I can quite honestly say that today was one of my worst days, quite likely the worst, out of my entire month and a half in Israel and Palestine. In addition to personal issues, and my recurring back pain flaring up to the point of being nearly unbearable, I had one of the most saddening and sombering experiences that I have had in this region.
Each weekend as part of our PSE experience, our group takes a trip to somewhere in Palestine or Israel, basically as a field trip to see more of the region and understand the situations in places other than the Bethlehem District. Today our trip was to Nablus.
I honestly did not know a lot about Nablus before we left on our trip this morning. I had asked around and all that I had found out was that it is a very large city, it is a very contentious place, and the largest Samaritan village in the world (still only 700-800 people) is on its outskirts.
After finally arriving in Nablus (a trip that could be perhaps less than two hours but took significantly longer because of checkpoints and detours trying to avoid checkpoints), we met our tour guide for the day, Mohammed, a local man. After only listening to him for a few minutes I had a better idea of how contentious Nablus really is. Apparently it was once the commercial capital of Palestine, but with all the Israeli checkpoints strangling the traffic flow in and out, and with the constant Israeli raids (allegedly every night), commerce has really suffered in the city. (As I understand it, the full-time IDF presence was just removed very recently, yet these raids continue.) And within the past two weeks a leader of Islamic Jihad (depending who is telling the story: Israel says it was a Jihad leader, Mohammed said it was just a Palestinian student) was assassinated by Israel.
This city is also the home of three refugee camps, including the largest in the West Bank. It took our group of more than 30 less than ten minutes to wind our way through the tiny alleyways of the one square-kilometer camp that is home to nearly 22,000 residents. The economic situation of this camp is dire, but what struck me about this camp and about the city of Nablus more than anything--what made the day so sobering--was the situation of the mentality of the residents.
I have seen martyr posters celebrating the actions of violent resistance leaders and suicide bombers in many Palestinian cities that I have visited, but in Nablus they are extremely prominent; they are everywhere. And in Nablus and the refugee camp we visited, there are not only posters as in every other place I have visited, but there are also many memorials. At one point we must have passed ten martyr memorials within five minutes. (Mohammed explained that they prefer the term "martyr" over "suicide bomber" because they believe it is their right to blow themselves up, and they are just being an active part of the resistance, dying for their cause; I will use the term "martyr" because it is shorter and because the term "suicide bomber" is not applicable to all of the people referred to as martyrs--some are other resistance leaders who were assassinated by Israel.) These memorials usually consisted of a large stone plaque with writing and often included the martyr's picture.
I have been to a number of contentious places and seen many, many sorrowful things in my time here. I have been to Hebron and seen people living behind cages for protection; I have been to East Jerusalem and Bethlehem and observed the new ghettos that the Separation Wall has created by killing commerce; I have been to At-Tuwani where Israeli settlers burn Palestinian crops, harass school children, kill livestock, poison wells, and violently attack humanitarian workers; I have been through Ephrat settlement and other settlements and witnessed the lush green in stark contrast to the Palestinian villages everywhere else which have their water routinely cut off by Israel; I have been a lot places and seen a lot of sad things, but today may have been the saddest of them all. This is because at all these other places it was Israel perpetrating the violence against Palestinians, but here, the Palestinian people have perpetrated the violence on themselves.
What can cause people to react this way? I can only think of one thing--hopelessness. These people have been violated to a point where they have lost all hope, and it is very difficult to witness. We might think of suicide as a shameful thing--how can one be so desperate to take his or her own life?--but these people sharing the situation of the "martyrs" understand why they felt no hope, and honor them for their last acts being something intended to help the cause of their fellow people.
We certainly all know that these bombings and other acts of violent resistance aren't helping; they are only making things worse. They have played into Israel's hands of making this appear to be a war rather than an occupation, giving Israel "justification" for all the "retaliative" measures it takes on the families and communities of the "martyrs." Of course, if Israel were not in the business of destroying all hope in the lives of these Palestinians, the cycle of violence would have a harder time escalating to this point. Instead, Israel makes life unbearable for the Palestinian population, they retaliate, and then Israel does so right back. I am reminded of a great observation by Ghandi: "An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind."
