I've mentioned before the necessity of lies in the Palestinian Territories. You lie to get into the country (Israeli border guard: Are you going to the West Bank? You: No! I'm here to see Israel!), you lie to get through checkpoints (Israeli soldier: What are you doing here? You: I'm on a religious pilgrimage) and even when you're just talking to Israelis or Palestinians on the streets, you generally make diplomatic non-answers when asked about your movements. With the Israelis this is because you wish to avoid hostility, and with the Palestinians this is because you want to avoid offence.
I have tried to rise above this. I told the truth to the Israeli border guards at the airport - and got only a one month visa for my honesty. Fortunately, when I went to get the visa extended, I was saved from having to lie outright about what I was doing in the country since the immigration official questioning me obviously wanted to get home and so hardly asked me anything at all. At the checkpoints I have largely avoided questioning, though when I have been asked direct questions I have told the truth, though not the whole truth (Soldier: What are you doing here? Me: Travelling).
But the longer I am here, the more I see how integral lying is to the whole occupation and the more I find myself doing it. I have three different scenarios to demonstrate this.
First Scenario: Don't Side with the Enemy
I was travelling to Tel Aviv with another PAS student, R., who is from Norway. Once we reached Jerusalem we went to Jaffa Road to catch a sherut (shared taxi) to Tel Aviv. We didn't know exactly where they left from and so had to ask several people. One man was kind enough to walk us there. As we turned up the road to where they were parked, we were confronted with flashing lights and loud speakers blasting out instructions in Hebrew - the police had combed the area and were pushing everyone away. As we walked forward a few steps one of the policemen saw us and started yelling and waving us away. The man we were with tried to ask (in Hebrew) what the problem is and whether we could get to the sheruts, but the policeman just yelled something and the man turned round and led us back to Jaffa Road.
'It's a bomb,' he said, 'You know Israel, we have problems with the Arabs.'
He then proceeded to walk with us up to the Central Bus Station so we could catch a bus to Tel Aviv instead, since a sherut was no longer an option. On the way he asked us many questions: Where are we from? What are we doing here? How long have we been here? etc. etc. etc. I weaved a tale in response to his questions: we were backpackers who had been travelling Israel for a month and would return home in about two weeks. I even told him how much the youth hostel I said we stayed in the night before had cost when he asked. R. remained silent so as not to say something that would reveal my tale as the lie it was.
Perhaps I should have told him the truth. Perhaps it was my duty to tell him the truth. But right then and there, I didn't even think about it - the false tale sprang out of my lips before I even knew what I was saying.
As R. said to me afterwards: 'I only lie to the people that I like.' That is, when people are friendly, the last thing you want to do is make them suspicious of you and hostile by telling them you live in Ramallah, which to most Israelis is a city of terrorists.
Second Scenario: Loving a Kibbutz
Three of my friends went for a weekend to a Kibbutz near the borders of Gaza. They had met some young Israelis who were undergoing their military service in the Negev Desert during a visit there and had been invited. They loved it - the peace and tranquility and the welcoming people. When they returned to Ramallah, they told us all about it, how wonderful it was. And they told their Palestinian friends - some of whom have spent time in Israeli prisons (also coincidently in the Negev) and in Israeli interrogation; and some of whom belong to refugee families originally from Israel. My three friends were honest about how the felt about the Kibbutz, but in this situation a bit of restraint would have been better. Several people were upset by what they said, and some where angered.
A Palestinian friend of a friend expressed her position on these situations when she said: 'I don't care if you go to Israel - go to Tel Aviv! You should see both sides. Just don't come back here and tell me how much you liked it, because I don't want to hear it.'
Third Scenario: Access Denied
Last week, a fellow PAS student, R., had to go to Jordan to meet a friend and also renew his Israeli visa, which was running out. He flew back to Tel Aviv Airport from Amman. He was stopped for questioning. He told the truth: that he was an international student at Birzeit. He was put on the next flight back to Amman. He tried to enter by land, through Allenby Bridge, but he was turned around. His embassy couldn't help him (he's American). His Congressman couldn't help him. His lawyer couldn't help him. This is a person who never went to any of the demonstrations while in the West Bank. He is, however, half Palestinian, with family in Jerusalem. Why has he been denied entry? Security? He's nineteen.
