play, half deadly serious argumentative roundabout concerning the day’s profit that centers around how to most equitably distribute the money.

Brittany and I approached the taxi office; I peaked under the poster on the glass door commemorating the life of Mahmoud Darwish (quite possibly the greatest and certainly the most widely celebrated contemporary Palestinian poet to have penned word on page). The poster was hung in honor of who he was, what he wrote, and in remorse for what the world, most acutely, what Palestinians lost with his death. I peaked under the poster and saw the bright, smiling, wrinkled face of my friend Abbad. He saw me and his mouth opened into the kind of deep calming smile I came to characterize him with last summer. I opened the door and Abbad and I embraced after a year of separation. We kissed; left cheek, then right, and so on for a few seconds. I asked Abbad about his new wife and learned that a month previous to our arrival Abbad had become a father. He called his daughter Ragad—an Arabic name that means something like luxury or comfort or the good life.

Abbad offered me a cigarette and sent some young boys who were hanging around the taxi office off to bring us coffee. The conversation for the next minutes hovered around how life had been in the US, in Palestine, around me and Brittany’s recent marriage, how our families in the US, in Palestine, were and so on. We talked about Mahmoud Darwish and how deeply his loss is felt in the Arabic world. Soon, a man I had only known as an acquaintance last summer pointed up to a poster on the wall in the taxi office. The poster had four men on it, dressed in black, standing proudly with assault rifles in hand. I knew immediately that what I was looking at: It was a shahid poster, a martyr’s poster. The man who pointed at the poster grinned and explained to me in broken English that one of the men pictured was his brother and that it was his third brother to be martyred. Brittany and I expressed disbelief and sorrow for his loss…and he grinned. He grinned still as he took out his cell phone and turned on a video he had taken the night of the killing of his brother and the fellow martyrs. The footage was gruesome. The four men had been assaulted by Israeli occupation forces while driving together in a small car. The Israeli occupation special forces unit had entered the refugee camp were the assassination happened by using a Palestinian car that they had hijacked somewhere in the Beit Lehem area. In the video I could see that nearly every inch of the car had bullet holes in it. I assume that the Israelis put at least a few hundred if not a thousand rounds of fire into the car. All four men in the car died. The footage dragged on as the man I mentioned went to each passenger in the car and detailed their brutalized bodies while they still sat in the car. The footage had been set to tragically triumphant Arabic music. The music was in conflict with what was silently apparent in the scene: tragic hysteria. I could see medical personnel rushing to try and save the men, I saw a man pick up the lifeless and shredded arm of one of the martyrs and scream into the night as if cursing the god’s for his loss. I saw more blood and disfigured body parts that I cared to and I noticed tears in the eyes of my new friend in the taxi office. But still he grinned.

After the footage ended multiple men in the office pointed back at the poster and said akhto, his brother, his brother. The man who lost his brother grinned and we all went back to smoking, drinking coffee, and discussing recent life in Beit Lehem.

While life is made cheap in Beit Lehem by the ongoing brutalities of the occupation, the cost of fuel is up; they said this happens whenever a Republican is in American office. So it goes.

The cost of everything seems to be up in Beit Lehem even while the inestimable dignity of human seems to continue to plummet. Every single night last week there were Israeli incursions into Deheisheh refugee camp…where Britt and I are staying. In total, twenty five Palestinians were arrested just from Deheisheh camp, just last week. Israel recently released over a hundred Palestinian prisoners to appease Mahmoud Abbas (the corrupt Autocrat illegally heading the Palestinian Authority)…last week in Deheishe Israel replenished in its prisons by almost ¼…just from Dehiesheh camp. One man that Brittany and I spoke with yesterday put it this way: Each day people live, in this city, under this occupation, they lose a little hope. A little hope lost every day. I can feel the truth of those words in the air; hopelessness surrounds this city like a dark cloud and it is inexpressibly better here than in Gaza or the Palestinian refugee camps of Lebanon.

But then again, on Friday, tomorrow we will demonstrate. il-hamdiallah…praise be to God…il-hamdiallah. On the first holy day of the holy month of Ramadan we will articulate the poetic intifada (shaking off) of nonviolent resistance.

Brittany and I are glad to be back in Beit Lehem.

Handala Trailer: A documentary about nonviolence and desolation in Palestine

2008-07-18T12:54:00.000-07:00

Hello everyone.

Though we have been somewhat inactive here on the blog, we have been quite active showing the film.

Recently I (adam) finished editing a Preview that we will be using to promote the film in the future. Please feel free to direct others to this preview.

The video can be found at: http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=5638786940143173624&q=handala&ei=p_WASOmFLYyarAO86YmcBQ&hl=en

Or watched below.

Salaam!

Adam

Film Venues

2008-04-22T21:15:00.000-07:00

Here is a working list of past and future venues:
Suggested donation per venue is $200.

Coming soon to: Switzerland, Germany and Italy.
Baylor University in Waco, TX on Sunday, October 26th at 7:30PM .
PCPF in Dallas, TX on Saturday, October 18th in the AM.
Roxy Theater, Burlington, VT on Saturday September 20th at 10:30AM.
Calvary Baptist Church, Allentown, PA on Wednesday August 27th at 7PM.
Mennonite Central Committee, Akron, PA on Tuesday August 26th at 12noon.
Black Rock, Lancaster, PA on August 5th at 9PM.
Astor Hotel Best Western, Manila, Philippines on July 30th at 7PM.
Cambridge, MN on July 14th at 4PM.
Vermont on Wednesday June 4th at 7PM at the FLYNNDOG at 208 Flynn Avenue, Burlington, VT.
Frazer Mennonite Church, 57 Maple Linden Lane, Frazer, PA on May 31st at 3PM
Akron Mennonite Church, 1311 Diamond Street, Akron, PA on Sunday, May 18th at 6:30PM.
The Rotunda, 4014 Walnut St. Philadelphia, PA on Wednesday, May 7th in the Evening (TBD).
Penn State Brandywine in Media, PA on Friday, May 2nd, 2008 at 12:30PM in 203 Large Conference Room in the Commons Building.
Eastern University in St Davids, PA on Wednesday, April 30th, 2008 at 8PM in the Baird Library in Walton.
Eastern University in St Davids, PA on Tuesday, April 29th, 2008 at 8PM in the Baird Library in Walton.
Messiah College in Grantham, PA on Wednesday, April 23rd, 2008 at 7PM in Boyer 336.

Abbey Theater in Durango, CO on Tuesday, April 22nd, 2008 - Evening.

Handala Film Preview

2008-03-06T12:03:00.001-08:00

Watch the Preview of our film Handala.

Enjoy! Comments and suggestions welcome.

Handala

Add to My Profile | More Videos

Update: Handala Coming in May 2008

2008-01-02T23:23:00.000-08:00

Since returning from Palestine we have seriously neglect keeping up this blog. I would say that a large part of what could be expressed from the trip has already been expressed--the stories of the people we met; what we saw and heard; and some of our own reflections.

I am considering beginning to write regularly on here but until then I wanted to at least let you know how the film making process is coming along.

Tomorrow morning I leave for Durango for my second trip of a week of heavy editing with Meg. Both Meg, Peder, and I are excited about what we have so far. What we have is a rough cut of the first 17mins of the film, which we have decided to call Handala. Handala is an Arabic word that roughly translates to bitterness in English. More importantly, Handala is the name of a famous Palestinian cartoon (as seen on the top of this page) originally created by a Palestinian refugee named Naji al-Ali. Handala has become an important symbol in Palestine--most directly of the Palestinian refugee crisis. Handala has also become an important symbol in the popular Palestinian nonviolent movement.

We are planning of having the film completely finished in early May, this year. Until then we have various screenings and photo exhibitions and have already been telling the stories that came out of this summer any chance we get.

