Writing from Palestine

Final days

2006-11-30T03:04:00.000+02:00

I've arrived home by now. I'm not sure what to say to sum up this trip as a whole - maybe the words will come later when my head has cleared. I've had a very powerful, altering and rich experience and hope that I remember every detail always.

I've learned that an international presence in Palestine is productive and important, but I've also been frustrated by the situation because Palestinians should be able to live their lives without the intervention of international or Israeli volunteers in everyday violence. And while I saw many positive things going on (ex. the village of 'Asira, meeting the son of my host family who was in prison during my trip last year, the work of photo and video projects for youth in Balata Refugee Camp, the fact that this is the first olive harvest in 6 years that someone hasn't been killed by violence), I noticed that the overall situation is much worse and desperate than before.

On my 2nd to last day picking olives I was in Qaryut again with the same family I had spent a week with (Salimon and Aziz who I wrote about in a previous post). In the morning the border police and army once again pulled their jeeps and trucks up to the settlement entry road and stood by, supposedly "protecting" us from confrontations with settlers. Within an hour 2 settler men showed up and one came down into the grove and yelled at us, "Go away, you're stealing! This is God's land! Go away!" The Palestinians continued to pick olives while the international and Israeli volunteers walked between them and him and said "No, you go away, you're tresspassing." His friend who had joined the soldiers and police up the hill called for him to come back, and he left. I watched them all talk and joke for a bit, before I returned to picking. Within 20 minutes the army decided that we were no longer allowed to pick olives so close to the settlement (we had picked closer in the days before), and forced us to leave. We negotiated for a bit and in that time were able to get a few more trees done, but eventually had to move further down the hill, out of their view. It's clear from our experience over the previous week that had the settlers not shown up to cause a problem, we wouldn't have had to leave. Here the army works for the illegal settlers, and their commitment to May's High Court ruling guarranteeing Palestinians the right to access their land and be free from violence, is merely minimal if at all enforced.

That evening, my first in Balata Camp, at the home of the family that hosted me last year, I layed awake listening to the dragging and crashing of an armored bulldozer driving back and forth directly in front of the house, wrecking the stairs and landings of the neighbors into the morning. The army has been in the camp every night lately, causing destruction and sometimes occupying homes and making arrests. Fayrouz, my friend and host sister, looked around nervously with her hands covering her ears, occasionally putting the blanket over her head. She is still traumatized from the army bulldozing her home in 2002 while she and her family were still inside. The sounds of bulldozers scare her and nobody in her family can sleep.

In the morning as I walked down the main street towards the market I counted a few new piles of rubble. I watched an elder man talk to himself and stare at his demolished stairs and I wish I had something consoling to say. But there isn't much to say to ease the anguish of knowing that you are living by someone else's rules and that at any time that someone could choose to exert their power even more, and end your home or life as you know it. Later that evening I visited the family of my friend Ruby, who's brother had been arrested that night without charges. While numerous soldiers pushed into her home and forced even the young children to line up and put their hands behind their heads, they searched the house and stole some gold jewelry that was being kept for a young girl.

I spent my last night by going to a DAM show in Ramallah, to celebrate their new CD. DAM is a Palestinian hip-hop group and you can learn more about them at their website. The crowd was more than halfway filled with teenagers and young children. I remembered what Ahmed from the Yaffa Cultural Center in Balata Camp told me days before, about how young people are hurting the most. He said they are becoming more violent, not listening to their parents, and they have nothing to do with themselves. I imagine that it must be a really positive and powerful thing to be able to see these guys perform their music with full Palestine pride, and to have an outlet for the troubles of everyday. I hope they all grow up to find ways to express theirselves and share their voices and experiences, through music, art, or anything.

I look forward to returning next year for the olive harvest, but I am reminded by these stories and my experience that what I'm really looking forward to is an olive harvest where internationals are not needed at all.

Keeling the spirit alive: villagers of 'Asira al Shamaliya take matters into their own hands

2006-11-18T14:19:00.000+02:00

Olives, cleaned and ready for pressing in the next machine.

Kanaan Al-Jamal works in an olive factory in his village of ‘Asira al Shamaliya, and is part of a 10-person council that was recently formed to empower the local population by dealing internally with soldiers and other occupation-related problems. He is a hard-working and inspiring man who clearly loves his family, his village, and the land that they live on. He is also a strong organizer who’s passion for encouraging others to not just survive but to thrive, serves as a crucial and unique part of resistance to the occupation of Palestine.

On a rainy day with no farmers harvesting, I met Kanaan outside of the Al-Aqsa olive oil factory in ‘Asira, a large village of 12,000 that features some of the oldest trees in Palestine (some up to 2,500 years old!), for a tour and a glimpse into the workings of a village that decided they don’t need the help of internationals or Israelis to harvest. It was the most inspiring day I’ve spent in my 4 weeks here so far, and I won’t forget the determination and successes that I’ve been privileged to learn about. Many of the problems faced by residents of ‘Asira are related to the “security” of the military base on the mountain overlooking the village (the 2nd most significant one in the land), and restriction of movement due to hundreds of roadblocks.

We began by following the bagged olives from ‘Asira and nearby villages (those that can access the factory without passing through checkpoints) through the sorting, cleaning and pressing. The owner watched proudly as 4 internationals completed our harvesting experience by touring the factory and asking about the modern machinery, the process, and even tasting the freshly pressed oil. I was surprised to learn that the factory does not charge farmers money to press their olives, but instead keeps a bit of the oil to sell in exchange. I also learned that the factory runs on the fuel of burning mashed-up olive pits, providing economic and ecological benefits. Kanaan explained that it is impossible to count how many pounds are processed each day because the factory runs non-stop, but that when farmers see the results of their olives they are overjoyed.

The owner of the factory examines the finished product.

Kanaan described the problems that have affected the harvest for years in the village. Soldiers often chase families off their fields, and sometimes shoot tear gas into them and detain farmers. There have been hundreds of reports of this, resulting in many abandoned agricultural areas due to fear of violence from soldiers who claim they are protecting the military base. He painted a beautiful picture in our minds of what it is like to connect with your land and to spent time there with your family, teaching your children about their history and to love the trees because they sustain you and your way of life. He explained that when soldiers are violent they not only destroy the olives, but they smash and destroy everything – the farmers’ happiness about their hard work, their memories of great times spent in the fields, and the relationships they formed with their children that day – everything is destroyed.

He told us the story of a family that was stopped by soldiers at 5:30pm on their way home from the groves. They were happy, he said, as most are after a successful and safe day of work, thinking about the things they would be able to purchase with the money from the olives. The soldiers demanded to see what was in the bags on the back of the donkeys, and at first the women laughed because it was ridiculous to them to think there was anything but olives in them. Eventually a soldier took out a knife and slashed and dumped bag after bag of olives onto the ground, stepping on and smashing them. The women’s laughter turned to screams and crying, because there was nothing they could do. Kanaan said “I don’t know what kind of security measures these are when they smash olives.” The people of ‘Asira are strong and don’t give up, and in this story, like many others, the family returned back to the same land the next day to harvest again.