It is odd to have observed what almost seems like a glimpse of hope coming from this dark situation of Palestinian martyrdom: women in the Muslim community are actually gaining quite a bit of respect and equality through active participation in the resistance movement. Yet, while this may appear as a hopeful thing, the ends do not justify the means. It is also clear that this tiny bit of hope is dramatically overshadowed by the sad reality of the mentality of the youth growing up in this situation. Mohammed (our guide), lamented a few times that growing up in this situation, all the kids just dream of being martyrs like those they see so glorified on every village wall. In this type of environment, I can find no hope.
Up until today, I had been continually amazed at the persevering spirit of the Palestinian people. I have often mentioned to people with whom I have spoken that I can't imagine how they continue living under the Occupation as they do. I don't understand how they handle it psychologically and emotionally--I have been here a month and a half and seen more than enough to both infuriate me and send me into despair. Today was not learning about something that I did not know existed--I have always been quite aware of the presence of the violent resistance here--but today, I was hit with the blow of witnessing the situation first-hand in which these "martyrs" are created: growing up in a place without hope.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Monday, June 23, 2008
Back to the stories
Well, it's been nineteen days since my last real post, and it's about high time I finished out those "three experiences" I wanted to talk about. I think there are probably two main reasons why it is taking me so much time between posts: (1) It certainly is not that I do not have enough to write about--actually the opposite is true: there are so many things happening, so many stories I could tell, and so much information that I wish I could relay to everyone who is not able to be here and experience it him/herself, that it is all quite overwhelming. The task of trying to write enough to inform people who aren't here experiencing things first hand is very daunting--what if I can't provide enough information to make things understandable, are my thoughts cohesive enough for people thousands of miles away to understand them, and how will this information be received by people who have never heard this side of the story before and may not really want to listen? Educating others about the situation here in Palestine is something that was definitely a goal for my summer, but it is turning out to be a much bigger task than I ever imagined. (2) And one of the contributing factors to the fact that there is more to say than could ever be said is that I have just been incredibly busy. I am doing things constantly: taking trips, attending class, working with my volunteer placement, going to meetings and lectures, playing volleyball with some men from Beit Sahour, spending time with my family and with PSE participants, etc... There is little time at the end of my jam-packed days to sit down and try to face the giant task of summing it all up. But, I need to do this at some point, and the longer I wait, the more and more daunting the task becomes. So after this quite lengthy introduction, let me continue on with the post I made two-thirds of a month ago and briefly tell about these two other important experiences.
Having mentioned these two experiences nineteen days ago, it may have occurred to some of you that these experiences actually took place even more than nineteen days ago, which could definitely be a long time to remember the details of the events (especially as I have so much happening every day). This is definitely true (but thankfully, this should hopefully help me to keep the stories relatively short).
The first of these two experiences is one that I initially was loath to partake in: a protest. (Since some pictures of this have actually been up for quite a while in the slideshow on the side of the blog, you may have known this was coming.) Protesting was something that until relatively recently I had always viewed in a somewhat negative light. However, a class that I had this past year changed a lot of my thoughts on this as we talked about the Civil Rights Movement. (Where would it have gone if people had not been willing to protest?) Still, not considering myself an "activist" (rather, an "advocate") at this point, I decided to attend a weekly protest that is held in a village south of Bethlehem every Friday morning--but not as a participant, merely as an observer. This protest is a demonstration against the Wall which is planned to soon overtake the village and separate residents from their land where they farm. (This is a continually recurring story as more and more of the Wall is completed, weaving its way far into the West Bank, strategically annexing as much land as possible over the Green Line.) It is a small, non-violent protest, and what happens each week is that a group of villagers is joined by internationals, and they walk down a street in the village to meet up with a blockade set up that morning by the IDF (Israeli Defense Forces). After an hour or so, the protesters leave, and the IDF removes the blockade and leaves. You may be thinking that this doesn't seem like it really makes a lot of sense (what's the point of this blockade if it is only set up for a few hours a week while the protesters come?), in which case you would be thinking the same thing that a lot of