Everyone who has lied effectively at the borders has been let in with no problems. Moral of the story?
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
On the Election
Senator Obama will now be President of the United States!
But what does this mean for the Palestinian Territories?
I hope it means something. All the Palestinians I have spoken with hope it means something, but they don't have their hopes up. Barack Obama has already indicated that he will continue to support Israel, and that's the only policy that Palestinians are interested in.
But let's see.
But what does this mean for the Palestinian Territories?
I hope it means something. All the Palestinians I have spoken with hope it means something, but they don't have their hopes up. Barack Obama has already indicated that he will continue to support Israel, and that's the only policy that Palestinians are interested in.
But let's see.
Monday, November 3, 2008
Passing through the checkpoint
On Sunday I went to Jerusalem and have two snap-shots to share, both involving entering and leaving Jerusalem through Qalandia checkpoint.
The First Snapshot: Too Close for Comfort
I was sitting in the back row of seating on the bus that transports Palestinians between Ramallah and Jerusalem. Beside me was an old man in a grey suit and with a smile that seems to come from the heart. When we reached the checkpoint, I pulled out my passport in anticipation for the Israeli soldiers who check the papers of all commuters entering Jerusalem. The old man beside me looked at the passport.
'Where are you from,' he asked me softly accented English
'Australia,' I replied
'Welcome, welcome' he said, smiling at me.
A soldier entered the bus - a young woman, though perhaps 'a young girl' would be a better description. She was younger than I am and her gun hung loosely to her. Her mannerisms were bored as she scrutinised people's ID cards and papers, taking her time. She reached the back of the bus. As she stood in front of me, the nuzzle of her M16 nudged my legs. I tried to move out of the way but with every movement she made it swung towards me again. I hated the feel of it.
An Afternoon Spent in Jerusalem
Soy cafe latte
Croissant
Cafe culture
Shopping malls
Designer clothing stores
And, of course, proliferation of religious symbolism
The Second Snapshot: Let's Make Them Wait
Once more we approached the checkpoint, this time heading back to Ramallah. Usually vehicles are only stopped and searched while entering Jerusalem, not leaving. Today, however, the Israeli police were stopping cars at random and searching them. But instead of pulling them aside, out of the path of traffic, the police stopped them in front of the other vehicles, holding everyone up. There were three police officers took their time. Five minutes went by, ten minutes... The line of waiting traffic grew and the other passengers on my bus started craning their neck to see what was keeping us. When the police finally finished their search of the vehicle, they stepped back and allowed the traffic to begin to move once more. As we passed them, they were leaning back, lounging against their vehicle, smoking and chatting to each other. One of them looked directly at the people in the passing vehicles.
The First Snapshot: Too Close for Comfort
I was sitting in the back row of seating on the bus that transports Palestinians between Ramallah and Jerusalem. Beside me was an old man in a grey suit and with a smile that seems to come from the heart. When we reached the checkpoint, I pulled out my passport in anticipation for the Israeli soldiers who check the papers of all commuters entering Jerusalem. The old man beside me looked at the passport.
'Where are you from,' he asked me softly accented English
'Australia,' I replied
'Welcome, welcome' he said, smiling at me.
A soldier entered the bus - a young woman, though perhaps 'a young girl' would be a better description. She was younger than I am and her gun hung loosely to her. Her mannerisms were bored as she scrutinised people's ID cards and papers, taking her time. She reached the back of the bus. As she stood in front of me, the nuzzle of her M16 nudged my legs. I tried to move out of the way but with every movement she made it swung towards me again. I hated the feel of it.