These frequent problems were the reason the village decided to form a new council, in which Hebrew-speakers came together to take matters into their own hands and confront soldiers who harass farmers. The council is currently made up of men, but they work closely with the 3 different women’s councils in the village. For one of their first tasks they spent 5 long days removing over 100 roadblocks in ‘Asira, so locals could move freely and once again drive tractors to their land. Kanaan described it as an empowering experience, in which many came out to support and watch, even those who were not doing the physical work.

But the acts of removing roadblocks and responding to problems with soldiers don’t convince farmers alone to return to their fields. The council and its amazing organizers like Kanaan, have worked hard to encourage villagers to live their lives as usual despite the years of setbacks and violence. They have made the decision that the people of ‘Asira will not coordinate with the army for permission to harvest their land, because doing so legitimizes the occupation. One tactic of the village that is endorsed by the council is to literally ignore the occupation forces. Kanaan explained that when he speaks to farmers he tells them that if soldiers say to leave, don’t leave. If they shoot tear gas or bullets, don’t leave. And the most important thing is to continue going to the land even when not harvesting, so the army is used to seeing people there who will continue to come back. They are also encouraged to bring food, make fires, and sing songs from “the old days”, to feel more connected to the land and not forget the importance of it.

And it has been successful. This year people were able to harvest land they hadn’t touched or visited in over 5 years, including some directly next to the military base. Kanaan and other committee members have successfully confronted soldiers, sometimes having conversations like “Do you need permission to go from one part of Tel Aviv to another? No, you’re free to go. This is our land, we’re in ‘Asira. So we don’t need permission to go to our land.” More often than not soldiers back off and/or the families continue to return anyway.

Returning to the land is important not just economically, but socially and politically. Kanaan said that it is a “fantastic thing to see people return back to normal life despite the occupation.” He described what a great feeling it is to be in the fields and hear elder women teach traditional songs to the children, and how important it is for the children to be in the company of the family and the land. He also explained that they learn and grow politically because when in the fields, the children are prone to asking questions about who planted the trees, how to take care of them, and why they can’t get to them all the time. His own children are concerned about being able to use their see-saw on the family’s land, and even at young ages make the connections between going through checkpoints and talking with soldiers to being able to play on this toy they love. Keeping this picture alive of families enjoying and taking care of their fields is crucial to Kanaan because he believes it "goes against army rules", explaining that the army is clearly out to destroy life, therefore enjoying it is resistance.

'Asira is currently planning an agricultural exhibition that will encourage locals and guests of other villages to utilize all of their land and not abandon it. It will feature camels, traditional songs and dance, food, olive picking and oil making, and more. The council is concerned that the sanctions on the Palestinian government that have left over a third of Palestinians without salaries, have resulted in too many people staying at home and not doing anything productive. They hope that the festival will not only encourage people to work their land often (like the roadblock removal encouraged many to access it again), but will also remind everyone how important this work has been throughout history.

Kanaan is a man who never forgets. He dreams of his village and people ignoring the occupation and getting on with their lives. He will organize until every farmer uses every inch of their fields, so there will be less reliance on Israeli food and products and a stronger, more sustainable 'Asira. I admire his commitment to "the old days", and as I watch his young son Majdi excitedly filter olives through a small press, I know that he will grow up fully understanding the history of his family and his role in it. This work of Kanaan, the council, and the villagers is an inspiring example to all Palestinians struggling under occupation. While there are internationals and Israelis available to help harvest or be present when needed, solving local problems with local people is such an important and crucial step in resisting the occupation, and should be supported as often as possible.

Photos from the invasion (and aftermath) in Ein Beit El Ma

2006-11-15T18:06:00.000+02:00

The funeral of 26-year-old Baha' Salah Al-Khater.

An Invasion and Shaheed in El ‘Ein Refugee Camp

2006-11-14T21:47:00.000+02:00

Today my morning began under siege in El 'Ein Camp ('Ein Beit El Ma) in Nablus, and ended sadly at the funeral of a 26-year-old.

As 10 of us international volunteers left at 6:30am to pick olives in 2 villages, we got a call that El 'Ein had been under siege since 2am, there was a shaheed (martyr), and at least one home surrounded by soldiers. We changed our plans when the health committee workers said they could meet us at the edge of the camp, and maybe we could help by entering under their escort and assisting to get people out.

When we exited the taxis we encountered 2 jeeps of soldiers who yelled and ordered us to get out and leave, and that we might get shot. We stuck as a group and walked past them, then proceeded down into the camp where we walked right past about 6 or 7 jeeps and armored personnel carriers on the main street, some with soldiers sleeping in the front seats. We stood between them and more jeeps and a bulldozer that were down the hill blocking another entrance to the camp, as the mosque announced and sung for the shaheed, and then the army announced a curfew.

We ducked into the narrow alleys following Nasser, a health committee worker, who brought us to various homes where he heard there might be sick people who want to get out, or places where we could get refuge to assess the situation as we heard banging and gunshots from the occupied homes. We knocked on the door of one home to retrieve a young boy and escort him to an ambulance, but the family did not answer and the neighbors told us there were soldiers in the house. In all, over 20 homes had been occupied, with many soldiers locking family members in one small room while they smashed the windows and created holes in the walls to shoot out of.

I sat for a bit in a home with the mother of 2 shaheeds while her son, a fighter who had been up all night trying to find a way out of the camp, put down his gun to hand us tea and oranges. When he coughed she pulled out cough syrup and instructed him to take it. While he sipped it from the cap I thought about the ways back home that people who try to defend their homes and families are demonized into terrorists, and meanwhile I was sitting with a mother weeping and praying for her son's safety, while he was drinking her cough syrup like a good son and serving us tea just like any caring and humane person would do. I wished that everyone I know could be there to witness this simple act between a concerned mother and her son.

We then went to a nearby home where an elder woman lived who had been sick for a long time, who we heard might need to leave to get medical attention. When we met her inside she was more concerned about the 3 young boys who were upstairs with the soldiers, who had barricaded the door to upstairs when they occupied the upper level of the home. An international woman knocked on the door and had a conversation with the soldiers, saying we wanted to see that the boys were ok because their family was worried about them. In response we were yelled at with threats of "Get the fuck out of here or we will explode this door and you will die! You have 30 seconds to leave or we will blow up the door! Get the fuck out or you will die!" My friend who had confronted them told me that the soldier who was yelling looked scared, and was clearly shaking. Another told us "Leave, get out of here, the boys are ok", but of course we didn't trust them and we remained.

Afew minutes later the 6 soldiers left that home, and we went upstairs with the family to see the boys and the destruction. They had smashed a hole in the wall to shoot out of, and pissed all over the bathroom floor. This was just the beginning of the awful home destruction I saw today, and I'm sad to say it wasn't the worst.

When we attempted to leave the house, the group of 10 was split deciding where to go, because gunshots and sound bomb explosions were close, and rocks were falling from roofs around our heads. We continued to duck into homes as some brave women of the camp led us in and out of alleys to try to access the first floors of homes that were occupied upstairs. At one point gunshots were fired by soldiers next door to us and I could see the dust flying where the bullets were hitting the wall above our heads. Some of us ran back into the house, and a few others wanted to leave to join more medical workers, but were stalled for a while because of shooting right outside the door.