people here think. Initially I didn't really want to get involved with a "protest" just because of the stigma that protesting can have, but on the other hand, I did come here to help an oppressed people. I seem to have found my niche at this protests, however, as an observer (I have been to the protests two more times since my initial experience). I feel like I am not quite an activist (there are some radical activists who come and get arrested), but I feel like I am helping the cause at the same time by contributing my international presence and witness. The international presence at these demonstrations is crucial because it provides a witness to what actually happens between the IDF and the Palestinians--without any witnesses Israel may use whatever means it so desires and not be held accountable because it is their word against the word of "Palestinian terrorists" (who are actually just peaceful activists). The first time I went to the protest, I was on a mini-bus full of CPT (Christian Peacemaker Teams) workers who all went along to participate, and we got to the demonstration without much hassle. The second and third times I went however, I was in a shared taxi and we were stopped at checkpoints on the roads to the village where the protest is held and told we were not allowed to pass. These checkpoints were set up just for those mornings, and we were forced to turn around because we could not enter a "dangerous military zone." Many of us as Americans take our First Amendment "right of the people peaceably to assemble" for granted, but Palestinians are granted no such right by Israel (or at least if it is on the books, it is not enforced). However, even though we were erroneously denied entry to the protest, we took some long, very windy, and very bumpy detours and arrived at the demonstration to face the Israeli injustice anyway. I will probably continue throughuot my time here to go and observe at this weekly protest because I definitely feel like it is part of my mission here to stand in solidarity with the oppressed.
The third experience that I wanted to relay was definitley the most dramatic encounter and the most up-close-and-personal experience I have had so far with the state of conflict here. This took place in the city of Hebron. Hebron is a very contentious city, even more so than other cities in the West Bank, because whereas in most cases, Israeli settlements are outside the cities (often grouped in rings around cities to attempt to strangle the economy and freedom of movement of the residents), in Hebron the settlements are actually in the city. The 100% Muslim population of Hebron is therefore forced to live in incredibly close quarters to the most radical and Zionist Jews in all of Israel. (The settlers in Hebron and the surrounding area are infamous for being far more confrontational, dangerous, and obnoxious than any other settlers in the state of Israel; even a majority of Israeli citizens view these people as extremists, literally "crazy people," and as a liability to the state.) There are shootings back and forth from both sides, but it is the Israeli settler children who are notorious for throwing rocks, beating, and harassing Hebronite school children and humanitarian aid workers alike. Besides shutting down the Old City markets and evicting many people from thier homes by means of blocked roads for the security of the settlements, the settlers have also made daily life an ugly reminder of their unwelcome presence because netting was needed over some streets to protect people's heads from rocks and trash settlers were throwing down on them, and people living in homes with windows adjacent to settler areas have had to put up fence to keep their windows from being continually broken by settlers throwing rocks. (See pictures in the slideshow--they are worth a thousand words.) And it was in Hebron in the Ibrahimi mosque that an Israeli settler went on a shooting rampage and massacred more than 20 Muslims during prayer. (The settlers in the area have erected a momument in his honor.) Many other things are going on in Hebron as well, such as the Israeli government trying to shut down a very important orphanage/school funded by the Islamic Charitable Society, but there is just too much that has happened and is happening to try to tell of all the issues in this city. So, what happened while I was there? Well, our group was meeting with the CPT leaders in their building in the Old City of Hebron (just as my Cross Cultural class did about a month earlier), and then in addition, we got to hear from a Muslim woman named Zleecha who lived next to CPT and allows them to use part of her house. Her house is actually adjacent to Al-Shahada Street, one of the most contentious parts of the city. Al-Shahada Street was once the main road in Hebron but then it was closed to Muslims for "sercurity purposes" (of course, since this is the excuse that Israel gives for everything it does whether it is remotely related to security or not...quite often not). According to the Oslo Accords, Al-Shahada Street was supposed to be reopened to traffic (in fact, tons of money from USAID was spent in preparation for this to happen), yet, just like so many other things that were supposed to happen, Israel never reopened the street. Zleecha is one of the few Muslim residents of the city who actually has a permit that allows her to be on the street, and so our group went out with her on the street for a walking tour as a continuation of the talk she was giving us. As you can imagine, problems