An Afternoon Spent in Jerusalem
Soy cafe latte
Croissant
Cafe culture
Shopping malls
Designer clothing stores
And, of course, proliferation of religious symbolism
The Second Snapshot: Let's Make Them Wait
Once more we approached the checkpoint, this time heading back to Ramallah. Usually vehicles are only stopped and searched while entering Jerusalem, not leaving. Today, however, the Israeli police were stopping cars at random and searching them. But instead of pulling them aside, out of the path of traffic, the police stopped them in front of the other vehicles, holding everyone up. There were three police officers took their time. Five minutes went by, ten minutes... The line of waiting traffic grew and the other passengers on my bus started craning their neck to see what was keeping us. When the police finally finished their search of the vehicle, they stepped back and allowed the traffic to begin to move once more. As we passed them, they were leaning back, lounging against their vehicle, smoking and chatting to each other. One of them looked directly at the people in the passing vehicles.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Ustaazna - Our teacher
Everyone in Palestine has a story of the occupation. These stories are their way of explaining why they think and feel the way they do. Whenever I have spoken with a Palestinian about the occupation and about the potential for some sort of solution they have always given their opinion and then qualified it with a personal anecdote. The occupation is not a political problem, it's a personal problem: kul yoom, kul sea'a ('every day, every hour'). These stories include confrontations with soldiers, arrests without charge, refusals of permission to travel home to Gaza from the West Bank to bury a parent, and a myriad of other injustices and humiliations.
These stories are also weaved into our classes at Birzeit University and this incorporation was especially apparent in my Colloquial Arabic class today.
My experience of studying Arabic in Palestine has been very political. An example of our vocabulary lists: war (Harb), soldier (jundi), borders (huduud), politics (siyaasa), bullets (raSaaS), missile (Saaruukh), terrorist (irhaabi), under occupation (taHt iliHtilaal), the wall (il-jidaar), the army (il-jeesh), refugee (laaji'iin)... And of course: peace (salaam).
One of the first questions I learnt to answer: 'Who hit the student?' (miin darab aT-Taalib?). The answer: 'The soldier.' (al-joondi)
We learn to say 'we want real peace' (bidna salaam Haqiiqii), but our teacher shakes his head sadly: ween salaam? fish salaam huun ('Where's peace? There is no peace here).
Today, ustaazna (our teacher) spoke to us for over half an hour in Arabic, though occasionally clarifying some words in English so we could follow. He told us some of his stories and told us his view and his hopes. I did not catch everything he said, as there were many words I was unfamiliar with, but I understood the greater part of it. I also recognised much of what he said as I had heard it from so many people here before: ana insaan, zay inta insaan ('I am human, like you are human').
And he repeated a common refrain of parents: batmanna fii salaam, mish ashaani, ashaan ibni, ashaan binti ('I hope there is peace, not for me, but for my son, for my daughter.')
At first it seemed strange, and even funny, to my classmates and I that so many words carrying the theme of war were part of the necessary vocabulary for our course. We laughed at how it seemed to be a fulfilment of the stereotype to have us learn such words in Palestine even in a university institution. But as time has gone by here, I have come to realise that the reason why these words made up the foundations of our Arabic study was because these are the words that we absolutely need to know. These words make up the stories people share with us.
These stories are also weaved into our classes at Birzeit University and this incorporation was especially apparent in my Colloquial Arabic class today.
My experience of studying Arabic in Palestine has been very political. An example of our vocabulary lists: war (Harb), soldier (jundi), borders (huduud), politics (siyaasa), bullets (raSaaS), missile (Saaruukh), terrorist (irhaabi), under occupation (taHt iliHtilaal), the wall (il-jidaar), the army (il-jeesh), refugee (laaji'iin)... And of course: peace (salaam).
One of the first questions I learnt to answer: 'Who hit the student?' (miin darab aT-Taalib?). The answer: 'The soldier.' (al-joondi)
We learn to say 'we want real peace' (bidna salaam Haqiiqii), but our teacher shakes his head sadly: ween salaam? fish salaam huun ('Where's peace? There is no peace here).
Today, ustaazna (our teacher) spoke to us for over half an hour in Arabic, though occasionally clarifying some words in English so we could follow. He told us some of his stories and told us his view and his hopes. I did not catch everything he said, as there were many words I was unfamiliar with, but I understood the greater part of it. I also recognised much of what he said as I had heard it from so many people here before: ana insaan, zay inta insaan ('I am human, like you are human').