Eventually we split into 2 groups – the other going back out to the edge of the camp to see if ambulances and medics needed accompaniment for injured people, and my group stayed inside with the family of the sick woman and the young boys. The internationals and the family sat around the walls of the sitting room, and for about 2 hours listened to intermittent gunfire and explosions outside. We also heard soldiers just outside destroying a wall that had a shaheed poster on it of Daoud, the son of the woman who's home we were in. She talked fondly of him and occasionally looked out the door to announce "Yes, the soldiers are still there."

Around 11am the soldiers left the camp and immediately we heard the bustling of children on the streets and in the alleys. We walked outside to see bullets and plastic pieces of sound grenades littering the streets. The 26-year-old shaheed, Baha' Salah Al-Khater, was carried through the alleys on a board held above the heads of his friends. He had been shot while crossing the street soon after the army entered the camp, and bled to death an hour later because the army would not allow medics to attend to him. This was the first time I've seen a dead body since I've been here, and it was sad and a little unnerving. Inshallah, it will be the last.

The other half of our large group came back to us, after escorting Al-Khater's family to see his body, which they reported was a very upsetting experience. As the group left, 2 of us stayed in the camp for another few hours to visit the homes that had been occupied and document the damage. If I posted every photo and told the story of every family I talked to (and had tea or coffee with) in those few hours, you might be reading this all day. I did learn that a 14-year-old girl had been shot in the leg by soldiers while she was sleeping in her home. When she screamed the soldiers threw a sound bomb through the window into her bedroom, leaving her younger sister temporarily deaf. I also saw a large hole that soldiers had made in one family's home with a sledgehammer, and then crawled through pussing a large heavy dresser onto the floor in the nieighbor's house. The dresser fell just moments after the women sleeping on the floor in that room heard the noise and quickly got out.

What sticks out in my mind the most and really illustrates the complete disregard of Palestinian lives by Israeli soldiers, are the couple-foot-wide holes made in homes like this, the small rooms that families showed me that their families were locked in for hours while soldiers shot out of their windows, shattered glass mixed with pieces of cement all over beds and sofas, a smashed family photo in a frame, an elder woman asking me "Why, why?" and young girls sweeping up the aftermath from the floor as I walked through their home with a camera. One family told me that 24 soldiers with large dogs took over their home, and another showed me where soldiers had taken the clothes out of every dresser and drawer and threw them into piles with glass and cement. Overall they had trashed over 20 homes, just as they treat the Palestinians in them like trash.

We ended up joining the funeral march as it passed us on the main street, and spent a while watching with the women of the camp as a beautiful song played from a taxi about a mother who didn't want her son to go out and fight. I didn't know the shaheed or his family, but as I watched them cry I felt oddly close to them and teary-eyed myself. In yet another home a family translated the television news update for us, which thanked the ejaneb (foreigners) who helped the people of Ein Beit El Ma Refugee Camp today. I felt sad, wishing that we had been able to do more, and not really sure what exactly we had done in the first place.

As we left the camp, a woman we had met at the funeral told us "We don't think you are friends of the Palestinians. We think you are Palestinian, because of the work that you do here." I don't know that I deserve such a sweet compliment, but I do know that I feel as protective of and concerned about the people who have welcomed me here and shared their difficult lives with me, as I do about my own neighborhood or community at home.

Dirt Mound Temporarily Becomes Law

2006-11-10T19:14:00.000+02:00

On Wednesday I harvested in the village of Qaryot with another international and 2 Israelis, assisting 80-year-old Salimon, his brother Aziz, and his 27-year-old son Ahmed. We were greeted in the morning with a hearty "Buenos dias!" and warm smiles from the elder men. Both Salimon and Aziz have spent 20 years working in Brazil, and during that time were unable to come home to see their children grow up. Between them they have a very large family and over 1,000 trees in the area, which is sandwiched between a few relatively new settlements. One is called Gilad – an extremist outpost that is illegal even by Israel’s standards.

Salimon and Aziz are friendly men of few words. We spent the day communicating through a bit of Arabic and also Spanish and Portuguese, which both men and some of the volunteers happened to speak. Salimon, who’s hospitality is in true Palestinian style, watched us carefully and often re-lit the cigarettes he handed out, which must have gotten damp at some point. Aziz spent the day pruning the trees silently with his small saw, occasionally saying “Aaaiiii-wwaaa, tamam” (yes, exactly) and “Bueno” (good), when he cut a branch down and volunteers began to pick olives from it.

Earlier in the week settlers hiked down the hill to throw rocks at Palestinians harvesting in Qaryot, sending 1 man to the hospital with a head injury. Many families were afraid to return to finish picking, but the brothers who have land in the most dangerous area, were determined to finish. We began the morning picking close to the settlement road. Within 10 minutes we were approached by 3 soldiers and 3 border police, who told us that we needed to stop for the day. After asking to see a court order that stated so, we were offered no paper order or explanation except that “someone is coming with a map”. The brothers returned to picking and the volunteers attempted to join them. The soldiers demanded that we stop and not touch any olives until more of them arrived with answers to our questions.

Eventually more vehicles of soldiers, border police, and a military lawyer showed up who also could not answer our questions, and as we stood around waiting and wasting precious picking time, they pulled out a map and started arguing over what to do. The founder of an Israeli human rights group with experience in the area showed up after our phone calls, and negotiated with them over the apparent land dispute that began recently when settlers created a dirt mound roadblock in order to claim some of the land as their own. Even one soldier stated to the others “It’s obviously Palestinian land, let’s just let them stay”, but it was decided that we were only allowed to harvest on the other side of the roadblock for the day, closest to the village.

Following the lead of the elders, we agreed and moved to an area that was not disputed to continue picking, which felt frustrating since the trees are 100s of years old like the village, and the settlement is only about 20. Even though some of the soldiers and police disagreed with each other about who the land belongs to, the message this situation sends is pretty clear: that it is possible for a simple mound of dirt placed in the road by extremists can in fact throw legal borders into upheaval, effectively blocking the rightful owners from accessing and harvesting it.

The next day we met Salimon and Aziz again, and after a successful negotiation on behalf of the human rights group, we spent the day picking olives beyond the roadblock, on the disputed land directly next to the settlement road, this time with more volunteers due to the high risk of attack. Throughout the day about 2 SUVs and jeeps full of soldiers and police watched us from a short distance. They claimed it was for our protection, but were clearly facing us and watching with binoculars, not the settlement.

Eventually Aziz picked up his tarp and bucket and walked right over to the settlement entrance road, a couple feet from the fence of guard dogs and about 200 feet from the nearest home. This is the closest to a settlement that any family I’ve been with over the last week and a half has dared to work. I get the impression that Aziz is not scared of anything, even though he said that most of his children are afraid to come harvest the land with him. The soldiers and police pulled their vehicles up right next to us, but we ignored them and continued picking until the brothers decided they were finished with the area for the day.

We returned to the village piled onto a tractor with the large bags of olives. Aziz’s koffiyeh blew in the wind as he smiled and waved to greet neighboring farmers, as Salimon rode ahead on his donkey. Ahmad reported that we had picked a few hundred kilos of olives, and thanked us warmly for our presence. In the following days we will continue to have an international presence in Qaryot, until all of the olives are picked.