Sometime soon I will make up a short synopsis of the screenings and photography exhibitions we have planned in case any of you happen to be around and would like to come.

Again, thank you for all your support.

Nakba to Hope Images

2007-08-20T18:12:00.000-07:00

The house demolished
Seham

Seham and one of her sons

Monthers

The house rebuilt

From al-Nakba to Hope

2007-08-20T17:25:00.000-07:00

After very many years of hardship, a family was finally able to build a house. A place where they could raise their children in safety, where they could sleep in peace, and where they could enjoy meals, tea, and coffee with neighbors. The family was able to rest. They had been refugees for years.

Not long after the family built the house, the machines roared in. The bulldozers. The men in green ordered the family to leave the home or get flattened beneath the rubble. They protested but the authorities told them their house was too close to the border, so for security reasons it had to be destroyed. They were forced to see their home demolished. A sense of despair was creeping into their hearts.

It was a deeply tragic time for the family. But soon the whole community got together and decided to help them rebuild their home. The community gathered enough money to build their home once again. They told me, “there are many good Israelis that helped rebuild the second house.” A great relief for the family, a great hope. Building one’s house is like building one’s life up again, one’s family, spirit and soul.

Again the family was able to be in peace in their house after such suffering.

No more than eight months passed and the bulldozers were back.

Let me take time to introduce the family. The father is a man in his late fifties—slender, gray-black hair, and a soup-strainer mustache. He is quite a character; his face has so much expression when he talks. His name is Monthers. Seham, the mother, is a woman who’s been through many trials in her life. But her eyes show a sense of peace, while not forgetting the hardships of her past. Sensible steadfastness is how I’d describe her. I met one of their sons, Almuataz. He’s a hardworking student studying Computer Science at the local University. He loves America.

This family is from Palestine. Their home is built within a mile of the Green Line, or 1967 border, between Palestine and Israel. This is the internationally recognized border. However, the Israeli government has decided to build the Wall (much like the one being built on the US border with Mexico) very close to their home, on Palestinian land, and so have decided to demolish this family’s home and possible hundreds other homes throughout the West Bank. (I quoted Monthers several months ago saying, “Everywhere this is the same, the same story, the same same. Go to Jenin, same same. Go to Lebanon, same same. Go to Gaza, same same. Same same.) And all this is done in the name of Security, Israel’s new Golden Calf.

The bulldozers came back and demolished their home again. Again the family has faced despair, has looked it in the eyes, and chose hope.

Monthers, Seham, and Almuataz lived in a tent next to the rubble of their home. Almuataz said, “I know there are many people, maybe they do not believe me that we lived in the tent. But it’s true, we lived in the tent two months in the winter.”

Their house has been rebuilt for the third time this summer. It is a beautiful small house sitting on a hill overlooking a valley. We were able to help them rebuild their home, carrying bricks, hauling sand, and sweating in the hot summer sun. People from all over the world joined in, people from Spain, the United Kingdom, the United States, Israel, Palestine, and many other places. We pulled our strength and commitment together.

We participated in nonviolent resistance by rebuilding this home despite what the Israeli forces have said. The demolition of this house and the confiscation of this land is injustice. An unjust law is no law at all.

The very fact that this family is leading us in this beautiful act of resistance in such a personal way, and the very fact that they are putting their lives on the line is such a fascinating sign of hope and or courage. Of steadfastness. This is hope.

Yallah Back

2007-08-12T19:37:00.001-07:00

Dear Friends,

Thanks so much for your support during our time in Israel/Palestine. We have been working on the documentary since we have been back. As you know, we plan to have a full-length documentary put together by December, 2007 about "Life Under Occupation," with a dose of Hope.

When we were in Israel/Palestine we were interviewed by Mark Helpsmeet of the Northern Spirit Radio. The show was aired on Sunday, August 12th. You can hear the interview online if you click Northern Spirit Radio.

After you listen to the interview, we encourage you to comment about the show on the Northern Spirit Radio website.

If you would like to contribute to the making of this film, please visit BuildaBridge Donations.

We will continue to post stories and pictures as we continue producing this film. Stay tuned!

Thank you!

peace, salaam, shalom

What Kind of Life: Photos II

2007-07-15T21:55:00.001-07:00

What Kind of Life: Photos

2007-07-13T09:22:00.000-07:00

What Kind of Life?

2007-07-13T08:59:00.000-07:00

“So this is life?” he said, gesturing at the cracks in the walls, at the light shining through the tin roof that covered his living room. He stormed into the kitchen, turned the faucet in the sink violently to left, to the right, to the left again.

“You see? No water.” He threw his arms in the air, exasperation dripping from all of his movements, from all of his words, from his very thoughts. He took two long strides and jerked open the refrigerator door. Several flies flew out, leaving only empty shelves in their wake.

“No food, you see?” He slammed the door shut, grabbed a pot off the stove. He opened the lid and with a large spoon scraped hardened instant spaghetti to the left, then back to the right.

“My daughter make for us last night. All we eat today.” He tossed the pot back on the burner and returned to the fridge, opening the freezer this time. He lifted a bag of frozen pita and dropped it. It thunked and echoed in the empty space.

“What kind of life is this??”

We had been talking with Abu for the last half hour. He spoke about the “disengagement,” about the surrounding twenty-seven-foot concrete walls, about living in an open air prison, how everyone had lost work. As he spoke, he inched forward in his seat, his arms flying in and out of the frame, his voice steadily increasing in volume. The grey hair that shot out near his temples and the crowfeet wrinkles around his eyes were the only signifiers that Abu was born in 1956.

“You see this?” he asked us, pointing vaguely into a dark bedroom with a single mattress on the ground. His outstretched finger made our eyes fall on a mass of tangled sheets and blankets covering what appeared to be a sweaty Palestinian boy. Only the crown of his head and the dark skin near the nape of his neck poked through.

“Sleeping all day, he is! Twenty-two! No work, no make money for family, no wife. He just lay here all day!” Abu huffed and pushed past me, walking out the back door. He turned the handle of a low faucet, beneath which was a small bucket filled with murky water. Nothing fell from the faucet to the bucket as he flipped the handle back and forth.

“What kind of life?”

I wondered why he was living life in this way, why he had no work, no money, no food, when no more than ten kilometers away, people were living lives of blissfully ignorant decadence. Was the concrete barrier that kept him from that dream really a measure of security, or was it yet another means to create the end that is a Jewish state?

I suspect the latter.

And security from what anyway? From archaic rockets and suicide bombers? This is not to downplay the pain these things have caused, but to segregate an entire people for the misguidance of a few? To “retaliate” by slowly but surely removing Palestinians from their homeland? Just another step in the “War on Terrorism,” I suppose.

And what is terrorism? According to the American Heritage Dictionary, terrorism is “The unlawful use or threatened use of force or violence by a person or an organized group against people or property with the intention of intimidating or coercing societies or governments, often for ideological or political reasons.”

In the West Bank, IDF (IOF, IAF) soldiers shoot bullets made of steel encased in rubber that carry enough force to, if they hit in the right place, pierce the brain and make people bleed from the eyes. They have fully automated tear gas guns that shoot red hot canisters of debilitating inhalants that cause every orifice on your face to run. This gas also causes vomiting, and if exposed long enough, throat closure. They shoot these at non-violent demonstrators. These same soldiers enter people’s houses in the middle of the night and arrest people suspected of collaborating against Israel; they arrest children suspected of joining groups that aren’t approved of, throw them in administrative detention—a prison in which Palestinians are not granted the right of a lawyer, where they are not given even the luxury of a reason for their arrest, much less a fair trial—for throwing stones.