And he repeated a common refrain of parents: batmanna fii salaam, mish ashaani, ashaan ibni, ashaan binti ('I hope there is peace, not for me, but for my son, for my daughter.')
At first it seemed strange, and even funny, to my classmates and I that so many words carrying the theme of war were part of the necessary vocabulary for our course. We laughed at how it seemed to be a fulfilment of the stereotype to have us learn such words in Palestine even in a university institution. But as time has gone by here, I have come to realise that the reason why these words made up the foundations of our Arabic study was because these are the words that we absolutely need to know. These words make up the stories people share with us.
Friday, October 24, 2008
On Being Overcome
There are some moments where it gets too much, when it overcomes you. Tonight's one of those times.
Today I went to join the olive harvest once more but I saw more guns than I picked olives. We were driven away by settlers and soldiers. In every place where the settlers attack the harvesting Palestinians the military come and close of the area - a closed military zone. This just means that the settlers get what they want - the Palestinians are prevented from reaching their olive trees.
There were no shots fired today, no tear gas, just intimidation. The soldiers used their M16s and the settlers used their numbers to drive us out, onto the road. There was so much media - international and local. There were many photo opportunities: people yelling, chanting, arguing; soldiers shoving, laughing and joking; settlers yelling, smiling and taunting. So many photo opportunities.
Snapshot: You're Either With Us or Against Us
There was an Israeli activist in the protest today. He gave us some leaflets, but they were in Hebrew so we couldn't read them. However, he explained to us that he was part of a group that was against the settlements. When the Israeli soldiers were driving us away, a group of settlers approached the man and began to argue with him. One of the other Birzeit students who was there explained to me later how the settlers began to shove him. She said that the army came to separate them but instead of telling the settlers off for assaulting an Israeli citizen, the soldiers pushed the man into his car and ordered him to leave. I saw him as he drove away, he winked at us and said 'you do good work'. His comment seemed to be directed at M., one of the leaders of the Stop the Wall Campaign. M. did not react to this. Maybe he did not notice.
Today I went to join the olive harvest once more but I saw more guns than I picked olives. We were driven away by settlers and soldiers. In every place where the settlers attack the harvesting Palestinians the military come and close of the area - a closed military zone. This just means that the settlers get what they want - the Palestinians are prevented from reaching their olive trees.
There were no shots fired today, no tear gas, just intimidation. The soldiers used their M16s and the settlers used their numbers to drive us out, onto the road. There was so much media - international and local. There were many photo opportunities: people yelling, chanting, arguing; soldiers shoving, laughing and joking; settlers yelling, smiling and taunting. So many photo opportunities.
Snapshot: You're Either With Us or Against Us
There was an Israeli activist in the protest today. He gave us some leaflets, but they were in Hebrew so we couldn't read them. However, he explained to us that he was part of a group that was against the settlements. When the Israeli soldiers were driving us away, a group of settlers approached the man and began to argue with him. One of the other Birzeit students who was there explained to me later how the settlers began to shove him. She said that the army came to separate them but instead of telling the settlers off for assaulting an Israeli citizen, the soldiers pushed the man into his car and ordered him to leave. I saw him as he drove away, he winked at us and said 'you do good work'. His comment seemed to be directed at M., one of the leaders of the Stop the Wall Campaign. M. did not react to this. Maybe he did not notice.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Harvesting Olives
On Thursday many of the other international students and I joined the olive harvest. We were hosted by the Stop the Wall campaign and they drove us out to the villages that were requiring internationals to help harvest their olives. The villages struggle either with the Israeli army or Israeli settlers, who prevent the inhabitants from picking their olives by either blocking off the area or attacking them. And so, during the olive harvest, internationals flock to the Palestinian Territories to stand with the Palestinian farmers in the hope that their presence will dissuade soldiers and/or settlers from approaching. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. This time, for us, it worked and we weren't bothered. Though one of my classmates who went to a village near Bethlehem to harvest wasn't so lucky and the group she was harvesting with was set upon by tear gas and rubber bullets. Needless to say, they ran and the olive trees were left unharvested - for the moment at least.