Harvesting post-attack in Azmut

2006-11-07T17:57:00.000+02:00

On Saturday, during a settler convention at the Elon Moreh settlement that overlooks Azmut and a few other Palestinian villages, about 25 settlers came down the hill to the groves and threw rocks at families and internationals who were harvesting. I was not there, but feel free to read the report from folks who were (and see the photo of soliders standing by and doing nothing while settlers throw rocks).

I spent the next 2 days harvesting in that village. The DCO was called after the attack and granted the families access and protection to their land for the next week. The villagers are still shaken by it, and hurriedly trying to finish the harvest before the official coordination ends.

Our first task was to pick up the previous day's work from the mud, which had been dumped out by the settlers. It felt infuriating to have to re-pick olives for this reason.

Children of Azmut pick olives from the mud that were dumped by settlers.

One of the families I worked with, picking olives on dangerous land, in view of the settlement.

After the first day of "coordination" post-attack, women of Azmut walk home after a peaceful day of work.

Some photos from this week

2006-11-07T17:16:00.000+02:00

Amer harvests from a 600 year old tree in the village of Tell.

My new friends in Tell!

Harvesting on the hill overlooking Huwarra village (overlooked by Yitzar settlement).

Huwarra checkpoint, south of Nablus.

Negotiating Daily Life: Land Access and Checkpoint Encounters

2006-11-06T21:06:00.001+02:00

During this last week while I’ve been picking olives in the Nablus area with Palestinian families and occasionally encountering/confronting soldiers, I’ve been thinking a lot about the role of negotiation in daily life here in Palestine, and also about the role of internationals in that. I often find myself in situations where Palestinians ask for us to talk with soldiers in order to help them gain access to a place, but I’m concerned about how this sometimes could be seen as supporting the occupation. Here are some examples of situations I’ve been in recently.

Aside from going through checkpoints, one of my first contacts with soldiers this week was during my 3rd day of harvesting, in the village of Tel. The reason that the group of 4 internationals went there was because the farmers often have problems crossing the settler road that cuts between the village and most of the agricultural land. Although Palestinians have the right to access their land, this village had reported recent incidents of denied access.

In the morning we headed down the hill towards the road, a large and lively group of families and donkeys, and just as we began to cross a jeep of 4 soldiers pulled up and ordered everyone to stop. The 20-minute conversation between the soldiers and us internationals was something to the effect of them telling us they knew that the farmers had the right to cross the road, but insisted they needed to see the IDs of the 4 of us plus some young men. We tried to reason with them, asking that they let the farmers go ahead, but they wouldn’t budge.

It went on and on like this for a while. The soldiers took the huwwiyas (ID cards) of 2 young men, and claimed they had to check on them. Eventually the villagers decided to turn back and take another route to their land, through a drain pipe under the road. Some farmers explained that the soldiers often deny them the right to cross the street, telling them to instead go under it in this way. I don’t know what the point of this is other than to make life more difficult for Palestinians.

When we were told that we were cleared to go we informed the soldiers that we would stay with the 2 men who’s huwwiyas they had, until they were finished with them. They seemed surprised by this and immediately returned them to their owners, clearly not actually needing to check up on them.

In this case I wondered what might have happened if we weren’t there, and my question was answered the next day when our contact in Tel called to report an incident in which soldiers held some farmers who were not accompanied by internationals for over an hour, and dumped a few bags of picked olives onto the ground. I’ve learned this week mostly through the incidents in which we are not present, that the high court decision about farmers’ rights to access their land safely is only selectively enforced. At the same time, it never feels good to try to negotiate with soldiers for rights that Palestinians already legally have, even if it works at the time.

On Saturday evening on the way home from dinner we got a call that Sabatash (17) checkpoint on the outskirts of the city was closed and about 200 Palestinians were waiting in the rain and cold. Thinking we might be able to change the situation, we headed over there at 8:45pm. We arrived to a tense situation of about 12 packed taxis and busses in line and over 100 men in the street waiting, as the soldiers had blocked the checkpoint with razor wire and were just standing around. It was dark, raining and cold, and the watchtower was shining a spotlight all over the crowd. People who had been there since 2pm told us about an incident earlier in the day when a man was shot in the leg for verbally defending a woman who was touched by male soldiers after refusing to lift up her shirt (Read more about this incident in an article by Amira Haas). Nobody had been allowed through the checkpoint ever since.

The 8 of us walked up to the checkpoint, and a few crossed the razor wire against the soldiers’ orders to go back. We began talking with them, asking why they wouldn’t let anyone through, and trying to appeal to them by explaining that many had been waiting for over 5 hours in the cold and rain. It took a lot of talking and complaining and negotiating, but within 20 minutes the soldiers agreed to allow the women through, then the university students on busses, the trucks, and finally after 2 hours the shebab (young men).

While it’s clear that the presence of 8 American and European activists was a positive force in changing the situation (after nearly 7 hours of closure, they reopened it within 20 minutes of our arrival and confrontation), it does not remain in my mind as a success. As we left I felt uneasy, thinking about all the times we aren’t able to be there to make changes, and then reminding myself that relying on our presence as internationals in order to open checkpoints, grant land access and provide protection, also isn’t a solution to the problem. In fact, it makes me feel even more a part of this brutal occupation.

The next day we were called back to "Sabatash" and told it was once again closed. When we arrived it was moving, but slowly. We decided to leave but in the meantime realized that the soldiers were not going to let a group of women walk through - they demanded that only people in cars could go. This is a difficult place to get a taxi and it was cold out, so we tried once again to negotiate them through. A soldier told us he needed to stick by his orders, and couldn't in his conscience allow them through. Most of our responses to him went something like "But isn't it worse to have on your conscience that you made a group of women with small children stand in the cold?", and "How would you feel if someone made your mother or sister do this?". Eventually we suggested that the soldiers get a taxi so the women could go through, and they agreed. We left feeling infuriated that it took international activists relentlessly making suggestions and bothering them, to get the soldiers to actually do it. And once again our involvement made a small change in the situation, but not in the occupation or this all-to-common process.

If I am in a place where I am asked by Palestinians to try to make a difference, and my negotiating or confronting soldiers can make a situation even temporarily better, I of course feel obligated to do it. Meanwhile I struggle with my part in creating expectations that Palestinians (or internationals) must negotiate for rights that are either already there on paper, or should be. This is also not a sustainable solution, and I hope that we can all continue to use various tactics in order to directly challenge the occupation, even while trying to maintain a basic level of dignity here in daily life.

Settlers affect olive harvest in Huwarra

2006-11-05T18:47:00.000+02:00

On Friday and Saturday I accompanied a family from Huwarra village in the Nablus municipality to harvest their olives on the hill under Yizhar settlement. Sabeh’s family has not been able to harvest their trees for at least 5 years, due to violence from Israeli settlers and problems from soldiers. I accompanied him and his son and daughters along with another ISM activist and on one day some Israeli volunteers as well. By the way they interact it is clear that Sabeh loves his children a lot and the family enjoys spending time together with their trees.

Because he has been unable to access this land for so long, Sabeh’s 13 to 50-year old trees are overgrown at the bottom and difficult to access without cutting off the scratchy, dead branches. Some look more like bushes than trees, and our hands and arms are all scratched up. The children asked why the trees were so ugly and if they could return to the grove every day as they used to, but at this point is it difficult for him to make it to the trees even once per week. We only rarely encountered large, healthy olives and so we discussed how the years of inaccessibility have harmed the overall results. This is an all too common problem in the Nablus region, with violence or denied access from settlers or soldiers negatively affecting the farmers’ yields.