In Gaza, F-16s approach speeds so high at so low an altitude that it creates a force loud enough to shatter glass and powerful enough to knock people off their feet and even break people’s legs. Tanks fire on groups of children playing marbles in the street, killing seven, eight, eighteen at a time under the guise that the children were involved in “suspicious activity.” Mothers have to watch as their children lose both arms and both legs, as they die, basket-cases in plastic-covered hospital cots, and there is nothing they can do to stop it. People live in constant fear that one day, they will be too close to a targeted assassination, that the anonymous unmanned Israeli drone buzzing high above their heads will hit them this time, and all they will have heard is that ominous

…buzzing.

Can you imagine hearing that noise? Knowing that somewhere, something is flying high enough that you cannot see it; but that it can watch your every move. Knowing that this thing is completely unmanned, run by a person a world away, on the other side of an impenetrable barrier, just staring at a screen. That buzzing would be the only sign that someone around you, or you, might soon be blown to smitherines.

I heard once that when people are blown up, the bomb squads call it “pink mist,” because that is all that is left of what was once a living, breathing person.

Of course people leave, run to refugee camps in the surrounding Middle East countries, hoping that one day they too will be granted the right of return. It is no wonder that there are some four or five million Palestinian refugees. How can you live somewhere in that sort of fear?

If fear inspired coercion defines terrorism…well, there you have it.

Visit to Gaza: Photos

2007-07-09T02:09:00.001-07:00

Visit to Gaza: Thoughts and Reflections

2007-07-09T01:56:00.000-07:00

As some of you may know, Meg and I spent four days in Gaza last week. It was delightful and sickening. It was fascinating and exciting. Yet the suffering we saw and heard about broke our hearts—it is truly unimaginable—massive stretches of demolished houses, whole families killed as they lounged on the beach, a mother who lost all four of her sons to tank fire as they played in the street, poverty to the point of starvation, walls peppered with overly eager snipers, the desperation of hopelessness. At the same time the generosity and warmth with which we were received softened our angry hearts and opened our eyes to the atrocity that is the Gaza strip.

Please hear these words and consider them carefully. First, it is important to understand a few things. Gaza is a tiny piece of land—less than two miles wide at points and around 15 miles long. One and a half million people live in the massively overcrowded territory. Gaza is under a brutal external Israeli occupation. This means that NO ONE (foreign or Palestinian) can travel in or out of Gaza without a permit from the Israeli government that is nearly impossible to get. Of course the territory is surrounded by massive concrete walls. Fishermen are shot if they venture too far out into the Mediterranean where the healthy schools of fish swim. The people of Gaza are subjected to nearly daily violent Israeli incursions which many times come in the form of heavily armed flying robotic drones which constantly patrol the skies over Gaza. In addition to all of this, sanctions and general economic stagnation has created poverty extreme enough to be labeled a humanitarian disaster. Life in Gaza is without hope.

At least until the markets and warehouses run out of food and goods life in Gaza is closer to "normal" than it has been in a long time. The calm that has settled on Gaza with Hamas in control feels delicate. It is precious and fleeting. There is a sense of baited excitement. For the first time since the clashes began between Fatah and Hamas people all over Gaza are out to restaurants, markets, lounging on the beach. The security is readily apparent, while tense. No one denies that things are enormously better in Gaza with Hamas in control. Yet not everyone is convinced that under such harsh restrictions from Israel and sanctions from the International community Hamas can maintain the level of competent administration that they have since ousting Fatah. Hamas has never been given a chance. They have never been allowed the space to move towards moderation. Amazingly though they have, moved towards moderation.

The recent release of Alan Johnston (BBC journalist held for over three months in Gaza city by a local mafia family calling themselves the Army of Islam) has some interesting implications. First, it exposes the falsehood that Hamas is in any way equivalent to more extreme Islamists groups like al-Qaeda or Fatah Islam in Lebanon. Hamas is certainly an instance of political Islam yet one that has turned out to be fairly democratic in its domestic policy and administratively competent in its domestic, regional, and international dealings. Hamas simply is not a fanatical terrorist organization out to kill infidels. Second, the release of Alan Johnston makes exceedingly clear the level of control Hamas has in Gaza. Even the most optimistic expected there to be clashes if Hamas applied direct military pressure on the Army of Islam. There wasn’t a shot fired and Alan Johnston was released. What this means is that in spite of how well armed and perhaps radical Army of Islam is they know clearly who’s boss in Gaza. This could be said for other armed mafia families in Gaza as well. Third, it proves that Hamas is willing to work towards moderation even without a clear incentive. Israel and the West and even Fatah are now presented with these realities. The UK has already responded. There is a bipartisan motion in the House of Commons signed by a number of parliamentarians calling for direct engagement with Hamas.

It seems clear that Hamas has no intention of acquiescing to Fatah and the International community and has proven its competence in managing everything from traffic to factional fighting in Gaza. However it seems equally clear that Israel and the US are committed to literally and figuratively starving Hamas and the Gazan people to a point of desperation. What will come out of this desperation? No one is certain. The people of Gaza will not abandon Hamas and yet Hamas, while fully capable to govern the West Bank as well, has been abandoned by Israel, the West, and even a large portion of the Palestinian people (predominantly in the West Bank). Hamas' administrative competency and willingness to negotiate if taken seriously may mean very little in the midst of a quickly approaching humanitarian disaster in Gaza. It is sad to see but characteristic of the Israeli occupation and systemic demonizing of the Palestinian people alongside blatant Western media bias and blind American support for Israel’s policy of apartheid and ethnic cleansing in the West Bank and Gaza. What do I think will happen? I have little hope...Gaza will probably remain as is—overcrowded, subjected to regular wanton Israeli violence, under harsh inhumane sanctions from the West and Israel, surrounded by walls and water patrolled by Israeli gun ships, and systemically starved to a point of desperation that will understandably result in increasingly frequent qassam rocket fire into Israel and perhaps suicide bombings, thus giving Israel the needed excuse to continue its policy of disproportionate violence and coercive occupation. This will break Hamas down slowly but surely. From there I think there are two possibilities. One, internal conditions in Gaza will get so bad that violence will once again break out. Two, Fatah with the help of Israel and the West will establish, through a military coup, a pro-Western dictatorship in Gaza unrepresentative of the people. I know this seems grim but I see little hope without a major shift in Israeli and Western policy.

A bit of Jerusalem

2007-07-03T13:41:00.001-07:00

Selling grape leaves in Old City Jerusalem

Praying at the Wall

The Western/Wailing Wall

Church of Mary Magdalene

Temple Mount (bad day for pictures though)

Red Chair Beauty

2007-07-02T12:36:00.000-07:00

Defense? Occupation? Apartheid?

2007-06-30T15:41:00.000-07:00

“As soon as [language] functions it offends or reconciles, attracts or repels, breaks, dissociates, unites or reunites; it cannot help but liberate and enslave.”

~Michel Foucault

The very notion of a solution suggests, necessitates the reality of some kind of disruption. A peace process entails a correspondent rupture of peace—war, violence, separation. Yet identifying the reality of some kind of violent disruption only acknowledges the negative lack of peace; it does not, by itself, get to the complexity of positively identifying exactly what kind of violent disruption is taking place. Acknowledging that Israelis and Palestinians are in “conflict” is necessary for understanding the need for peace; its usefulness ends there. Getting beyond the acknowledgment of violent disruption to the source of the conflict demands that one do the complex and controversial work of deconstructing the mythologies, stereotypes, and misinformation that so often characterize the many existing narratives concerning the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. This process of deconstruction is important because it is the only way to illuminate a potential for peace. Like a virus, violent conflict cannot be properly treated until it is accurately diagnosed.

