The "boring" details

I left Balata Camp this morning to join the Boston group for a final meeting and goodbye, since most of them are leaving tomorrow. I was thinking in one of the taxis on the way to Al Quds how I've become used to so much incredible stuff that it's hard to write about things that have become normalized in my own head. How do I describe what it's like here when that happens? I think I'll give you the details of my most uneventful morning ever.

I woke up early after barely sleeping last night. I said goodbye to Fayrouz and inshallah, we will see each other again someday. I took a taxi to Huwwara checkpoint, where I watched as a soldier dumped out and examined the contents of a young girl's purse, reminding myself that every time she leaves to go to school or wherever she is headed, she knows that everything she puts in there will be examined. Eventually the soldier waved for me to come forward, past a group of two women. I said no, because the two women had been waiting longer than me. He scowled at me as they walked through the metal detectors.

I waited for another taxi to fill up to head to Qalandia checkpoint, south of Ramallah. A boy selling lemon slushees for 1 shekel came by and I got one, but he didn't have change for my 5 shekel coin. I was trying to say keep it all, but the taxi driver insisted on buying it for me. He invited me to sit in the front, like some drivers do when they think they might have difficulties at flying checkpoints. We hit 2 of them, but no problems when we show our IDs (he casually mentioned the value of my American passport). We talked and motioned through broken English and Arabic about why I am here, and he welcomed me to Palestine. On the way we pass 2 more flying checkpoints that are being set up and are not stopping cars yet. At Qalandia I got out and into another vehicle to Al Quds.

















Photo: coming and going from the South entrance to Qalandia checkpoint.

Later in the day when I meet up with the group I am told by the two who came from Hares and Tulkarm that there was closure on many roads to Al Quds. For one of them it took over 8 hours just to get from Tulkarm to Qalandia, less than 60 miles. I'm glad that I left early in the morning and managed to miss the chaos of having to search for routes without road blocks in them, or hitting numerous flying checkpoints. But my friends don't complain, this is just how it is here.

So I'm thinking about all the things I've gotten used to in just 3 weeks, and wonder how to explain the atrocities of everyday when I almost don't notice them as sharply anymore. I'm afraid of forgetting details that I want to share with folks back home. Maybe if I recount even the seemingly uneventful ones, you will notice how the occupation affects everyday life. Like watching young girls humiliated as their purse contents are examined, the hospitality and street smarts of Palestinian drivers, the unexpected (but never surprising) closure and travel delays, the gunshots in Balata Camp, the food I am served after I'm already full, all the children who want to know my name and have their photo taken...

Settler violence

I have no idea what if anything has been reported about this in the US media or not, so here it is. Two days ago a 19-year old Israeli settler boarded a bus in Shfaram, a Palestinan village inside Israel, and opened fire, killing 4 Palestinians and wounding 12 before being killed himself.

Thoughts in the West Bank are that he will just be labeled as crazy and an exception, and no justice will come of the incident. This is usually what happens as a result of settler or soldier violence, as opposed to Palestinian violence which always results in some kind of collective punishment. If a Palestinian shot Jewish Israelis on a bus, their family's home would be demolished, their village put under curfew, their friends and family members arrested, etc. But nobody is imposing a curfew on Tapuach, the settlement that he lived in. Nobody is taking guns away from settlers. Nobody is calling into question why members of Kach, a Jewish terrorist group that has been labeled so by the US and Israel and is outlawed here, are enlisted in the army as soldiers, like he was.

There is a very tiny glimmer of hope here that this incident will create international pressure on Israel to deal with settler violence, and disarm them, but there is no evidence of that happening right now. Sharon has denounced the violence as terrorism, but nobody is taking responsibility for arming a member of a terrorist group, who went AWOL because he didn't believe in removing settlers from the Gaza Strip.

Meanwhile the news is clouded by the disengagement plan. There was a cartoon in the New York Times a while back that showed a crane lift a block labeled "settlements" out of the Gaza Strip, swing around, and place it in the West Bank. I think this is the clearest depiction of what is basically about to happen. I fear, along with many Palestinians, that while removing settlements is necessary, the disengagement plan will end up too much like the Oslo agreements - a process that promised peace but brought none at all. While settlers either agreeably or violently resist leaving the Gaza Strip, new settlement homes are being built illegally in the West Bank, awaiting residents. It is clear that this disengagement process will result in the Israeli government strengthening it's hold on the West Bank.