were bound to arise. First we were stopped by soldiers; they checked Zleecha's permit, however, and said she was fine. After continuing to walk for two more minutes, we were stopped again when we encountered more soldiers. Even though she had just been cleared, they took her papers again and then acknowledged her clearance to be there. As we continued walking not much further, this time two Jewish settler women came running out in the street, shouting at us. They got up in the face of Zleecha, yelling fiercely at her, telling her that she was not allowed to be on the street. They yelled all kinds of threats and remarks which are not even worth repeating at members of our group. One got on her phone and immediately called the police. Then she called her husband out of their house, and he came out with his gun. Because they were causing such a commotion, soldiers at a station nearby left their posts and approached the scene. A little later, the police also arrived. All told, there were 14 soldiers and 3 police officers all at the scene, as Zleecha sarcasticaly commented, in order to "subdue one little Muslim woman." They took her papers once again, and though she had already been cleared twice, they told her that she needed to return home. The head police officer wanted her to get in their vehicle, and told her if she would not, he would arrest her. After much arguing, she finally consented and the vehicle turned around and delivered her about 200 meters back in the direction that we had come from, at her door. Zleecha reported to our group that trying to justify removing her from the street, the police officer told her that her permit said that she was allowed to walk "down" the street and not "up" the street. (She had been given the exact same excuse before, only vice versa with "down" and "up.") Obviously, there was no legitimate reason why she was not allowed on the street. We had just been walking along, doing nothing but looking around. It was because the settlers created a fuss that Zleecha was really made to return to her home. This brings up the question: who is really running the show in this situation--the soldiers or the settlers?
I have to say that immediately following this situation, I experienced more righteous anger than I may have ever before. (And every time I recount this experience, I still get incredibly heated.) This situation made so many systemic problems of injustice that I have been learning about and hearing about for months now just come alive and become very real. I experienced first-hand the threats to life and freedom that this woman faces everyday. When we were initially confronted by the settlers on the street, our group leader wanted to just turn around and walk away from the situation. The situation escalated somewhat, but finally our group did do just that--turned around and walked away. This is exactly opposite of what I wanted to do! As we turned around, every fiber of my being cried out to stay and face the situation. I wanted to just keep walking. It honestly tore me up inside to turn around, essentially surrendering to complete injustice. Turning around may have been the safer thing to do, I can easily concede that, but every part of my conscience screamed out against it. (Is being safe worth surrendering to injustice?) I have said to a few people that perhaps at that moment my "inner-activist" was awakened because I felt absolutely indignant after our retreat. I am not sure if this experience left me more heart-broken or angry (probably angry), but it has really called some things into question for me as far as advocacy versus activism are concerned. I am here with the expressed intent of standing in solidarity with oppressed people, but I am not sure right now to what level of "activism" that may or may not take me by the end of my summer. As British statesman Edmund Burke said: "All that is required for evil to prevail is for good men to do nothing." I cannot in good conscience witness all that I have witnessed and do nothing.
I've debated whether or not to include this next and final statement because I am worried about the idea some people may get, but I think that it can also help convey how strongly I have been impacted by my witnessing the situation here: I am actually beginning to understand the violent resistence of (some of) the Palestinian people. That said, I definitely do not support it and would never condone it, but I can understand why some choose to react violently. I have a magic blue passport, so as soon as I am ready to leave, I am free to come back to the U.S. and just leave everything here behind, but for the Palestinian people, there must be a pervading feeling of being trapped. For a grand majority of them, this is reality--they really are trapped: unable to travel out of an area about the size of New Jersey, often even restricted within that space by checkpoints. It is like living in prison--a large prison, but a prison nonetheless. I can only imagine living in this situation, and I imagine despair would quickly set upon me; after despair, desperation, and as a result of desperation, action--which often means violence because it is the only reaction that seems able to gain any attention here. Obviously, we all know that violence is just going to worsen the situation because violence just begets even more violence, yet I am gaining an understanding of how this violence seems to be born out of desperation. No, it does not make violence alright, but it does aid in seeing those people who resort to violence as people.