We harvested in a village called M-, which is near Nablus. We were directed to focus on the trees near the Israeli road, as that was where they had the most trouble. There were about twenty internationals and we got through the trees quickly, though perhaps a little unskilfully. I have two snapshots from this experience.
The First Snapshot: A Family Affair
Picking olives is a family affair - from grandparents to babies there is a role for everyone, with perhaps the exception of the youngest. Walking through the olive groves you come across babies and young children asleep in cribs or bundles of blankets in the shade of the trees. Their families labour nearby, coming over to check on them occasionally and carrying them to the next area once they have picked all the nearby trees. The grandparents sort through the olives that have been picked, removing small branches and leaves and placing the olives into sacks ready to be carried home at the end of the day. The women gather the olives that have fallen onto the ground, weed the areas around their olive trees, brew tea and prepare meals for the family. The men climb into the trees or on ladders to reach the highest branches and strip them of olives. As visiting internationals, we do a bit of everything - though the women don't let us help with the food and tea as we are their guests.
The Second Snapshot: Picking the Olive
The best part of harvesting is when you begin a new tree: the branches are covered in olives and you can just fall upon the tree and strip them away with ease. We use a small comb devise that can strip the small branches with a single swipe. It's such a satisfying feeling hearing the olives fall on the tarp that is stretched out at our feet to catch them. After this preliminary stage the process becomes slower as you search and struggle to find and pluck the stray olives. This is when you receive the scratches on your hands and arms that are inevitable when harvesting as you must reach through the branches, balancing on your tip-toes, struggling for that single olive you see dangling tauntingly above you.
We were fed lunch and after harvesting two more trees the bus returned and we prepared to leave. As we walked to the buses, D. (one of my classmates) approached me and asked if I was interested in spending the night here and returning to Ramallah tomorrow. I wasn't sure if it was possible but I agreed to ask with him. The secretary of the municipality said it was not possible for us to spend the night in this village, however one of our classmates had already arranged to spend the night in the next village over, A-, and we could join him there.
Altogether, five of us spent the night in A-. Originally we were going to spend the night in their Municipality building; however when we went to one of the villager's homes to use the bathroom, the family invited us to spend the night with them. The house was actually home to two families - each taking up one half. The two halves had separate entrances and could operate independently of each other, though there were also doorways that connected the two halves so the two families could pass into each other's homes. The men of the two families were brothers. For the purpose of our stay there, the family segregated along gender lines and all the men (including D. and L., my classmates) stayed in one side of the house while the women (including me, C. and R.) and the children stayed in the other.
The two sisters-in-law were very excited to have other young women to speak with and to have an opportunity to practice their English. They were twenty-one and twenty-two years old, having been married at the age of sixteen. They had two and three children respectively and were curious as to why we were not yet married, repeatedly asking when we were going to get married? Finally I said that we would get married after university and this satisfied them - L. (the eldest) nodded soberly and said 'you are clever, it is good to get education'. They said that they were currently studying through open learning as they planned to be teachers, but L. said that she was doing poorly because with her three children (one only a baby) she had no time to study. We asked if she would be having more children and she said 'inshallah no' (God willing no). Both seemed melancholy at their situation, though L. particularly so. Perhaps it was just because they were faced with us and the possibility that we represented - being university students and not yet married with children.
I have several impressions from this night, but I will record here just two.
The Third Snapshot: Henna from Mecca and a Hijab
L. asked if I liked Islam. I replied diplomatically that Islam is lovely but I am a Christian (I find it's always best to avoid saying that I am not religious). She struggled to express her words as her English was not very good, but her body language was clear: her face lit up in ecstasy and she lifted her hands and face skyward as she said 'Islam is beauty'. I could tell she wanted to continue the conversation, but her sister interrupted by bringing in her wedding album. As we poured over the photos complimenting her on her beauty (we also looked at L.'s album but she was more self-effacing and didn't seek out our compliments) we began to speak about the difference between our clothing and Islamic clothing, so the sisters decided to dress us in their hijab and dress (a single piece of clothing that hides the shape of the body and covers wrists to ankles, buttoning right up to the neck). One by one we were dressed and the sisters laughed, though L. particularly stressed to me that this is a good way for me to dress. We also had our right hands and nails painted with henna that was a gift from their parents-in-law from Mecca. On my hand they painted a flower and a letter 'M' and on my nails all different designs: a heart, two swirls, a little flower and a diamond.