Demonstrating in Bil'in

Yesterday I went to a demonstration against the wall in Bil'in, a village in the Ramallah district, towards the west. I think someone estimated about 200 people were there, but I could be wrong. I'm also not sure what the ratio of Palestinians to internationals to Israelis was, but it was well-mixed. 4 other Boston folks went too, and it was good to meet up with them for a day, since we've been separated for 2 weeks with the exception of one meeting. The first thing we saw when we got to the village was a large stuffed snake the villagers had made, and some young boys riding on it while waiting for the demonstration to begin. The snake represented Israel, and the bird with an olive branch in it's mouth represented Palestine. During the march towards the wall the snake was carried above our heads on a wooden platform, with signs referring to Israel and the wall consuming and eating Palestine.

At some point the army placed barbed wire on the ground and lined up with shields. The snake was placed on the ground in front of them, and community leaders sat down on the structure. I'm not sure how long it lasted like this, but it was a while. Beautiful Palestinian chants were shouted the whole time. It seemed like the army at first was very preoccupied with documentation, as every 3rd soldier was holding a video or still camera, capturing everyone's faces. This is one method they have of identifying community leaders, who are later captured and dissappeared into the administrative detention system (basically, prison without charges).



Eventually tear gas and sound bombs were fired into the crowd, when the demo was down to about 100 folks, but was still going strong. I'm not sure what provoked it, if anything. I've heard that most every Bil'in demonstration ends this way. When the canisters were fired the people who ran came towards me. The safest thing to do in this situation is to stay put or walk away, but sound bomb canisters were landing at my feet and exploding, so I took off too. I ran for a bit then walked back. Sound bombs are more annoying than dangerous, but if you get hit by an exploding canister you could get hurt. The soldiers had pushed the group back but we were able to push them back again, to the original line, although at that point most Palstinians had left for their own safety, and internationals and Israelis held the front.

Soldiers starting beating people at one point, and I took some photos but they're not very good. S, one of the Boston folks, was kicked in the head by a soldier while he was on the ground. It seems like they targeted him in particular and thought he was Palestinian because the soldier who was kicking him was yelling "Falastini! Falastini!" while he was doing it, and stopped when S started yelling in English (equally disturbing!). He's doing ok, but had a headache all nite.

I got sick from the gas, I think. Or maybe it was a combination of that plus not enough food or water in my stomach and the hot direct sunlight. About 30 minutes before the demo ended I got really dizzy and left to sit in the shade, because I was afraid of passing out on the ground in front of everyone. I had to put my head between my knees for a while, but eventually it passed. After the demo I traveled back to Nablus and Balata, where I slept all nite. Now tonite is my last nite with the family that has graciously hosted me in their home for two weeks. I hope I can repay their hospitality in some meaningful way, because they've been really wonderful and learning from them has been very significant to my time here.

Self-determination for health services

My day started at 8am, jumping into an ambulance in front of the Medical Relief Society, which is part of the Union of Palestinian Medical Relief Committees (UPMRC) in Nablus. From there I traveled with a team of 5 doctors and medics to Asira al Qibliya, to hold a makeshift clinic for residents of this village. Every month the team visits about 20-26 villages outside of Nablus to provide medical services to people who otherwise might never be able to access a doctor. This is a rural area and many are poor, but the occupation remains the largest factor for why mobile clinics are crucial. Most could not make it through army checkpoints to reach private services in the city. Even the ambulances are not exempt from difficulties, and many have been denied passage at checkpoints. At Huwwara checkpoint on the way out, we waited in a line of cars, then soldiers checked our IDs and searched the ambulance before letting us pass.

Once arriving in Asira al Qibliya we enter an empty building with 3 rooms, find a spot for the 2 large containers of mostly-donated medications, and start setting up chairs. After the first cup of tea, the waiting room is full and the team gets to work. Most are elders and women with children. For the majority of them, the 5 minutes they get with a doctor from the mobile clinic is their only access to health care at all. I sat in a corner of one examination room, where a doctor translated some stories for me. Some of the biggest problems in these rural areas are hypertension and diabetes for adults, and asthma, dehydration and swollen tonsils for children. Dental problems are abundant. It was a busy day for the team and they saw 120 patients by 1pm. Probably the most telling moment for me was when a confused man walked into the room, sat down and handed the doctor his ID card. The doctor looked at me and said, "See, he shows ME his ID card! He has a hard life." There is no need to prove his identity here, but having been harassed and questioned by soldiers nearly everywhere he goes, this man now expects the same everywhere.