Is there hope? Certainly--there is always hope--but sometimes it is just incredibly hard to find.
Having mentioned these two experiences nineteen days ago, it may have occurred to some of you that these experiences actually took place even more than nineteen days ago, which could definitely be a long time to remember the details of the events (especially as I have so much happening every day). This is definitely true (but thankfully, this should hopefully help me to keep the stories relatively short).
The first of these two experiences is one that I initially was loath to partake in: a protest. (Since some pictures of this have actually been up for quite a while in the slideshow on the side of the blog, you may have known this was coming.) Protesting was something that until relatively recently I had always viewed in a somewhat negative light. However, a class that I had this past year changed a lot of my thoughts on this as we talked about the Civil Rights Movement. (Where would it have gone if people had not been willing to protest?) Still, not considering myself an "activist" (rather, an "advocate") at this point, I decided to attend a weekly protest that is held in a village south of Bethlehem every Friday morning--but not as a participant, merely as an observer. This protest is a demonstration against the Wall which is planned to soon overtake the village and separate residents from their land where they farm. (This is a continually recurring story as more and more of the Wall is completed, weaving its way far into the West Bank, strategically annexing as much land as possible over the Green Line.) It is a small, non-violent protest, and what happens each week is that a group of villagers is joined by internationals, and they walk down a street in the village to meet up with a blockade set up that morning by the IDF (Israeli Defense Forces). After an hour or so, the protesters leave, and the IDF removes the blockade and leaves. You may be thinking that this doesn't seem like it really makes a lot of sense (what's the point of this blockade if it is only set up for a few hours a week while the protesters come?), in which case you would be thinking the same thing that a lot of people here think. Initially I didn't really want to get involved with a "protest" just because of the stigma that protesting can have, but on the other hand, I did come here to help an oppressed people. I seem to have found my niche at this protests, however, as an observer (I have been to the protests two more times since my initial experience). I feel like I am not quite an activist (there are some radical activists who come and get arrested), but I feel like I am helping the cause at the same time by contributing my international presence and witness. The international presence at these demonstrations is crucial because it provides a witness to what actually happens between the IDF and the Palestinians--without any witnesses Israel may use whatever means it so desires and not be held accountable because it is their word against the word of "Palestinian terrorists" (who are actually just peaceful activists). The first time I went to the protest, I was on a mini-bus full of CPT (Christian Peacemaker Teams) workers who all went along to participate, and we got to the demonstration without much hassle. The second and third times I went however, I was in a shared taxi and we were stopped at checkpoints on the roads to the village where the protest is held and told we were not allowed to pass. These checkpoints were set up just for those mornings, and we were forced to turn around because we could not enter a "dangerous military zone." Many of us as Americans take our First Amendment "right of the people peaceably to assemble" for granted, but Palestinians are granted no such right by Israel (or at least if it is on the books, it is not enforced). However, even though we were erroneously denied entry to the protest, we took some long, very windy, and very bumpy detours and arrived at the demonstration to face the Israeli injustice anyway. I will probably continue throughuot my time here to go and observe at this weekly protest because I definitely feel like it is part of my mission here to stand in solidarity with the oppressed.