The Fourth Snapshot: Lessons in Patriarchy
L.'s daughter was playing with a ball and cup - throwing the ball and trying to catch it in the cup. She laughed as she played and we often joined her by throwing her the ball and trying to catch it when she threw it to us. Then the smaller boy (her cousin) took the ball and held it behind his back. She tried to reach for it but missed and began to cry. L. came and took the ball from the boy returning it to her daughter but then the boy began to cry so L. took back the ball with the cup and gave him both. She then picked up her wailing daughter and took her to sit with her by the wall, holding her in her lap and silencing her protests. The girl struggled to stand and reclaim her toys, but L. held her tight. The boy appeared to taunt her as he stood before her with her ball and cup in hand. He then began to play with them, laughing and running around after the ball. This was a lesson in patriarchy and both children were being schooled - the boy was learning of his superiority and the girl was being made aware of her lower status. This is how it seemed to the Western witnesses of this scene.
We did not get much sleep that night, as the sisters wanted to keep us up as long as possible so that they could enjoy our company and the children were rowdy with all the excitement. But still, we were woken early so that we could join the family for another day of olive harvesting. It was a peaceful day with the family, all of whom were so kind to us. They kept giving us food and tea and coffee until we were almost bursting at the seams. Though even in this happy time our ideas were challenged.
The Fifth Snapshot: Prejudice and Suffering
The mother-in-law of our hosts, the grandmother of the family, was a lovely woman: hospitable, welcoming and strong. She is the headmistress of the village girl's school and her husband is the headmaster of the boy's. She asked us many questions and spoke with us at length. She was obviously a headmistress, a woman of status. She was more confident in her English than her husband, despite the fact that she had not used it in years and often struggled to convey her meaning. Over lunch she turned to L. (a German) and asked if it was true that six million Jews had been killed by the Nazis, because she had heard that it was a lie. His reply was unequivocal: 'Yes, it is absolutely true.' She looked at him sceptically and said that she did not believe that this was the case, but that even if it was, what does it matter now? Israel is killing Palestinians every day.
Such a lovely woman, and a Holocaust denier.
I forgot to mention that she has two sons in gaol, one arrested only recently and being held without charge. Because the Territories are under the jurisdiction of the military court, Israel is able to arrest people in this way without charging them with anything. It is called an 'administrative arrest' and it was first introduced by the British Mandate. A person can be held for six months, though this can then be redeemed. The longest term that someone has been held under administrative arrest is about eight years.
I also forgot to mention that just one month ago a fifteen year old had been shot dead by the Israeli military at the edge of the village for being suspected of trying to attack the settlement that sits on the hill above. The end of the village is only about one hundred metres from the edge of the settlement. This boy's eldest brother had been shot dead in the same place a few years earlier. After this latest death, the middle brother who is seventeen years old, was arrested without charge.
We harvested in a village called M-, which is near Nablus. We were directed to focus on the trees near the Israeli road, as that was where they had the most trouble. There were about twenty internationals and we got through the trees quickly, though perhaps a little unskilfully. I have two snapshots from this experience.
The First Snapshot: A Family Affair
Picking olives is a family affair - from grandparents to babies there is a role for everyone, with perhaps the exception of the youngest. Walking through the olive groves you come across babies and young children asleep in cribs or bundles of blankets in the shade of the trees. Their families labour nearby, coming over to check on them occasionally and carrying them to the next area once they have picked all the nearby trees. The grandparents sort through the olives that have been picked, removing small branches and leaves and placing the olives into sacks ready to be carried home at the end of the day. The women gather the olives that have fallen onto the ground, weed the areas around their olive trees, brew tea and prepare meals for the family. The men climb into the trees or on ladders to reach the highest branches and strip them of olives. As visiting internationals, we do a bit of everything - though the women don't let us help with the food and tea as we are their guests.