Over the next two days I learned more about what it's like to provide emergency care in Palestine. An ambulance driver retells a story about transporting a woman in labor to a hospital in Nablus. She is a small woman and her stomach didn't show very much. Male soldiers at the checkpoint demanded that she undress so they could "inspect" her and prove whether she was really pregnant or not. The driver refused and demanded that they go get a woman soldier. They ended up waiting in the parked ambulance for over two hours before finally being cleared to go. The baby was born on a stretcher, just before reaching the hospital. Fortunately he and his mother were ok. Unfortunately this story is nothing compared to others I've heard, about Palestinians dying at checkpoints, unable to get to the ambulances waiting for them on the other side of the road. The UPMRC reports statistics of these occupation-related deaths on their website.

After listening to this story we jumped back into the ambulance again, this time to transport a dehydrated little boy from the clinic we were visiting in Sebastia to the hospital. As we handed over our IDs twice and shifted around so soldiers could inspect all containers and under the bench we sat on, I got my own taste of how difficult it is for people to access critical health care which is widely understood in the rest of the world as a basic right. A few women in the ambulance pointed to my passport, signaling that it was valuable in some way to completing the mission. For the rest of the ride they looked at me with sad and tired faces that said, "See, now you know what it's like here". These moments remind me of the huge responsibility I feel, and which will only become more intense, as I leave here and return to the US.

Yesterday my passport proved not as useful. Two internationals from Spain were also riding in the ambulance, as the mobile clinic headed to Madama for the day. The driver left the road and drove over rocks and hills to cut to the front of the long line at the checkpoint. We were asked to leave the ambulance while soldiers gave the most thorough search I've seen, even opening the containers of medicine. The doctors and the 3 of us internationals were instructed to put our bags on a conveyer belt inside a truck, to check for weapons. I know this is all to make life harder and not really a security measure, because I didn't do it and they didn't bother to ask twice. I watched as the soldiers searched the ambulance and questioned the driver, and my bag never left my shoulder.

In Madama after the clinic ended I was able to sit and talk with Asad, one of the medics. He wants to get his Bachelor's Degree but is only paid 200 shekels a month for working with the mobile clinic, and after food and transportation from his village to Nablus, there is nothing left for classes. He explained the lack of funding also affects the care that Palestinians receive. Currently, he said, the Ministry of Health is not operating. This is most likely why the clinics in Asira al Qibliya and Madama were so packed full of patients lately, in this time that people have been describing as "quiet". During more serious closure the clinics have seen up to 1000 patients in a day, but today this summer it is only the presence of extreme violence that is comparatively "quiet". In many different ways the occupation is still working against the health of Palestinians - from the damaged economy, to closure and travel restrictions, to separating people from their land and water sources. The UPMRC, particularly it's mobile clinics all over the West Bank and Gaza, is doing its best to make up for this, and is therefore bearing the biggest responsibility for ensuring the health of the people.

Mobile and satellite clinics are not the only activities of this organization. Last week I was impressed by their sophisticated and grassroots analysis of health issues by visiting the UPMRC's Nablus Youth Center and a summer camp. During the beginning of the recent uprising (intifada) the UPMRC had hundreds of young volunteers. The center began as a place for them to get training in first aid and health education, and participate in some civic activities as well. Over time the center evolved into a hub of civic education that is open to all youth in the area, and teaches classes in computers, photography and media, singing, dancing, English, democracy, and gender equality. The various summer camps are for very young children, and are more fun than health-related. Currently the center has about 110-120 participants, between the ages of 14-22.

Dr. Sameh explained their mission to me, and how the civic education for youth is related to medical services. They believe that these activities with youth will create a more health and democratic-educated generation of leaders. Youth in the community are enabled to provide first aid but are also schooled in community health issues in general, and this is important to the mission of the UPMRC. It also serves as an outlet for the hardships of daily life. Civic activities become a place for youth to deal with violence and loss so they are not carrying it around with them. And because many Palestinians cannot access doctors, families and individuals must be knowledgeable about self-care and able to provide solutions within their homes and communities when the occupation forces keep them isolated. In this way, the youth center works with other community education activities towards a larger and more powerful goal of self-determination.

It's not just for providing medical and emergency services, but healthy people who are enabled to care for themselves, their families and communities, is what the UPMRC is all about. What is especially powerful about their work is that they include all factors in their analysis of health problems, meaning land theft, closure, the wall, violence, and other aspects of Israel's occupation of Palestine are never absent from any diagnosis. A baby doesn't simply die from dehydration. A baby dies because the village is isolated by settlements or the wall, the economy has been destroyed, previous water sources are now unreachable, her parents have little access to health education, and soldiers did not allow the family through the checkpoint to reach a doctor's office. By working towards self-determination and the health of the people of Palestine, the UPMRC is fighting the occupation every single day.