There exists a body of terminology used in popular media and conversation to describe the historical and contemporary situation here in Israel and Palestine. Perhaps the most common term is “conflict”—the “Palestinian-Israeli conflict.” Other increasingly common and more useful terms include: “occupation,” “defense,” “apartheid,” “security,” “Al-Nakba” (the catastrophe), “ethnic cleansing” and “intifada” (uprising). What I mean when I say that these terms are more useful is that they, by nature of their particularity, break through the simplistic crust, the painfully obvious reality that there is a lack of peace—conflict—and begin the complex task of classifying the conflict. Seeking such linguistic particularities is important for its ability to focus and disrupt.

They focus because they differentiate between parties, suggesting a victim and a victimizer. An oppressor and an oppressed. They serve up blame in unequal portions, thus avoiding the farce of neutrality. In thinking about peace there is no room for neutrality…objectivity for sure but not neutrality. It is indeed a difficult and touchy matter to attempt to identify which side is more to blame when faced with the tragedy of death on both sides but it is nevertheless a process indispensable to thinking about how to rectify injustice and achieve sustainable peace. One must place conflicting sides on the scales of justice and weigh one against the other. To distort or ignore the prescriptions of justice is to be complicit in the injustice being weighed.

The point here is not to demonize one side or ignore either side’s violence but rather to strip away the distorting myth that the conflict is too complex to identify a victim and a victimizer. That is not to say that those roles do not flex and periodically swap but rather to focus the terminology enough to have some sense of the fleshy reality beneath the stagnant shell of neutrality.

Linguistic particularities like “defense” and “apartheid” disrupt insofar as they bring nuance and disorder into the vague, colorless sea of generalities and presumption. For instance, the moment one applies the term “apartheid” to the situation in the occupied Palestinian territories they disrupt and confuse vague stereotypes about the conflict like “all Arabs are Jew-hating terrorists” or “Israel is doing what she is doing in the West Bank and Gaza in order to protect her citizens.” Whether one agrees or disagrees objectively with the application of the term “apartheid” to the Israel’s actions in the West Bank and Gaza it, at least, interjects badly needed disorder into the stale order of simply calling the situation a “conflict,” forcing one to support the accusation or refute it. And thus nuance and complexity is created where there was once only presumption; that is assuming one thoroughly supports or refutes the accusation of apartheid.

In order to apply some of this jumbled abstraction I would like to open a discussion here. The questions: Exactly what kind of “conflict” are we dealing with here in Israel and Palestine? Is it useful or possible to identify a victim and a victimizer? What exactly is the extent and kind of power imbalance between the Palestinians and Israelis? What implications does this power imbalance posit into the possibility for peace? How can we be faithful to the reality and scope of suffering in both societies and yet maintain a rigid devotion to confronting the facts head on and considering their implications without fear of coming off as biased? To preface the discussion I would like to introduce the topic within the framework of three of the terms mentioned above: “defense,” “occupation” and “apartheid.” Specifically I am interested in exploring distinctions between the three terms as they apply to the Israeli military force that controls the West Bank and the Gaza Strip.

Before I came to Israel and Palestine this summer I referred to the Israeli military force in the West Bank the same way the media and Israel herself does: the “IDF”—Israeli Defense Force. Yet soon after arriving in the West Bank I began to hear the term “IOF” used often—“Israeli Occupation Force,” a snide suggestion that Israel’s military presence in the West Bank and her control over Gaza may in fact have nothing to do with “defense.” And as the trip has gone on I have increasingly began referring to the Israeli military as the “IAF”—Israeli Apartheid Force. My bias is readily apparent, I know.

The “IDF” (Israeli Defense Force) is the most commonly used term to refer to the Israeli forces in the occupied Palestinian territories. The underlying suggestion is that the Israeli people are victims of Palestinian terrorism. Thus the occupation of the West Bank and Gaza is an occupation of necessity. An occupation arising out of a situation of terror so extreme that it necessitates that Israel occupy its Palestinian neighbor in order to defend its citizens. Furthermore, it insinuates that there exists a Palestinian force powerful enough to threaten the existence of Israel.

The “IOF” (Israeli Occupation Force) is a taboo reference to the Israeli forces in the West Bank and formerly in Gaza simply as occupiers. It is important to understand that no one or no existing terminology denies the reality of occupation. Rather the term “IOF” accentuates occupation as the driving incentive. Its novelty is in its dismissal of defense as a legitimate basis for occupation.

The term “IAF” (Israeli Apartheid Force) goes beyond dismissing defense and acknowledging occupation suggesting an active Israeli campaign of separation of peoples within the West Bank in order to annex land and systematically control natural resources, effectively making life in the West Bank and Gaza, outside of isolated cantons, unlivable. In addition to suggesting a more active, malevolent Israeli role in the occupied territories, it vividly identifies with the historical apartheid in South Africa. Its connection to apartheid in South Africa is meant to create an automatic and strong aversion to Israeli control over the West Bank and Gaza.

What do you think? Which term seems most fitting? What are further questions you might have about the situation? Thus far we have been conveying our thoughts and experiences to you, yet now we would like to hear what you all think, to invite you to become involved in our learning process and to engage this important issue.

Bil'in Pictures

2007-06-27T16:31:00.000-07:00

Bil'in

2007-06-27T16:24:00.000-07:00

As many of you already know we participated in a nonviolent demonstration against illegal land confiscation in a village called Bil’in, northwest of Ramallah. We didn’t know exactly what to expect. What we did know was that each time we heard Bil’in mentioned it went something like: “What? You want to go to Bil’in? …Bil’in’s crazy.” So we went.

The demonstrations at Bil’in have been taking place on a weekly basis for the last two years. The issue is the ongoing confiscation of local farmland that the Palestinians of Bil’in depend on. Many farmers have been unable to get to their farms for the last two years as a result. And remember this is well within the West Bank. Land confiscation is extremely common in the West Bank. It comes in many forms…sometimes to expand settlements, sometimes as a “security barrier” around settlements, sometimes to facilitate the building the apartheid wall well within the 1967 green line (i.e. well within the West Bank), and still sometimes generically for “security” without explanation. What makes Bil’in unique is the fact that the Israeli High Court has declared the land confiscation and ongoing blockade of the road that leads to the land illegal. Why this is not enforced remains unanswered.

As we (About 100 Palestinians, Israelis, and internationals) marched to the road where the IOF (Israeli Occupation Force) has been blocking farmers from getting to their land Palestinian children chanted “La la le-jeedar. No no not the wall”. The IOF had parked a number of military vehicles just up the road and placed barbed wire to block our advance. About a hundred meters behind the barbed wire there were maybe 30 IOF soldiers in a line across the road, guns drawn. We negotiated with them for a while and then after they refused to let us pass we began removing the barbed wire from the road. Around ten seconds into this they opened fire with tear gas and rubber bullets.

Needless to say, we scattered. I think more unsettling than my eyes and lungs burning was the whizzing sound the metal tear gas canisters and rubber bullets made as they passed by our heads. As we fled the smoke the sound of retching filled the space in between the pops of tear gas fire.

The shooting continued for a few hours as heavily armed IOF soldiers clashed with children who threw stones—as far as I’m concerned a form of nonviolent resistance when facing full armored soldiers and vehicles. A number of people were injured—one child passed out because of the tear gas, a man was hit in the stomach by a rubber bullet, another in the head. I learned that sniffing onion helps with tear gas. Something similar to this takes place every Friday. When we asked some of the Palestinians we met there why they risk their lives to demonstrate each week when the IOF has made it so clear that they have no intention of abiding by Israeli law they looked at us and responded as if it was obvious: “What else can we do? It is our land. We must resist. There is no other way.”