The third experience that I wanted to relay was definitley the most dramatic encounter and the most up-close-and-personal experience I have had so far with the state of conflict here. This took place in the city of Hebron. Hebron is a very contentious city, even more so than other cities in the West Bank, because whereas in most cases, Israeli settlements are outside the cities (often grouped in rings around cities to attempt to strangle the economy and freedom of movement of the residents), in Hebron the settlements are actually in the city. The 100% Muslim population of Hebron is therefore forced to live in incredibly close quarters to the most radical and Zionist Jews in all of Israel. (The settlers in Hebron and the surrounding area are infamous for being far more confrontational, dangerous, and obnoxious than any other settlers in the state of Israel; even a majority of Israeli citizens view these people as extremists, literally "crazy people," and as a liability to the state.) There are shootings back and forth from both sides, but it is the Israeli settler children who are notorious for throwing rocks, beating, and harassing Hebronite school children and humanitarian aid workers alike. Besides shutting down the Old City markets and evicting many people from thier homes by means of blocked roads for the security of the settlements, the settlers have also made daily life an ugly reminder of their unwelcome presence because netting was needed over some streets to protect people's heads from rocks and trash settlers were throwing down on them, and people living in homes with windows adjacent to settler areas have had to put up fence to keep their windows from being continually broken by settlers throwing rocks. (See pictures in the slideshow--they are worth a thousand words.) And it was in Hebron in the Ibrahimi mosque that an Israeli settler went on a shooting rampage and massacred more than 20 Muslims during prayer. (The settlers in the area have erected a momument in his honor.) Many other things are going on in Hebron as well, such as the Israeli government trying to shut down a very important orphanage/school funded by the Islamic Charitable Society, but there is just too much that has happened and is happening to try to tell of all the issues in this city. So, what happened while I was there? Well, our group was meeting with the CPT leaders in their building in the Old City of Hebron (just as my Cross Cultural class did about a month earlier), and then in addition, we got to hear from a Muslim woman named Zleecha who lived next to CPT and allows them to use part of her house. Her house is actually adjacent to Al-Shahada Street, one of the most contentious parts of the city. Al-Shahada Street was once the main road in Hebron but then it was closed to Muslims for "sercurity purposes" (of course, since this is the excuse that Israel gives for everything it does whether it is remotely related to security or not...quite often not). According to the Oslo Accords, Al-Shahada Street was supposed to be reopened to traffic (in fact, tons of money from USAID was spent in preparation for this to happen), yet, just like so many other things that were supposed to happen, Israel never reopened the street. Zleecha is one of the few Muslim residents of the city who actually has a permit that allows her to be on the street, and so our group went out with her on the street for a walking tour as a continuation of the talk she was giving us. As you can imagine, problems were bound to arise. First we were stopped by soldiers; they checked Zleecha's permit, however, and said she was fine. After continuing to walk for two more minutes, we were stopped again when we encountered more soldiers. Even though she had just been cleared, they took her papers again and then acknowledged her clearance to be there. As we continued walking not much further, this time two Jewish settler women came running out in the street, shouting at us. They got up in the face of Zleecha, yelling fiercely at her, telling her that she was not allowed to be on the street. They yelled all kinds of threats and remarks which are not even worth repeating at members of our group. One got on her phone and immediately called the police. Then she called her husband out of their house, and he came out with his gun. Because they were causing such a commotion, soldiers at a station nearby left their posts and approached the scene. A little later, the police also arrived. All told, there were 14 soldiers and 3 police officers all at the scene, as Zleecha sarcasticaly commented, in order to "subdue one little Muslim woman." They took her papers once again, and though she had already been cleared twice, they told her that she needed to return home. The head police officer wanted her to get in their vehicle, and told her if she would not, he would arrest her. After much arguing, she finally consented and the vehicle turned around and delivered her about 200 meters back in the direction that we had come from, at her door. Zleecha reported to our group that trying to justify removing her from the street, the police officer told her that her permit said that she was allowed to walk "down" the street and not "up" the street. (She had been given the exact same excuse before, only vice versa with "down" and "up.") Obviously, there was no legitimate reason why she was not allowed on the street. We had just been walking along, doing nothing but looking around. It was because the settlers created a fuss that Zleecha was really made to return to her home. This brings up the question: who is really running the show in this situation--the soldiers or the settlers?
I have to say that immediately following this situation, I experienced more righteous anger than I may have ever before. (And every time I recount this experience, I still get incredibly heated.) This situation made so many systemic problems of injustice that I have been learning about and hearing about for months now just come alive and become very real. I experienced first-hand the threats to life and freedom that this woman faces everyday. When we were initially confronted by the settlers on the street, our group leader wanted to just turn around and walk away from the situation. The situation escalated somewhat, but finally our group did do just that--turned around and walked away. This is exactly opposite of what I wanted to do! As we turned around, every fiber of my being cried out to stay and face the situation. I wanted to just keep walking. It honestly tore me up inside to turn around, essentially surrendering to complete injustice. Turning around may have been the safer thing to do, I can easily concede that, but every part of my conscience screamed out against it. (Is being safe worth surrendering to injustice?) I have said to a few people that perhaps at that moment my "inner-activist" was awakened because I felt absolutely indignant after our retreat. I am not sure if this experience left me more heart-broken or angry (probably angry), but it has really called some things into question for me as far as advocacy versus activism are concerned. I am here with the expressed intent of standing in solidarity with oppressed people, but I am not sure right now to what level of "activism" that may or may not take me by the end of my summer. As British statesman Edmund Burke said: "All that is required for evil to prevail is for good men to do nothing." I cannot in good conscience witness all that I have witnessed and do nothing.