Emergency care and soldiers

One of my biggest pet peeves is that drivers in Boston never stop or pull over for emergency vehicles. Today ignorant drivers in Boston don't seem so bad. I rode in an ambulance that was bringing a dehydrated little boy from the health center we were visiting in Sebastia to the hospital in Nablus. We had to stop at 2 checkpoints in this 20-minute drive, and each time show our ID cards and lift the top of the bench his mother and I were sitting on so soldiers could look inside. Afterwards an Israeli truck filled with building materials cut us off and sat in the street in front of us for a while. I wanted to yell at someone - the truck driver, maybe - but I just sat there looking around. I know that my assumption that vehicles will move for ambulances is deeply rooted in where I am from. Everyone else in the ambulance is completely used to this kind of problem, but still looked sad and frustrated. At this point I can only speak a little bit of arabic, and so I was frustrated too, that we couldn't talk about it. Every once in a while I have this overwhelming feeling that I am receiving privileged information and am bound to doing something about it when I return home. This was one of them, and it was probably noticeable on my face. I felt like the woman across the bench from me and I could understand each other without talking. She was nodding at me.

The driver told me a few stories today while we drank tea in the clinic. One that sticks out is about when he was transporting a woman in labor to the hospital. She is a really small woman and her stomach didn't stick very far out. Soldiers at the checkpoint insisted that she wasn't pregnant and that they were lying. Male soldiers demanded her to undress so they could inspect her and find out. The driver refused and asked for a female soldier. They waited in the ambulance for two hours. He told them that if the baby died it would be their fault, but they didn't seem to care. Finally they were cleared and the baby was born just before reaching the hospital. Fortunately he and his mother were ok.

Visit the UPMRC website for a list of statistics about Palestinians dying at checkpoints after being denied access to the road by the Israeli army. This is how a friend of mine's grandmother died a few years ago, back when I was first learning about the occupation.

"What are YOU doing to fight the occupation?"

I spent my day today riding with a mobile clinic of doctors to a rural village, Asira al Qibliya. More details to come in a future post.

I've been thinking a lot about the ways people greet me here. Today the taxi driver said "Nobody here loves America, because the government makes war in Iraq". In the same minute he warmly welcomed me to Palestine. Everywhere I turn there is criticism of the US government and immediately some kind of message about how Americans are welcome here and not bad people, just our government is. It makes me feel so good and so guilty at the same time. To hear Palestinians consistently talk of Americans and Israelis as people who are not bad but have the potential to help, makes the most hospitable people in the world also seem like the some of the most reasonable. But I feel ashamed as well, to be part of a group of people who have let our government get out of control. And to be from a country were many immediately make racist judgements against entire groups of people just for 1 person's wrongdoing or violence. Nobody here hates me because of George W. Bush's faults. Unfortunately at home I am constantly confronted by folks who hate people here because of the actions of a few who also do not represent the majority.

B, one of the group members from Boston, and I had lunch yesterday and talked about her placement with a girls camp in the Salfit region. She's been interviewing and chatting with the youth over the last week. She told me about two who really stuck with her, and now they're sticking with me. She had asked one teenager if she thought the occupation would ever end. She replied "No. Well, maybe. If Americans would help. But they don't". Another young girl explained that she used to go to demonstrations but after her brother was sentenced to 6 years in prison for throwing a rock, her mother doesn't allow her to anymore. She said "I still fight the occupation in other ways. I cut up onions so the others don't choke on tear gas*." Then she said to B, "What are YOU doing to fight the occupation?". Nevermind the initial surprise at the sophisticated political orientation of young girls - I got used to that immediately. It's a fact of life here. But I think it says a lot about living under military occupation who's rules change all the time when you hear young girls talk like this. I feel so weighted by responsibility here.

My host brothers, Omar and Ahmed (ages 12 and 14), just walked in the door from visiting their slightly older brother in prison. It took all day and special passes for them to be allowed to go. They just handed me a bracelet he made in prison, the colors of the Palestinian flag. Omar and I bonded last nite over a game of throwing foam footballs to each other across the house. I had brought them as gifts. Their mother and sister left to visit family for a while, so I'm the oldest one in the house now. He has been asking me to either stay and live here, or take him back to Boston. I promised that when I leave this weekend it won't be the last time we see each other. Considering he's a 12 year old Palestinian boy, this might be a difficult promise to keep. Hopefully the occupation forces will leave him alone and inshallah**, I will be able to see him again when I return.

* Breathing onion fumes neutralizes tear gas.
** Inshallah means god willing. I've learned that nobody makes promises or plans here without saying it.