We stood there in the heat, watching, at times running through the olive groves to avoid the tear gas and the rubber bullets. Do we go forward and face the soldiers? Can we? It seems we can’t because the closer we get the more likely we’ll get hit with something violent. Would it be worth getting hit? Getting injured? Could this contribute to a positive change? Maybe…

[If you'd like to see a video clip of the demonstration we were at, go to http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1WmeOdfIyRw and if you'd like to see more video clips from past and more recent demonstrations, go to http://www.palsolidarity.org/main/category/bilin/]

(B'tselem Map)

Jenin fields

2007-06-23T05:21:00.000-07:00

Here you can see a hint of the wall dashing across the field

Just a nice colorful field
The previous field from above

Jenin

2007-06-23T05:15:00.000-07:00

Women's Group

Checkpoint
Checkpoint
Walking to and from Checkpoint
Martyrs graves

Jenin

2007-06-23T05:10:00.000-07:00

The landscape in Jenin is beautiful, vast tracts of farm land and hills with a tinge of a desert look. Grape vines, olive trees, corn, tomatoes, zucchini, and other greens abound in the fields. Like many other places in the West Bank, the scene is broken by the presence of a wall or electric fence.

From a distance one can follow the path of this wall, simply by following the cut line of earth on the mountain or valley. It’s easy to see.

The wall, as you know, separates Israel and Palestine. To some degree one could say that Israel has the right to protect itself, so building a wall is fine. But what about when Israel builds the wall several kilometers beyond the border, confiscating vast tracts of precious Palestinian farm land and aquifers? (That’s mostly the case; Israel builds the wall far beyond the Green Line taking land from Palestine.) And what about solving the conflict? It’s not possible to solve the conflict without dialogue, without contact. The wall cuts this direct contact, the possibility of contact.

All of the people we visited told us stories about how their village was reduced in size from 50,000 dunums (donum=1,000 sq. meters) to 5,000 dunums, from 36,000 dunums to 3,000 dunums. Then, when the wall was built, another 700 dunums were confiscated. Then, there’s not water in the village.

“Why?” we ask.

“Israel took control of the wells we had. Now we have to buy water from them. If we don’t buy water from the wells that were once ours, we have to buy water from water companies, which are Israeli anyway. Now our harvest is only 15% of what it used to be, and most of our land is on the other side of the wall.”

“But, why don’t you dig another well?”

“You need a permit from Israel to do that. And I don’t know of a single case where a well permit was approved.”

As you know, there are a lot of checkpoints in Palestine. In Jenin, all entrances and exits to Jenin city are controlled by Israel. Then there are a number of flying checkpoints. In all of Palestine there are roughly 200 flying checkpoints. These flying checkpoints consist of a few Hummers and several soldiers who decide when and where to set up a checkpoint.

Ali told us a story, a sad one. Five years ago his wife was pregnant and she needed to get to the hospital to get an operation (C-Section?). At this time it was forbidden to go to Jenin. “I tried to reach the hospital many times. But the Israelian soldiers forbid us. What I will do?”

“I failed.”

“When I felt that my wife would die, I went through the mountains…
…we reached the hospital and they checked my wife and said the baby was dead.”

“Return before two days and we will do the operation and save your wife.”

“After one day they made the operation… I took the baby back to the land to put it under the earth. My wife stayed at the hospital. Then she was not allowed to return. I was in my village, she was in Jenin, and we could not see each other.”

“I don’t hate the Israelian people; I don’t hate anyone in the world. I believe in peace.”

“I have a message. Don’t be closed-minded. Search the facts. Most of the people in the Middle East hate your people. Why is that? Because, what happened in Iraq, what happened in Palestine, here. I know you people didn’t do anything. But it’s bad for us. For that I don’t hate. Because I know the fact. I can’t be foolish… I can’t be foolish.”

Jenin coming soon...

2007-06-21T04:29:00.000-07:00

Qalandiya Checkpoint

2007-06-21T04:15:00.000-07:00

Gaza

2007-06-21T04:09:00.000-07:00

Bir Zeit is a quiet town nestled on two hills divided by a wide valley. In the evening, as the sun sets, warm red light bathes the competing hillsides in color. The falafel is good and the pita is cheap. Olive trees dot the surrounding landscape. Children play in the streets. Gaza is just a few dozen kilometers away, yet this place seems a world away. It feels free of violence. Perhaps even more comforting than its distance from the violence of Gaza is Bir Zeit’s refreshing absence of walls and checkpoints, soldiers and settlements.

That’s the thing about apartheid, the thing about cantons and separation-wealth and prosperity, violence and relative peace, oppression and freedom can exist side by side without much of an effect on one another. In the last few weeks we have received a number of emails and phone calls from family and friends expressing concern for our safety, of course in light of the recent turmoil in Gaza. What most people don’t understand is the level of separation between the West Bank and Gaza and even within the West Bank.

For all practical purposes the West Bank and Gaza might as well be on opposite sides of the world. It is nearly impossible for Palestinians and extremely difficult for internationals to visit Gaza at all. This stems from a common misconception about the situation in Gaza today: that it is in any sense an autonomous territory, the misconception that with the 2004 disengagement the occupation of Gaza ended. It is interesting to note that while the Western media hailed Prime Minister Ariel Sharon as a hero for peace with the unilateral disengagement from Gaza even the term "disengagement" partially exposes the reality of situation. The disengagement was not a withdrawal or a transfer of administrative power with the establishment and enforcement of self-determination in Gaza. It was a sly political move on Israel’s part to divert attention from its rapid colonial expansion in the West Bank as well as a response to the relative difficulty of internally occupying such a territory.

Gaza is grossly overcrowded and primarily desert-not exactly land worth annexing. The number of settlers in Gaza (around 10,000), pre-disengagement, paled in comparison to the over 400,000 settlers in the West Bank and East Jerusalem and the incentive of diverting international attention away from the West Bank far outweighed the difficulties of disengaging. What’s important to understand is that the disengagement was just that-a disengagement from internal occupation of Gaza to a cheaper external occupation. Today, Gaza is commonly accurately referred to as an "open-air prison."

Before the disengagement Gaza was under internal military occupation by the IOF (Israeli Occupation Forces). This, in addition to walls and checkpoints surrounding the territory and the fact the Israel controlled all travel into and out of Gaza as well as the sea on the western shore, and all trade into and out of Gaza. With the disengagement the situation in Gaza shifted from a direct military occupation alongside the illegal annexation of land through settlements to a more indirect canton style occupation. Israel still controls 100% of travel into and out of Gaza as well as trade and regulation of water use. Walls still surround Gaza and anyone, Palestinian or otherwise, still must apply for a permit, issued by the Israeli government, in order to enter Gaza. These are some of the daily controls exerted on the Palestinians of Gaza-many haven’t seen family that live just a short drive away in the West Bank for years. Some traveled to Gaza, leaving their families and ended up stranded, not allowed to exit Gaza. And still others were "deported" to Gaza for offenses as minor as being involved in a banned "political organization" or stone throwing. The dehumanization and repression of the Gazan Palestinians is one of the most explicit and barbaric human rights abuses taking place in the world today.

And then perhaps even more traumatic than the apartheid controls on Gaza are the frequent military incursions. This comes in various forms-direct military invasion, shelling, bombing, targeted assassinations, kidnappings, and regular sonic booms over crowded Gazan cities. The consequent physical and psychological trauma is massive. Children and innocent civilians are the primary victims of Israeli violence in Gaza.

At this point Gaza is under the control of Hamas-the Islamic movement that was democratically elected in January 2006. Almost immediately after the elections Israel and the West began a process of demonizing, sanctioning, imprisoning and assassinating the elected members of Hamas in addition to heavily supporting the Fatah movement (which was founded on a similar ethos as Hamas). The sanctions that followed the 2006 elections crippled the Palestinian economy and drove Hamas and other Islamic organizations to unprecedented levels of extremism. The most recent development was the dissolution of the recently formed unity (Hamas-Fatah) government alongside the formation of a disparate, Fatah controlled government in the West Bank. It does not look like things will get better in Gaza any time soon. Whatever one’s view on the policies of Hamas the events since January 2006 mark the beginning and the end of the first ever democratically elected Islamic movement. In any case the West along with Israel has proven that it has no interest in working to moderate Islamic political parties, democratically elected or not. It seems pro-Western/Israeli policy trumps democracy when it comes down to it.