I've debated whether or not to include this next and final statement because I am worried about the idea some people may get, but I think that it can also help convey how strongly I have been impacted by my witnessing the situation here: I am actually beginning to understand the violent resistence of (some of) the Palestinian people. That said, I definitely do not support it and would never condone it, but I can understand why some choose to react violently. I have a magic blue passport, so as soon as I am ready to leave, I am free to come back to the U.S. and just leave everything here behind, but for the Palestinian people, there must be a pervading feeling of being trapped. For a grand majority of them, this is reality--they really are trapped: unable to travel out of an area about the size of New Jersey, often even restricted within that space by checkpoints. It is like living in prison--a large prison, but a prison nonetheless. I can only imagine living in this situation, and I imagine despair would quickly set upon me; after despair, desperation, and as a result of desperation, action--which often means violence because it is the only reaction that seems able to gain any attention here. Obviously, we all know that violence is just going to worsen the situation because violence just begets even more violence, yet I am gaining an understanding of how this violence seems to be born out of desperation. No, it does not make violence alright, but it does aid in seeing those people who resort to violence as people.
Is there hope? Certainly--there is always hope--but sometimes it is just incredibly hard to find.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
It's been a while...
Yes, I know, I've been away for a long time, and I do still intend to finish that last post. I have just been incredibly busy with program activities. But, here's a little news: even though I haven't updated this blog in a while, I did recently write a short "photo essay" for the official PSE blog. It's probably a lot of repeat information, but if you'd like to access it, you may do so at http://www.palestinesummer.org/node/133.
Until later...
Until later...
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Getting into it
It's been a little while since I was last able to blog, mainly because I have just been incredibly busy. I have had a number of new experiences since I last wrote, three of which are particularly interesting and I would like to share.
I'm going to go slightly out of order chronologically and start with the time I had hiking last Saturday. Two friends from the PSE program and I went on a hike starting from Soloman's Pools (the supposed place where Soloman sat while writing Song of Soloman, though that idea has since been refuted--they were actually constructed about 800 years later...still pretty old and impressive though) which are in the southwest corner of Bethlehem, through a wadi, and out to the Herodian (one of Herod the Great's fortresses). This was probably a 10-15 kilometer hike, but it actually took us from about 10 a.m. til 4 p.m. for a couple of reasons: we were going a rather slow pace and we made some stops along the way. Besides to eat, we also stopped in a beautiful church in the village of Artas which is south of Bethlehem. The church is called The Lady of the Garden and is a rather large complex of buildings and gardens founded by Uraguayan Catholics about a century ago right in the middle of a tiny Muslim village, which just seems a little funny. However, the real experience of the day was another stop we made when we were getting very close to the Herodian. We had stopped briefly to take a short reprieve in the middle of a village because there was actually some shade available. (In this desert-y region, shade from trees is not always readily available.) We were resting against a fence of someone's yard, when a man came out and greeted us and asked if we would come in. Having been out for quite a while in the blazing sun, a break didn't sound too bad, so we went in. I must note that such an invitation from a complete stranger is not surprising at all in this place--Palestinians are actually renowned for thier hospitality, which we proceeded to experience. We were brought into a large room with couches all around the walls, and for nearly two hours or so, we drank soda and tea, had snacks, and had slightly language-barrier impaired, though manageable conversations. (The two other people with me, both women, actually left the room and went outside where all the women and girls were and played games with them; I stayed in the room with the men.) I have felt very welcomed by my host family, and from the very beginning they have told me that I am just part of their family while I am here. Yet, this experience was very different in some ways: my host placement was arranged beforehand while this time was completely spontaneous and initiated by them, not me; my host family are Christians living in the city (Area A--completely under the Palestinian Authority), and this was a Muslim family living in a small village (in Area C--completely under Israeli control). Basically, I have heard over and over that Palestinians are incredibly hospitable, but this was a very real encounter with that fact. We were just completely welcomed in and treated very well as their guests. When we were finally able to pry ourselves away from the house (it is actually difficult to refuse the hospitality here at the risk of offending), one of my friends joked about how funny the whole time was because it seemed like some kind of scene from a sitcom--there was this gigantic family (the family was actually a number of extended families all living right next to each other, and they told us that there were over 100 family members all living together) and then three foreigners, with new kids just appearing right and left, 20 people in one room the whole time, though it was never the same 20, and all kinds of characters within the family members--from the little kids who were watching from the window but would duck down whenever I looked over to the grandfather of the clan who, though I couldn't understand him, must've been making some ornery jokes. It was a very fun time, surprisingly not awkward, and I was very grateful to have this new experience.