The grove is situated on the hill under Yizhar settlement, in a vulnerable position near a tent that settlers use as an outpost, and only 150 meters from the nearest settler houses. The hill overlooks Huwarra village and the checkpoint south of Nablus that it is named after, as well as villages and settlements on surrounding hills. It is both a gorgeous and disturbing view.

On Friday during the lunch break we observed soldiers patrolling the top of the hill for at least an hour, and other figures standing around the tent, possible settlers. I walked with the other volunteers to a clearing and watched them for a while, ensuring that our presence was also noticed. I returned at night glad that we hadn’t had any problems and that the day had gone easily for everyone. A friend reminded me that this was probably the case because of our presence, but didn’t know if I could be so sure. The next day I realized that you never know for sure until something happens when you’re not there.

On Saturday the group moved a bit farther down the hill to harvest, not as close to the settlement. Partway through the day we encountered a couple of families rushing to leave. They had been working above us at the top of the hill, when a few settlers came at them with guns pointed, shouting to go away. They quickly left, but the family I was with decided to stay, although we all began to work twice as fast after that incident and glanced up the hill every few minutes.

Around 3pm it was announced from the Mosque that the water in the village of Huwarra has been shut off, due to a lack of funds to pay the water bill. The family we worked with noted this quickly and then continued to pick olives, like it was a common occurrence or not surprising to them.

By the end of the day we hadn’t forgotten about the armed settlers, but everyone laughed and joked as we neared the end of the picking. Aside from the threats to families working without international and Israeli volunteers, these 2 days of harvesting were a success, and this family’s ability to take care of their trees will allow for higher quality olives next year.

Olive harvest in Iraq Burin

2006-10-31T23:04:00.000+02:00

On Tuesday, 5 international activists accompanied a Palestinian family in the village of Iraq Burin to their olive groves for a productive day, without problems. Iraq Burin is a small village in the Nablus region with a population of about 1,000, situated on a large hill. The 30 dunams of olive groves that belong to Abu Haytham and his family are a short walk and visible from their home, but the Israeli army has recently bulldozed a road through the land so the soldiers can easily access them. He reported that they often face problems from soldiers who come by to keep them from harvesting.

This year’s harvest in Palestine began officially after the 3-day celebration of Eid-al-Fitr (which signifies the end of Ramadan) and a few days of rain, which many cheered on as good for the olives. During the harvest, international activists and volunteers accompany and assist Palestinians whose groves are threatened by violence from Israeli settlers or denied access from soldiers. In the ISM (International Solidarity Movement) apartment in Nablus’s old city, we divide into affinity groups each evening in order to cover the most villages in the district the next day. Currently we (and Palestinian farmers) are experiencing a serious lack of people-power. Ideally about 20-25 volunteers could cover the Nablus district, and currently we have 10. Every day villages ask for us to come work with them, and the coordinators must make decisions based on need, meaning that we go to the places that are the most dangerous for Palestinians to harvest in.

According to the Israeli High Court of Justice’s ruling on July 26, 2006, regarding the right to access agricultural lands, Palestinian residents of the West Bank have a right to access their property, and military commanders (army or border police) are obligated to protect that right. Commanders are also obligated to protect farmers and their property from attack. This ruling came in response to a petition that addressed serious violations of these rights on behalf of the occupation forces and settlers. Palestinians do not need permits from the DCO (Distric Coordination Office – the civil branch of the occupation in the Occupied Territories) in order to harvest their land.

The day of harvesting in Iraq Burin proceeded without incident from the occupation forces. We volunteers, together with Abu Haytham and his family, had picked 300 kilos of olives by 2pm, and well over that by the time we stopped at 4pm. Abu Haytham sends all of his olives to press for oil, and explained that 4 kilos of olives can make 1 liter of oil. We picked today alongside the military road that soldiers use to drive by his land, and everyone was in high spirits. In true Palestinian style, we often stopped for tea and coffee breaks in the field, in which we learned more about this family.

Abu Haytham is the headmaster of a school in nearby Sarra, a larger village. He also teaches Arabic there, to students aged 6 to 12. Since the start of the school year, the first week of September, most teachers in the West Bank have been on strike to demand back pay and a return of their salaries, which stopped when the Hamas-led government was stripped of aid by the US and the European Union in the spring. Everywhere I’ve gone this past week I’ve meet children who are not in school (with the exception of some who go to private Christian schools, for example) and teenagers complaining that they are bored. Education is so important in Palestine, and for many young people, this break in their studies and abundance of free time is a problem. He explained that he went to the school yesterday to call teachers to come in, but nobody did.

Each time one of us climbed onto a thin or unsteady branch to reach the high-up olives, Abu Haytham told us to be careful in his own warm way, shouting “Hospital strike! Hospital strike!” joking that the hospitals may strike too, and if we injure ourselves we can’t get help.

He explained though, over a cup of tea (the 4th or 5th of the day) that all Palestinians are struggling together, regardless of political party. This was illustrated through the day aswe met 2 friends of Abu Haytham’s: one a Hamas member who rode by on a donkey to say hello, and another who stopped by from the neighboring village of Tel – a member of the security guard force for Abu Mazen (president Mahmoud Abbas) who is angry at Hamas because he has not been paid in months. He also explained that there are 3 families in Tel that need international support to harvest their land by settler roads, and so we agree to harvest in Tel tomorrow.

Abu Haytham was imprisoned once for 2 years, and his home is still riddled with bullet holes from an attack by 80 soldiers a few years ago, in which they destroyed everything in his house and arrested all of his sons, only to let them go the next day, explaining that they had no reason to do this and were sorry they made a mistake. He said that he is not afraid of the army though, and that he tells them often when they try to control access to his land that Palestinians love all people in the region. He mentioned this about 3 times today, adding that our various governments (all of us volunteers are from the US and Europe) believe that Palestinians are hateful killers. He insisted that this is not true, and as usual we explained that we know and understand, while promising to tell this to everyone who will listen at home and to bring even more volunteers back next year for the harvest.

Olive harvest 2006 begins

2006-10-30T08:45:00.000+02:00

On Friday, a friend from Boston and I went to the village of Beit Duqqu to assist a Palestinian family with harvesting their olives. I am about to accompany farmers in the Nablus region for a few weeks to do this same work, but in areas where access to their olive groves is threatened. In this case the family we worked with did not need a permit to harvest their land, and did not risk attacks from settlers. Basically we were helping to provide some labor, and in the process getting to know about the situation of this very friendly family.

Laura, their 24-year old daughter and university student studying teaching, explained that her parents are both doctors by trade, and that their 5-year old grape vines and olive, apricot and pomegranate trees provide the family with enough food that they don't need to buy much.

Beit Duqqu is a beautiful village close the the border of the Ramallah and Jerusalem districts and it's land is currently being threatened by the wall. From the hill we worked on we could see buildings that are part of a brand new Israeli settlement. Laura explained that the land was recently stolen from a family in the village, some Palestinians were killed in the process, and then the new settlement construction began.

Here are photos from the day of harvesting.