The Second Snapshot: Picking the Olive
The best part of harvesting is when you begin a new tree: the branches are covered in olives and you can just fall upon the tree and strip them away with ease. We use a small comb devise that can strip the small branches with a single swipe. It's such a satisfying feeling hearing the olives fall on the tarp that is stretched out at our feet to catch them. After this preliminary stage the process becomes slower as you search and struggle to find and pluck the stray olives. This is when you receive the scratches on your hands and arms that are inevitable when harvesting as you must reach through the branches, balancing on your tip-toes, struggling for that single olive you see dangling tauntingly above you.
We were fed lunch and after harvesting two more trees the bus returned and we prepared to leave. As we walked to the buses, D. (one of my classmates) approached me and asked if I was interested in spending the night here and returning to Ramallah tomorrow. I wasn't sure if it was possible but I agreed to ask with him. The secretary of the municipality said it was not possible for us to spend the night in this village, however one of our classmates had already arranged to spend the night in the next village over, A-, and we could join him there.
Altogether, five of us spent the night in A-. Originally we were going to spend the night in their Municipality building; however when we went to one of the villager's homes to use the bathroom, the family invited us to spend the night with them. The house was actually home to two families - each taking up one half. The two halves had separate entrances and could operate independently of each other, though there were also doorways that connected the two halves so the two families could pass into each other's homes. The men of the two families were brothers. For the purpose of our stay there, the family segregated along gender lines and all the men (including D. and L., my classmates) stayed in one side of the house while the women (including me, C. and R.) and the children stayed in the other.
The two sisters-in-law were very excited to have other young women to speak with and to have an opportunity to practice their English. They were twenty-one and twenty-two years old, having been married at the age of sixteen. They had two and three children respectively and were curious as to why we were not yet married, repeatedly asking when we were going to get married? Finally I said that we would get married after university and this satisfied them - L. (the eldest) nodded soberly and said 'you are clever, it is good to get education'. They said that they were currently studying through open learning as they planned to be teachers, but L. said that she was doing poorly because with her three children (one only a baby) she had no time to study. We asked if she would be having more children and she said 'inshallah no' (God willing no). Both seemed melancholy at their situation, though L. particularly so. Perhaps it was just because they were faced with us and the possibility that we represented - being university students and not yet married with children.
I have several impressions from this night, but I will record here just two.
The Third Snapshot: Henna from Mecca and a Hijab
L. asked if I liked Islam. I replied diplomatically that Islam is lovely but I am a Christian (I find it's always best to avoid saying that I am not religious). She struggled to express her words as her English was not very good, but her body language was clear: her face lit up in ecstasy and she lifted her hands and face skyward as she said 'Islam is beauty'. I could tell she wanted to continue the conversation, but her sister interrupted by bringing in her wedding album. As we poured over the photos complimenting her on her beauty (we also looked at L.'s album but she was more self-effacing and didn't seek out our compliments) we began to speak about the difference between our clothing and Islamic clothing, so the sisters decided to dress us in their hijab and dress (a single piece of clothing that hides the shape of the body and covers wrists to ankles, buttoning right up to the neck). One by one we were dressed and the sisters laughed, though L. particularly stressed to me that this is a good way for me to dress. We also had our right hands and nails painted with henna that was a gift from their parents-in-law from Mecca. On my hand they painted a flower and a letter 'M' and on my nails all different designs: a heart, two swirls, a little flower and a diamond.
The Fourth Snapshot: Lessons in Patriarchy
L.'s daughter was playing with a ball and cup - throwing the ball and trying to catch it in the cup. She laughed as she played and we often joined her by throwing her the ball and trying to catch it when she threw it to us. Then the smaller boy (her cousin) took the ball and held it behind his back. She tried to reach for it but missed and began to cry. L. came and took the ball from the boy returning it to her daughter but then the boy began to cry so L. took back the ball with the cup and gave him both. She then picked up her wailing daughter and took her to sit with her by the wall, holding her in her lap and silencing her protests. The girl struggled to stand and reclaim her toys, but L. held her tight. The boy appeared to taunt her as he stood before her with her ball and cup in hand. He then began to play with them, laughing and running around after the ball. This was a lesson in patriarchy and both children were being schooled - the boy was learning of his superiority and the girl was being made aware of her lower status. This is how it seemed to the Western witnesses of this scene.