Keep Gaza in your thoughts and prayers. There is a lot going on in Gaza today. There is a lot of violence, a lot of suffering and oppression, a lot of death. Hope for the violence to cease, the walls of oppression to fall, and life to be renewed.

Intermission

2007-06-20T11:03:00.000-07:00

We are doing well. Thanks for your support, concern, and prayers. We have posts coming, but technology is giving us some trouble. I promise a real long post is coming soon! Thanks for checking in on us on the blog!

Hassan

2007-06-13T10:53:00.000-07:00

Hassan’s ivy green eye’s flashed in the sunlight as he peered around the door to his house into the street and said “hello!” In Deheishe refugee camp streets are more like alleyways and running water is a luxury left to the whim of the gods. I responded in Arabic, “marhaba.” Hello. His curious face brightened and he smiled as he reached for my hand. Doors in Deheishe are beautiful. Each seems to have its own unique flare. Deep emerald greens. The swooping flow of green Arabic graffiti on vibrant orange. Speckled red rust like stars in a sky of navy blue. The camp—which is more like a massive dilapidated neighborhood than a camp in any sense—is a paradox of beauty and depravity. Like a white orchid in the desert, a rose in a rock bed, glints of beauty haunt Deheishe. The people and their uninhibited hospitality. The colorful doors. The occasional mural. The rich, grainy smell of frying falafel. Fresh pita.

Perhaps it should have surprised me when Hassan, not more than ten years old, took my hand and said “welcome.” But it didn’t. And perhaps it should have surprised me that within minutes Meg and I were seated in Hassan’s family’s courtyard outside his house sipping steamy “chai”. Tea. But it didn’t.

Hassan’s English was broken. Each time he couldn’t recall a word or a phrase he would put his head down and apologize. Hassan and his younger siblings and friends, marveled at us. They asked us questions. Why were we here in “Filistine”? To find hope and beauty in the midst of ethnic cleansing. Did we like it here? Yes we do, very much. They giggled when we cursed Bush. Do we think Palestinians are terrorists? I don’t watch Fox News. Welcome. Welcome. Sipping tea with fourth generation Palestinian refugees. I couldn’t help but look into Hassan’s eyes and see a boy whose daily reality makes all the compounded suffering in my life seem insignificant and I feel a tinge of guilt. Guilt for my wealth. Guilt for my nation’s role in sustaining Hassan’s suffering. The tea was sweet, fresh mint leaves gave it spice. As Hassan’s younger brother smiled at me the last cup of tea slipped off the tray he carried. It shattered on the concrete floor.

Refugees in their own land. Children forced to act like adults in order to cope with the strains of life under occupation. Under apartheid. So much of me wants to know their pain, romanticize their plight. But I know I shouldn’t. As we finished our tea and said our goodbyes to our new friends I saw it in their eyes as clear as crystal… Understand my suffering. Enjoy my hospitality. Recognize my powerlessness. Tell my story. Enjoy my homeland for its broken beauty, its wild potential. Drink chai with me and don’t forget what you have seen and heard but whatever you do don’t fall in love with my suffering. There is nothing lovely about it.

Children II

2007-06-12T11:07:00.000-07:00

Children

2007-06-12T11:01:00.000-07:00

Hebron

2007-06-11T11:21:00.000-07:00

Hope?

Hope?Hope?
Hope?

Hebron

2007-06-11T11:09:00.000-07:00

Old City Checkpoint

Old City Checkpoint
Yes, Old City Checkpoint
Old City Architecture
Israeli Military Base in Old City

The Tree of Peace: Not so alive

2007-06-10T11:46:00.000-07:00

Artas Demonstration

2007-06-10T11:24:00.000-07:00

Sterile Ethnic Cleansing

2007-06-10T05:53:00.000-07:00

The dim light fed into the Jaffa tent. Light, the shape of diamonds, vaguely illuminated the space. The couch and cushions were comfortable. They were red—black lines decorated the surface. The place was filled with a relaxing smoke. Troubles were far away, except for the troubles of the mind. Like the smoke that lingered in our tent, troubling thoughts filled my mind.

These weeks and these days have been different—they have been new indeed. These days have been refreshing and exhausting.

I remember sitting in a small simple shop called Sultan where they serve tea, coffee, and Argeela. We all sat in silence, thinking perhaps, or simply enjoying each other’s company. After telling some childhood stories to one another, Mohammed shared his favorite childhood memory. He remembers walking through the fruit tree fields in his village. It was a joy to harvest the apricots. He liked sitting in the shade of the apricot trees sipping tea with mint leaves and talking with his father. They each would taste-test a number of apricots just to make sure they were alright. Mohammed is the leader in his village now.

I thought this was the most appropriate memory for the existing situation here. The land where these trees once stood has now been flattened. The trees uprooted. More land, more trees, more fruit is disappearing. Memories, though seemingly existing only in the mind, will never be repeated in these fields.

It is sad.

But there are hundreds of people protesting this loss of land, loss of memory, loss of life. The loss seems inevitable. But the enthusiasm, commitment, and energy put into protecting this livelihood points to something amazing, powerful, and victorious. We are on the verge of seeing a something courageous, something astounding.

Walking through the bulldozed, treeless land was strange, it felt bare and wrong. This land is supposed to have trees. The trees are supposed to be giving fruit by now. The people are supposed to be able to harvest this fruit. This valley, this land is not supposed to be a sewage dump.

_________________

Land confiscation is a very common occurrence in Palestine. This refers to land within the pre-June 1967 Green Line. The “Green Line” is an international recognized border that separates Israel proper from the West Bank (Palestine). Land within the West Bank is regularly confiscated for settlement expansion, water rights, and “security.” The place described above is a village called Artas in a fertile valley near Bethlehem. Like so many other places in the West Bank, the land being confiscated in Artas will serve the expansion of a nearby settlement called Efrata. (According to international law, the settlements within the West Bank are illegal—certainly settlement expansion.) The land that is being taken (from the story above) is going to be used as a sewage dump for Efrata. Artas valley, as mentioned, is extremely fertile. Thousands of poor farmers depend on its soil for their livelihood. Now this valley is being turned into a sewage dump, which according to those who have crunched the numbers, will most likely spill over soon after construction and destroy the entire Artas valley, disenfranchising thousands of farmers and rendering life in Artas unlivable. Artas is a characteristic example of the type of intimidation, illegal expansion, and all out ethnic cleansing that Israel has routinely been engaged in the occupied Palestinian territories (West Bank and Gaza). While in Artas and many other cases Israel does not explicitly or forcefully expel the local Palestinian population, they, through a vast complex of apartheid-esque tactics that make normal life unsustainable.