The "boring" details

2005-08-07T15:15:00.000+03:00

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

2005-08-06T18:10:00.000+03:00

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

2005-08-06T18:00:00.000+03:00

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

2005-08-04T11:50:00.000+03:00

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

2005-08-02T15:55:00.000+03:00

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?"

2005-08-01T11:25:00.000+03:00

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.

Occupation and abuse

2005-07-30T18:45:00.000+03:00

In the domestic violence movement, we talk about the cycle of abuse often, because it describes the often-predictable way that violence occurs in a relationship. There are a few stages. First, tension builds and it is clear that violence will happen soon, and perhaps any little thing can set it off. Then there is the violence or more obvious abuse. This could take many forms, like hitting and punching, verbal insults, public outbursts and humiliation, or maybe periods full of restrictions on mobility or isolation. Afterwards there is the "honeymoon period", when the abuser tries to play off the violence by apologies or explanations, or making promises (whether they are kept or not). Then tension builds again and they cycle starts over. These periods can last for long or short times, depending on the circumstances. The main point here is that interpersonal violence and abuse is not about random acts, but is a complicated scheme and a cycle. It's also important to remember that there is no excuse for this behavior - abusers make a choice to do these things and they don't happen by accident or coincidence.

I'm not trying to say the occupation and Israel's state violence against Palestinians work the same way as domestic violence. They are both separate things and very different. But since I've been here a few things have been happening that keep directing my mind towards cycles of abuse. First is that I can't help but to see every single person I meet as a survivor. Here, just about everyone has a story of violence, and living under military occupation certainly has its psychological effects. I am drawn to the work that I do in domestic violence because I admire other survivors and their strength. They are my biggest inspiration. I couldn't name it until I had been here for a week, but I'm finding that I feel the same way about Palestinians - comforted and inspired by their strength and ability to live on, and feeling the warmth and understanding that comes when survivors meet and gather. It's powerful.

Second, I can't stop noticing parts of Israel's complicated master plans that Jeff Halper of the Israeli Committee Against House Demolitions calls the "matrix of control", and thinking to myself "that's what abusers do". This matrix is a way to see how all the layers of the occupation work together (physical control, bureaucracy, and violence). The problem can't be defined as just the wall, just the violence of soldiers, just the settlements, or just the checkpoints and roadblocks. Instead, these tools work together in order to control every aspect of Palestinian daily life - jobs, education, health, economy, resources, mobility, psychology... everything at once. And in these master plans, I feel that some major themes in abusive relationships are also here. For example, humiliation - trying to break someone's spirit or pride by subjecting them to searches at checkpoints, or destroying someone's ability to support their family. Isolation - ruining support networks by separating families, friends and neighbors with barriers like the wall. Changing rules - not knowing the right or wrong way to go about anything because someone else is always making and changing the rules on you, depending on how they feel that day. And threats of violence - whether someone has been killed, injured, tortured, their home has been demolished, or they just know someone this has happened to, the message here is that anyone could be next, for little or no reason.

These tools are not all used by just the government, just the military, or just the settlers. Much of it is subtle. In the US we hear random short bites on the news about violence on the situation here, and we sometimes think about those incidents only in the context of themselves. I've been thinking about how the policies and actions of the Israeli government work in conjunction with the media and their worldwide public relations campaign in a way that muddles our understanding of what is happening here, or attempts to justify certain events. In this way we are encouraged to focus our attention where they want us to, and not see the whole picture - the whole matrix - as one master plan. But this is also part of the plan! The key here is that, like in interpersonal relationships, these events are never random, and we have to look at the whole cycle to understand it. All abusers make choices and know exactly what it is they are trying to do. This includes occupiers and colonizers.

The other day we talked with a woman, who told us how therapy is taboo and hard to find here, but she took advantage of it though when she was living in the US for a while. I can't imagine what it would be like not being able to let out that frustration and pain in some productive way. When people tell me their stories one after another, I imagine walking around in a land where everyone has Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and little outlets. This is probably why the youth organizations I've visited have seemed so precious and crucial. The singing, dancing and drama groups allow youth a place to vent their emotions, and I imagine it feels powerful and relieving in the way that survivor support groups do back home.

People often ask survivors why they don't just leave abusive relationships. The answer is never as easy as the question sounds, and it always shows a real lack of understanding of how abuse works. There are many factors involved and, as we can see through the cycle of abuse and matrix of control, there are always plans in place to keep people exactly where they are. Imagine asking a Palestinian resident of the West Bank or Gaza Strip "why don't you just move somewhere else?" After listening to the emotional and often poetic ways that people talk about their land, their families, their struggles, their desires to live on, I can't imagine how awful that would feel. The solution isn't as easy as giving up some land and transferring some settlers around in hope of curbing violence. It's not about Palestinians giving in and accepting whatever measly portions Israel offers. I believe the solution is to interrupt the whole cycle and dismantle and stop the abusers entirely.

For more information on the "matrix of control" check out this and this.

Traveling notes

2005-07-30T17:53:00.000+03:00

This morning in the taxi from Huwwara checkpoint (outside Nablus) to Qalandia checkpoint (outside Ramallah) we drove through about 4 "flying" checkpoints. This is when soldiers set up shop pretty much by parking a jeep in the street, and check IDs whenever they feel like it. They guy sitting next to me is a hospital librarian in the United Arab Emirates and we talked a lot about Nablus, Boston, health services, and why I was there. After Qalandia I got into a van (vehicles aren't allowed to travel through the checkpoints, you have to get out at them and get in another one on the other side. From Nablus to Al Quds this morning, I took 4 different vehicles). At a small checkpoint outside a settlement, a soldier much younger than me sauntered s-l-o-w-l-y over to the van, and took the IDs of everyone except myself. They rarely care about my passport in shared vehicles, although walking through checkpoints I always get asked what I'm doing there. There was a dispute over someone's ID or permit and he had to leave the van. The soldier then put everyone's IDs in some shack on the road and just started hanging out with the other soldiers, laughing and drinking water. We were parked on the side of the road for about 15 minutes, just waiting. It was clear that everyone was agitated but used to this kind of treatment. Finally, another soldier s-l-o-w-l-y sauntered back over to the van with the ID cards and we were cleared to go. Her fatigues were falling down so much I thought she might trip on them and fall onto the heavy M-16 slung over her small shoulders. I wonder if the young soldiers think this kind of treatment is funny and they are just trying to amuse themselves while they would rather be at the beach.

We met an international activist with an Israeli ID card last week who was arrested on her way to a demonstration against the wall. Soldiers told her it is illegal for internationals to be in "Area A", the small amount of land still mostly under control by the Palestinian Authority. This is a lie, but it seems this is increasingly an excuse by the army to keep internationals out of the West Bank. At some checkpoints I have been questioned and my bag searched, and at others I've walked right through. I generally answer their questions so vaguely that I'm not actually answering them. If pressed, I make up a lie. Overall, I am treated many times better than Palestinians are on their own land. With a US passport I am not subject to hours of intimidating questions or strip searched. Imagine being strip searched on your way to work, or never knowing each morning whether you will get to work that day or not - whether the roads or checkpoints will close that day. I have never felt so radically privileged in terms of simple acts of movement before.