Well, that's one of three experiences I'd like to talk about, but I've got to head to Arabic class! More later...
I'm going to go slightly out of order chronologically and start with the time I had hiking last Saturday. Two friends from the PSE program and I went on a hike starting from Soloman's Pools (the supposed place where Soloman sat while writing Song of Soloman, though that idea has since been refuted--they were actually constructed about 800 years later...still pretty old and impressive though) which are in the southwest corner of Bethlehem, through a wadi, and out to the Herodian (one of Herod the Great's fortresses). This was probably a 10-15 kilometer hike, but it actually took us from about 10 a.m. til 4 p.m. for a couple of reasons: we were going a rather slow pace and we made some stops along the way. Besides to eat, we also stopped in a beautiful church in the village of Artas which is south of Bethlehem. The church is called The Lady of the Garden and is a rather large complex of buildings and gardens founded by Uraguayan Catholics about a century ago right in the middle of a tiny Muslim village, which just seems a little funny. However, the real experience of the day was another stop we made when we were getting very close to the Herodian. We had stopped briefly to take a short reprieve in the middle of a village because there was actually some shade available. (In this desert-y region, shade from trees is not always readily available.) We were resting against a fence of someone's yard, when a man came out and greeted us and asked if we would come in. Having been out for quite a while in the blazing sun, a break didn't sound too bad, so we went in. I must note that such an invitation from a complete stranger is not surprising at all in this place--Palestinians are actually renowned for thier hospitality, which we proceeded to experience. We were brought into a large room with couches all around the walls, and for nearly two hours or so, we drank soda and tea, had snacks, and had slightly language-barrier impaired, though manageable conversations. (The two other people with me, both women, actually left the room and went outside where all the women and girls were and played games with them; I stayed in the room with the men.) I have felt very welcomed by my host family, and from the very beginning they have told me that I am just part of their family while I am here. Yet, this experience was very different in some ways: my host placement was arranged beforehand while this time was completely spontaneous and initiated by them, not me; my host family are Christians living in the city (Area A--completely under the Palestinian Authority), and this was a Muslim family living in a small village (in Area C--completely under Israeli control). Basically, I have heard over and over that Palestinians are incredibly hospitable, but this was a very real encounter with that fact. We were just completely welcomed in and treated very well as their guests. When we were finally able to pry ourselves away from the house (it is actually difficult to refuse the hospitality here at the risk of offending), one of my friends joked about how funny the whole time was because it seemed like some kind of scene from a sitcom--there was this gigantic family (the family was actually a number of extended families all living right next to each other, and they told us that there were over 100 family members all living together) and then three foreigners, with new kids just appearing right and left, 20 people in one room the whole time, though it was never the same 20, and all kinds of characters within the family members--from the little kids who were watching from the window but would duck down whenever I looked over to the grandfather of the clan who, though I couldn't understand him, must've been making some ornery jokes. It was a very fun time, surprisingly not awkward, and I was very grateful to have this new experience.
Well, that's one of three experiences I'd like to talk about, but I've got to head to Arabic class! More later...
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