Aida II

2007-06-07T08:19:00.000-07:00

This wall separates the people of Aida refugee camp from their olive fields

This land will eventually be annexed to the "Greater Jerusalem" plan

We made some friends there
The Mosque in Aida

The Wall

2007-06-06T15:13:00.000-07:00

Springs the Flames of Our Hope

2007-06-04T14:13:00.000-07:00

From the Ashes of Misery

2007-06-04T14:04:00.000-07:00

From the ashes of misery springs the flames of our hope
The burning embers of repression reap resilient resistance
The whimsical dance of the flame’s delight burns my eyes
And all I can see is fields and fields never ending
Of trees of olives of apricots, freedom, there is none sweeter

From cracks in walls of oppression shines the light of our dreams
The mirage holds and flickers just long enough to never be forgotten
The sharp brightness of the sun’s rising hints at something new
And my eyes fix on the sun’s gleaming rays only to see myself
Of resistance and the creativity of suffering and then the sun sets

From the sting of violence flow rivers of resistance
The repression acts as fuel and ignites a fire of love in my heart
The fire to confuse and consume all the evil you can muster
And my gaze is steady my path as sure as stone, bright as the sun
Of Satygraha and soul force to end the occupation of my mind, my body

From the vengeance of yesterday’s deaths springs tomorrow’s forgiveness
The memory of martyrs unnumbered haunts my weary heart
The pains of scars innumerable pains my tired body
And my hands bleed they are crushed under the captivating weight of mercy
Of love of enemy and many tomorrows of possibility for musalaha, for reconciliation

From the darkness of hate shines the light of understanding
The illumination of reality to expose the powers for the sham that they are
The strong steady chant of a people courageous enough to demand respect
And all I can hear on this dark road is the chant of child soldiers of peace
Of children and the right to refuse to fear that which has abandoned all creativity

From eyes tired and weary there is love that endures suffering
The eyes of one who has seen what should not be done
The eyes of a child of Bethlehem who has done what should not be seen
And the walls great shadow gives me shelter from the sun
Of weariness and the soothing monotony of oppression’s deep shadow

From concrete and clay, wood and water, comes life
The white buildings intensely reflecting the sun rays
The brown mountains picturing sporadic olive trees
And the people stare from their white buildings to the brown fields
Of olive trees and abandoned vineyards, of broken cities and isolating walls

Checkpoint 300

2007-06-03T14:41:00.000-07:00

Checkpoints are a daily reality for Ahmad. Ahmad with his wife and six children live in a small but cozy two room apartment in Dheisheh refugee camp. On their wall, interjected between time worn pictures of beloved family members who live in Gaza that Ahmad and his family haven’t seen in over ten years, hangs a rusted key. It’s large and iconic. Symbolic and sublime. Rusted by time and tempered with the flame of creative nonviolent resistance. It is a constant reminder of the Palestinian right of return, ensured by United Nations resolution 194 but never implemented thus far. Ahmad’s 6 year old daughter, Haleema, grins and giggles as she responds with boldness and pride: “Artas!” when she’s asked the name of the village that her grandparents and great and great great and even great great great grandparents are from. Where she is from.

Her grandparents were expelled from Artas in 1948 as Israel committed wholesale ethnic cleansing of much of Mandatory Palestine under the cover of regional war. Hundreds of thousands of Palestinians fled or were driven from their homes and farms to decrepit refugee camps in parts of Jordan, Egypt, Lebanon, Syria, and what would become known as the West Bank and Gaza Strip. Today there are over 5 million Palestinian refugees. None of which have been given the right to return to their original villages. Once there was a house with a door where the rusted key that hangs on the wall fit into. To be a Palestinian refugee is to remember. Memory is the closest thing that Palestinian refugees have to identity and self determination.

Ahmad makes his living as a day laborer in Jerusalem. Each morning Ahmad wakes at 3am in order to arrive at checkpoint 300 at 4am. By the time he gets there the line to enter the checkpoint which is supposed to open at 5am but usually doesn’t until after 6am is already hundreds of people long. The permit he was lucky to receive from the Israeli government allows him to travel into Jerusalem and work from 5am to 7pm. If he returns late, even once, he will lose his 3 month work permit which he paid 2,000 shekels for ($500). Over the course of the year Ahmad will pay $2,000 simply to be able to travel into Jerusalem—a fifteen minute drive—to work.

There are many different kinds of checkpoints throughout the West Bank ranging from earth mounds and crude roadblocks manned by IOF’s (Israeli Occupation Force) to massive compounds complete with 27ft walls, sniper towers, turnstiles, metal detectors and manned by heavily armed IOF’s. Checkpoint 300 in Bethlehem is one of the largest and most imposing. It is the checkpoint between Bethlehem and Jerusalem. In order to leave or enter Bethlehem Palestinians have to cross through checkpoint 300. Setting aside the fact that lines to pass through the checkpoints commonly stretch hundreds of meters and that there are regular multi hour delays and the fact that Palestinians are frequently not allowed to pass through for petty and arbitrary reasons, any Palestinian that wishes to pass through checkpoint 300 into Israel must obtain a permit. What this means is that Palestinians must apply for a permit through the Israeli government. As you might imagine actually obtaining a permit is near to impossible.

We were there today. At 5am we were there. At checkpoint 300. As the sun rose over the horizon the line that was already hundreds of meters long continued to grow. Today was a good day. The checkpoint opened on time. Palestinians young and old were still herded like animals, some were still turned away to return to their families having made nothing for the day, and everyone was forced to wait hours to take a 15 minute trip to work. But today was a good day.

…

Nonviolent Fridays

2007-06-02T13:15:00.000-07:00

Here the young Palestinian activists are pushing a boulder into land currently being confistacted in order to be used for a sewage dump in the area called Ertas. (This is for Josh). If this sewage dump is completed, it is likely that its capacity will overflow into the entire Ertas valley, destroying the livelyhood of thousands of Palestinians in the most fertile valley around Bethlehem.

Are you listening to me?

2007-06-01T13:44:00.000-07:00

Are you listening to me?
I always do.
I’m feeling weird.
Tell me more.
Like falling in love. Like butterflies and sadness.
Well do you like it?
I can’t.
Why?
Because I don’t know what it is.
I wish I could help you.

Did you see those walls?
Yes, they were beautiful.
Beautiful?
Didn’t you see the colors and the green fields and trees?
I wish I could.
Look harder.
All I see is walls and pill box sniper towers.
Can’t you imagine if it were…
True? That those weren’t just paintings? If only
You could imagine hard enough to make your dreams real

Maybe your stomach is upset.
I don’t think so.
Maybe the oppression you have seen makes you a little sick?
Maybe.
I appreciate you being here. Do you know that?
It’s not enough.
It’s all you have. All that can be.
I could learn to live with you. Share your pain and love you.
You know that can’t be.
But my stomach tells me I want it to be true.

Palestine.
Yes?
Where is there hope?
There is hope in the struggle.
Yes, but it feels more like sadness.
To you.
What does it feel like to you?
Like a wonderful dream that can’t be. Like beautiful pictures on the wall of my cage.
Well at least there’s that. At least the hope of frustration. There is beauty in that.
At least. But then…

Sometimes I wonder.
Wonder what?
Wonder what it would be like.
It?
Freedom.
You have it.
But for you.
Yes, I wonder about that too.
Do you ever cry?
Never.

How’s your stomach?
It hurts. Well it feels empty and dizzy.
I know what you mean.

Wahlad

2007-05-31T13:40:00.000-07:00

House of Nakba

2007-05-31T13:26:00.000-07:00

Her eyes were tired, like her soul was tired. Her look was drained. Her house was no longer. She has been through horrific hardship. The house that once stood there, on the hill, had been demolished… for the second time.

The door still stood upright amid the broken cement walls. The door had a window, perhaps a window of hope.

Taking someone’s land is like taking someone’s life. Destroying someone’s house is like destroying their soul.

The family stands on the rubble. Mother, father, and son. Their struggle is long and difficult. An eternal struggle it seems.

The father looks at me and says, “Everywhere this is the same, the same story, the same same.

Go to Jenin, same same. Go to Lebanon, same same. Go to Gaza, same same. Same same. It’s not so different.”

But there is hope, right? Perhaps to rebuild the house for the third time? But, will the bulldozers come a third time? Will the house stand, remain?

The rebar, twisted and bent, lay scattered around the broken house. But the window in the door stood out, perhaps as hope for the future. A window of hope? A door to a better future? It stood there, alone.

“We want to live in peace with our neighbors. We don’t hate the Israelis, the Israelis are good people. But look at what the powers are doing.

What can we do?”