Celebrating a prison sentence and Israel as the abusive partner

2005-07-28T19:50:00.000+03:00

Tonight we ate chocolate to celebrate, because Mahmoud (age 13), was only sentenced for 1 year in prison. Today my host and her mother, Fayrouz and Laila*, traveled to Jenin to go to his court hearing. He has been charged with something absurd about going to a checkpoint in the mountains and trying to kill soldiers. Something that if anyone actually believed, they would never sentence him to just one year. Fayrouz feels that if he was older he'd be in prison for 20 years, because they tend to sentence older boys for much longer. So the decision today was good news for the family, though it's so surreal for me to celebrate a 1 year prison sentence!

I wandered around Nablus today with S, a fellow Bostonian, since we both had little to do at the organizations we're working with. I came home with watermelon hoping the sentencing news was good, and everyone was napping. Fayrouz called it the longest day in her life. On the way to Jenin the soldiers singled her out (a lot of resistance has come out of Balata Camp, and residents are often punished for it whenever they travel) and made her stand in the sun for 1 hour. It was incredibly hot outside. They let her stand in the shade for 5 minutes, but then ordered her back into the sun while they asked ridiculous questions that were already answered by looking at her ID card. They mostly wanted to know her brothers' names and ages. She told me she talked and laughed with 2 others who were waiting as well, because she didn't want the soldiers to know she was annoyed and that they had won. Still, when she finally made it to the court she told her mother the soldiers were taking her away and only sent her there to say goodbye. When her mother cried she announced that she was only joking. People have interesting (and amazing) sense of humors here.

S and I talked over tea after wandering around the center of Nablus and the Old City for hours. We are both involved in domestic violence work and discussed some of the similarities we have sensed between living under occupation and being in abusive relationships. I'm going to write more about this for a more formal reportback, but I'm glad I got to talk with him about it because I've been thinking it for over a week. Even though these situations are very different, I think the effects of not being in control of much of your own life are sometimes the same. Many of the major cycles and themes are here: isolation, humiliation, rules that change on you all the time, the threat of violence, etc. I'm going to make it a priority to discuss and write about this more, and survivors of abuse and violence in general. I think the "matrix of control" over Palestine and the "wheel of violence" we use to discuss the cycle of abuse can be looked at side by side and maybe correlating ideas about violence and survivors in general can be drawn. Yeah? No?

Also, I met this photographer yesterday, who's teaching photography to youth at the Medical Relief Center. Check out his photos - they're really powerful.

* Visit www.balatacamp.net and scroll down to the short video called "Our Sons". Laila is featured in it, talking soon after Mahmoud's arrest.

Learning about Nablus, the Medical Relief Committee, and the boy refugee

2005-07-27T13:20:00.000+03:00

I have to admit, my first day or two in Nablus felt a little isolating. The language barrier kept me from conversations with the exception of one person, who is awesome but just can't fulfill my need for processing. But now I've spent 2 days at the youth center of the Medical Relief Committee, and today another group member from Boston arrived in the city for a few days. Fayrouz and I walked through the Old City with him and went to the most amazing spice shop in the world, where we hung out for a while and breathed in the smells, and then ate de-li-cious knafe. It was good to see more of the city, since this family rarely ever leaves the house at night, and now I feel a little less alone. There are a lot of possibilities here and tomorrow I'm going to wander around and buy lots and lots of food for the house while my hosts are in court in Jenin, supporting one of their sons in prison as he is sentenced for false charges.

The MRC is a really wonderful organization to hang around. Yesterday I met with three people who told me about the group and it's projects, and drank tons of tea. Not only do they run the ambulance service and medical response, but they are showing me a rural clinic this weekend that they set up for people who can't make it through the checkpoints to the city for medicine, and they have this radically holistic view about health issues under the occupation. During the beginning of the last intifada they had so many young volunteers who they taught first aid and other health-related things to. They ended up creating a center for the volunteers and it eventually turned into a broader center for youth in the community, and they now run a few summer camps as well. They teach english, photography, computers, dance, singing, equality between genders, and more. The idea behind it is that civic activities will help the youth deal with the hardships and violence of daily life, as there is little to offer in the way of psychological services, and that they will influence a new generation of leaders.

I read a quote in their annual report from one of the volunteer doctors. She wrote that a baby was brought into a clinic dehydrated, malnurished, and died from diarrhea. She said it took her 3 day to fill out the death certificate because her boss wanted her to write the baby died from those causes, but she knew the baby died from so much more - little access to education because of restricted travel by the army, inability to get to doctors on the other side of guarded checkpoints, poverty and little resources, and cultural norms that kept a woman from leaving the village alone to get help. She said that it was all of these things that really caused the baby to die. This is why the MRC exists and does the work that they do, with such a broad scope. I think this example is the heart of their analysis, and I'm learning a lot from them. I hope I can do some work at home to benefit them financially. They refuse aid from the US because they would have to signs contracts with strict rules about supporting terrorism. While the MRC absolutely denounces all forms of terrorism, they feel that the civic work they do is the way to stop it, not pulling precious NGO funds away and giving it to "security" budgets. In this way they are powerful leaders in their communities, because their principles are a model that other community orgs follow, and focus on their own self-determination and important work rather than let the US tell them how to work. They get a lot of donations from Europe. I really respect this and am in awe of this amazing operation they've pulled together out of so little.

Now everyone in the house is crowded around the book I bought today of Handala cartoons by Naji Al-Ali, and reading them to each other out loud. I can't understand the text, but the pictures pretty much speak for themselves.

Graffiti of Handala outside Balata Refugee Camp

Catching up in Nablus

2005-07-25T17:30:00.000+03:00

My 18-year old host, Fayrouz, is sleeping on the couch next to me as her mother cooks dinner. I want to take a nap too, but I haven't been writing much and am really afraid of forgetting anything I don't record. I'm in Balata Refugee Camp in Nablus, after a week of traveling to many cities and villages in the West Bank and yesterday finally splitting with the group. The 6 of us are all now in different places in order to work and live in solidarity for two weeks. Tomorrow I will start working with the Union of Palestinian Medical Relief Committees, most likely shadowing them to learn about their work. Today I went to a demonstration at Huwwara checkpoint which included Palestinian women holding framed photos of their imprisoned family members, a lot of ambulance service people, and internationals who sat on the street in front of the army for a while.

Women at the demonstration with photos of their imprisoned family members.

I really want to write about every single Palestinian I met over the last week and every single place I visited or slept. I can't do this before dinner, but some stick out in my head more than others: Abu Samir, the 70-year old man who spent the day pushing concrete mix up a hill because the Israeli army doesn't allow him to use a car, and his daughters who run to school every day to avoid being hit by the rocks of the settler children across the street (sometimes they get hit). Ziad, the guy with an amazing sense of humor who gave us a tour of Saffouriah, the destroyed village his family is from and is not allowed to visit, while Israelis played around in the spring like it was always there for them. The youth of Ta'awon who asked us challenging questions in the hope that we will go home and change their situation. Munira, the poet who sang and recited her writings to us while offering J and I more food and hospitality than she was probably economically able to. And another Munira, in the village of Mas'ha, who's home we were barred from entering by the army, who have enclosed her home with the aparthied wall into an open-air prison and continually deny her family guests.

Some things have surprised me and some aren't surprising at all. Knowing that the international community has allowed the wall to be built is painful, especially once standing under it and listening to people explain how it seperates them from family, jobs, schools, water, olive groves, farmland, etc. The US media focuses on painting Palestinians as terrorists while ignoring the violence and human rights abuses of the army and many settlers, that are very apparent here. Living far away from Palestine makes it easy to read or think once in a while about certain issues of the occupation, but being here forces you to examine all the tools of the occupiers at the same time, all the time, understanding how they work together to control and isolate every aspect of daily Palestinian life into an apharteid system that is humiliating, violent and sad. We all allow these illegal and unjust things to happen, just by ignoring or not resisting them. I have a lot of work to do when I come back home. It's sort of overwhelming, but I'm looking forward to it because inshallah, when I return here again I hope to see change.

Daily life in Palestine

2005-07-24T15:25:00.000+03:00

Marhaba (hello) friends,
I've felt so busy during this past week that I'm not sure where to start writing about all we've done and all that I've learned. I feel like I've gone through nearly all possible emotions since I've been here: sadness, anger, confusion, hope, happiness, warmth. The hospitality of the Palestinian people - who's daily lives include unnecessary violence and control on behalf of Israeli soldiers and settlers - have taught me a lot about struggle and survival.

There are many people I've met who I will never forget and who have taught me what it is to be Palestinian in just one short meeting. Munira, a resident of Beit Jala and a poet who works with a youth drama group, hosted myself and another B2P delegate in her 500-year-old home for one night. I think we all cried a little as she sang a song she wrote and read us her poetry. I will not forget what she told me about the pain of not being connected with her land - when she visits friends in other countries she cries for the first few days because she misses Palestine so much. She pointed to her arm and told us "If you cut me open you would see that Palestine is in every single piece of my blood". She has little, and still is the most gracious and hospitable host I've ever met in my life.

We also met Abu Samir, a 70-year-old man who had spent the day pushing thousands of pounds of cement mix up a hill to his house in Tel Romeida. This is because he needs a new solution to the wire fence that protects his house from racist settlers who live across the street, and have been cutting the fence apart. The Israeli Army does not allow him to bring the materials up the hill in a car, and coolly stands by watching this man and young boys make trip after trip. In his house over tea we learned that he is a very calm and peaceful man - he even invited a solider in to have tea with us. Of course they never come because they spend their time harassing his guests and do not take seriously his family's complaints of violence by the settlers. Two young girls in the house told us stories of being hit by rocks thrown by the settler children, and one of them was picked up and carried away once as some kind of joke. Abu Samir's family does not leave like their other neighbors have, because this IS their home, although it means facing daily violence.

Two days ago, in the village of Mas'ha, we attempted to visit a family whose house is enclosed by the wall, in what is basically an open-air prison. Soldiers, who claimed the area a "closed military zone", told us we could not enter the gate. The wall was to be built on the other side of the house, but settlers protested and now it divides the family from both the nearby settlement and from their own village. We walked through the gate anyway, because we have a right to be there and the family has a right to have guests. One soldier pointed his gun at us so we would stop. After arguing for a while, we walked back out with Munira, the woman who lives there, and sat on the road to talk. Our inability to visit her house is typical, as the soldiers often block the family from receiving guests. This irrational behavior is indicative of what it means to give guns and power and control to young soldiers who have been brought up seeing Palestinians as less than them. Harassment and humiliation like this unfortunately appears in most stories that I am hearing and I wonder whether this behavior would be tolerated at home. Munira sat calmly and quietly on the side of the road telling us her story. She appeared both tired and strong at the same time.

No matter how many sides or interpretations there are for this conflict, no amount of real or perceived fear can justify the devastation that happens to the lives of Palestinians daily. The wall, which Israel refers to as a "security fence", is in fact a tool of apartheid. It has never been clearer to me that it has nothing to do with security and everything to do with isolation and control. Day by day the wall is constructed to stretch over the land, dividing and conquering, and looking like a large snaking scar. In the process, homes are demolished, land is stolen, the economy suffers, and people are killed. Still, this scar does not heal any of the pain that the occupation has caused.

Everywhere we walk we are warmly greeted and welcomed, and challenged as internationals to do everything we can to stop this pain. Another group member talked about how powerful this is, considering that Palestinians tell us their brutal stories, host and feed us, and teach us about their lives, all because there is just a HOPE and a CHANCE that we can and will do something about it. I don't doubt our commitments and promises, but I do hope that Palestine solidarity work will grow within the international community, and my own communities back home, and we will continue to take seriously our roles in what is clearly apartheid and absolutely unjust.

From an email to friends today...

2005-07-19T17:41:00.000+03:00

The group had all arrived by Sunday night to a Palestinian-run hostel in the Moslem Quarter in the Old City of Al Quds (Jerusalem). On Monday we started on an incredibly busy itinerary. I can't believe the amount of things we have done, people we met and places we traveled to in just the last 2 days. We're exhausted, physically and emotionally.

First we went on a tour with a guide from the Israeli Committee Against Home Demolitions (ICAHD). We rode through Anata and Abu Dis, by the Ma'ale Adummin settlement (one of the largest in this area) and to see the Apartheid Wall which Israel so casually calls a "security fence". It has recently been decided by the Israeli government that Anata will be
closed out of Jerusalem by the wall, meaning 55,000 Palestinians with Jerusalem ID cards will be walled out and most likely unable to travel through checkpoints without special permits issued by Israel.

We met Salim, a man who's house has been demolished 4 times over 7 years by Israel. The situation here is that after Jerusalem was annexed by Israel, building permits were no longer allowed. When houses are demolished to make room for settlements and the wall, the people who
lived there are forced to rebuild illegally (if at all), and houses built without permits are subject to demolition as well. Salim's house was rebuilt the last time into a peace center with the help of ICHAD.

Ma'ale Adummin looks like a resort compared to the small vulernable homes in Anata. In the Roadmap to Peace, agreed upon about 2 years ago by both Israel and the Palestinian Authority, no new buildings were to be constructed on Palestinian land. Still, some of the settlements we have seen are under construction to expand. This settlement currently houses 31,000, and plans to expand to 55-70,000.

In Abu Dis we met Salah, who's brothers and father lived together in houses as neighbors for years and years. The wall which has been constructed in Abu Dis and divides residents from their jobs and schools is scheduled to be completed in September. Salah is unsure what this will mean for his family, but he is already separated from relatives. He spoke to us in front of a hotel that was owned and operated by his family, and has since been taken and occasionally used by Israelis for interrogation. A road leading to a future settlement cuts through what was once his backyard and guest rooms in the hotel.

I want to write more about this public relations campaign of the Israeli government, and the spins that contort the truth, but I have to run and watch a movie then head to Al-Khalil (Hebron). I haven't even gotten a chance to tell you what we did yesterday in Bethlehem and the Dheisheh Refugee Camp, and the wonderful woman who's Beit Jala home I stayed in last night. But I do want everyone to know the biggest lesson I've learned so far: being here, it has never been more clear that the actions of the Israeli gov't have nothing to do with security as they say. The wall, the home demolitions, the ID cards, the separate license plates, the checkpoints, everything. This is about aparthied and it's really important to keep using that language so people will understand.