Aida

2007-05-29T10:23:00.000-07:00

Young lad

2007-05-28T12:19:00.000-07:00

IDF Incursion to Dheisheh Camp

2007-05-28T12:11:00.000-07:00

Nonviolent Action

2007-05-28T12:02:00.000-07:00

http://youtube.com/watch?v=YnR6YoodHEU&mode=related&search=

Talate

2007-05-28T11:55:00.000-07:00

The coffee’s good here. Really good. You learn to appreciate small things in prison. Haleema means wise in English. I appreciate that. I think it’s beautiful. By the time the “security barrier” is finished it will snake over 450 miles, annexing 25% of the West Bank—farms, houses, businesses. If I told you that it’s illegal in the West Bank for a Palestinian to dig a well, what would you say? Or what if I told you that the water that runs through pipes in Palestinian cities in the West Bank can be turned off by remote control somewhere in Israel? What then?

Smoke and the smell of unwashed bodies filled the room. “Don’t go outside!” Ibrahim shouted. I looked out the window. Each time I looked light from a spotlight reflected off the smooth glass of my lens reminding me not to look too closely. I stepped back from the window and reflected on a completely new feeling. Occupation. As I felt fear unlike any I have felt before the snarl of Hebrew over loudspeakers drowned out the rumbling sound of piston engines in the otherwise silent night in Bethlehem. And I could not help but wonder if infrared night vision could differentiate between an American and a Palestinian.

There’s an enormous cockroach in my room. Jeremy the cockroach. He’s there because I don’t kill bugs. Not because it makes me sad—I’m not that sympathetic; bugs just scare the shit out of me. No, I would rather pretend he isn’t there, that somehow he’ll dissolve into nothingness…but somewhere in the back of my mind I know he’s going to scuttle out when I least expect it. The thought crawls around in my brain, poking in my subconscious near the other thoughts I ignore with the vague hope that they will just go away. I lay in my bunk at night wondering what it must be like for people here—knowing they are just Jeremy, crawling hopelessly around in the brains of the only people who can save them from their prison. The difference is that Jeremy can pop out and scare me anytime he feels like it. Most of the people here can’t leave. They probably never will.

Still, the children laugh. Life goes on. Their ability to adapt to occupation will never cease to amaze me. They paint on the walls of their refugee camps, the place where they are forced to live because they’ve lost everything. Yet these murals don’t depict hatred and revenge. They are their dreams of life outside of prison. When I encounter a sort of fear I have never felt before, the men tell me that this invasion wasn’t so bad. I nearly cried I was so afraid. A boy said that if he did not have to hide from the soldiers with his family, he would have thrown stones at them with the other boys. They are beautiful and broken with strength I could never have imagined…while I pretend Jeremy doesn’t exist.

I stand there on the concrete, the sun in my face, my eyes squinting, and my skin burning. A bead of sweat rolls down my cheek. I stare at the wall—it’s big and overwhelming. I just stand there staring. The wall is made of concrete, but it’s not as thick as I had expected. Nonetheless, this “security barrier” cuts off the people’s livelihood, their olive trees, their fields, their houses. “Hate builds walls, hope builds bridges.” Who is hate, and why is he building walls? Who is hope, and where are all the bridges?

The explosions go off in the camp. The soldiers are back again, but this time they do not bother to use the roads in the camp. They’re going through the buildings, literally. They’re using explosives to tear through the camp, making huge holes in the walls of homes, causing horrific noise, great pain, and even death. As the little girl’s mother stood by the door waiting for the soldiers to knock, the wall and door blew up in her face and sliced her. The soldiers didn’t let the girl’s father call the ambulance until several hours later. The little girl’s mother died. What do you say to that?

It was a short night

2007-05-27T11:13:00.000-07:00

The one whose face you cannot see,
Who comes in a pack of identicals,
Would you invite him in to your home?
Would you love him, are you radical?

The pack storms down the alley,
With their roaring engines,
And their spotlights wandering.

You cannot see their faces,
But are they equally scared?
Is that why they hide their faces?
Is that why they roam in packs?
Is that why they carry black snakes?
Is that why they dress in green?

If for you they were coming,
What would you do?
Would you be frightened?
Would you be scared?
Would you fight them?
Would you hate them?
Could you love them?

Helpless you sit in a room with others,
Peering out the window,
Trying to find out what the pack is doing out there.

Boom! Boom!

Huge explosion down the street,
The night sky lights up,
An anguishing second of gasping and fear.
Are you next?

The spotlight shines in your eyes.
Move away from the window,
The black snakes are looking at you.
Hissing… they watch ready to bite.

A flame shrieks across the street,
Extinguishing on the pavement.
Screaming and yelling.
But you sit there helpless.
Are you hopeless?

The pack rushes into the blue light doors.
After some noise and confusion,
They emerge from the blue light doors,
With a man dressed in white,
Hand-cuffed, and blindfolded.

The pack devours three others,
Then slyly they slither off
With their black snakes in hand,
With their engines roaring.

“This happens all the time,” says Ali.
“It was a short night.”
“This night was short.”

Nonviolent Action

2007-05-26T11:43:00.000-07:00

The Holy City

2007-05-26T09:21:00.000-07:00

All photos are copyrighted.

The Holy City

2007-05-26T09:18:00.000-07:00

I look out the window here, on the fourth floor, and I see the hot sun beating down on Bethlehem. I see the mosque; it is right in front of me. I hear the call to prayer. There are more taxis rumbling by on the street than there are pedestrian cars. Everyone needs work. 60% of Palestinians in Bethlehem are unemployed. Honking horns provide the soundtrack as I look out over a city. It is as if the whole city cries to be heard. They honk to be noticed. As if to say: “I am here” “I am human” “I demand recognition and rights” As the call to prayer rises over the sounds of the street, giving the city scene a mystery and certain significance, I can’t help but think that Bethlehem is holy. Holy, blessed. “Blessed are those who are persecuted because of me”

As the call to prayer fades I can’t help but wonder whether God has abandoned his sons and daughters in Bethlehem.

“As a people of faith we must also be a people of hope”

I sit here with Ibrahim, sipping my tea. He smokes his cigarette; I chew my mint tea leaf.

“We think justice can come to this land one of these days, and that is our hope”

The children are playing outside, swinging on the swings, sliding down the slides, running around making a joyful noise.

“People are squeezed onto small reservations, per se”

Cantons. If Palestinians had black skin the world would be up in arms about their plight. But they’re not black. They're Arab.

But the children find an outlet. They can find joy within the walls of separation, hate, and anger. At least for now.

“Just as much as we believe in life after death, we believe in life before death”

Life in Bethlehem is beautiful and precious for its fragility. The holes that remain in many buildings from the 2nd Intifada are scars that remind us just how fragile life can be when superpower armies attack children who throw stones to fend off tanks.

“We choose hope, but hope has not chosen us.”
Bethlehem is rocky. The whole city…the streets, the buildings, the walls seems to be built into or out of the white rock that is everywhere in the city. Hewn from stone. The city is broken but strong and resilient like its people. They choose hope.

“Hope which is not risking is not hope; just like hope without promise is not hope at all”

As I walk down the street tenacious little shrubs poke out from the rocks. Hope is risky. Even deadly. Hope demands one confront the evil. Hope inspires action over apathy. Hope demands that destructive forces be met with creativity and nonviolence. Many people I have met in the last few days—Palestinians, Israelis, Internationals—remind me of those obstinate little shrubs springing up from the rocks. They hope enough to risk being alive and beautiful and creative in the midst of a lot of death and darkness. Like water springing from a crack in a rock the Palestinian nonviolent struggle draws its life from some hidden source and springs out in the most unlikely places.

Yallah

2007-05-21T03:21:00.001-07:00

Megan, Adam, and Peder will be traveling in the Middle East this summer. On this blog we hope to post our stories and reflections of our trip. Stay tuned to learn more.