We did not get much sleep that night, as the sisters wanted to keep us up as long as possible so that they could enjoy our company and the children were rowdy with all the excitement. But still, we were woken early so that we could join the family for another day of olive harvesting. It was a peaceful day with the family, all of whom were so kind to us. They kept giving us food and tea and coffee until we were almost bursting at the seams. Though even in this happy time our ideas were challenged.
The Fifth Snapshot: Prejudice and Suffering
The mother-in-law of our hosts, the grandmother of the family, was a lovely woman: hospitable, welcoming and strong. She is the headmistress of the village girl's school and her husband is the headmaster of the boy's. She asked us many questions and spoke with us at length. She was obviously a headmistress, a woman of status. She was more confident in her English than her husband, despite the fact that she had not used it in years and often struggled to convey her meaning. Over lunch she turned to L. (a German) and asked if it was true that six million Jews had been killed by the Nazis, because she had heard that it was a lie. His reply was unequivocal: 'Yes, it is absolutely true.' She looked at him sceptically and said that she did not believe that this was the case, but that even if it was, what does it matter now? Israel is killing Palestinians every day.
Such a lovely woman, and a Holocaust denier.
I forgot to mention that she has two sons in gaol, one arrested only recently and being held without charge. Because the Territories are under the jurisdiction of the military court, Israel is able to arrest people in this way without charging them with anything. It is called an 'administrative arrest' and it was first introduced by the British Mandate. A person can be held for six months, though this can then be redeemed. The longest term that someone has been held under administrative arrest is about eight years.
I also forgot to mention that just one month ago a fifteen year old had been shot dead by the Israeli military at the edge of the village for being suspected of trying to attack the settlement that sits on the hill above. The end of the village is only about one hundred metres from the edge of the settlement. This boy's eldest brother had been shot dead in the same place a few years earlier. After this latest death, the middle brother who is seventeen years old, was arrested without charge.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Settling In
Today I went shopping in Ramallah’s sooq (marketplace). It is busy and positively pulsates with life: the shouting vendors, the trolley boys and the keen shoppers. This was the first time I had ventured into the sooq myself; previously I had always been with another of the international students.
To put it simply: I loved it. I felt that I could almost blend in with the shoppers and just become part of the scene. I loved being able to implement my limited Arabic ability to ask for my purchases: onions, apples and bread. One of the trolley boys even asked me if I wanted to use his trolley in Arabic and I was likewise able to answer him (‘la shukran’ ‘no thank you’). It was only when buying the bread that I had to fall into English - I didn't understand why they wouldn't let me buy the bag of bread I'd picked up and it turned out that it was old and so they wanted to give me fresh instead.
These past few days I have seen and heard much to despair about. We have been learning about the 1948 war in my Palestine Question class and I have been presented with a side of the story that I had never heard before. This 'other' story that gets so little coverage in the West is backed up and supported by UN observer reports, old British mandate papers and Israeli historians such as Benny Morris and, more recently, Ilan Pappe. My professor who took us through it was obviously heavily affected by the material we covered, it was after all the Palestinian 'nakba' ('catastrophe'), and he finished our class early - a thing he had never done so far in the semester (for he loves to talk).
I read two chapters of Ilan Pappe's book 'The Ethnic Cleansing of Palestine' and they shook me, because they forced me to realise that that is just what took place here. The only question is whether it continues to this day...
I feel that by dropping words such as 'ethnic cleansing' on Israel's doorstep I will lose my credibility and be labelled as a leftist who blindly adheres to the Palestinian cause, which is why I would normally shy away from such claims. All I can do is challenge those who disagree with me to prove their case, and make clear that I am perfectly willing to defend my position if people wish to question me. Though Ilan Pappe is far more eloquent than I would be so I recommend his book to everyone, or at least the first chapter in which he presents the definitions of 'ethnic cleansing' and evidences how what has taken place in this land fits within it.
It has not just been this class and these readings that have induced the despair I have felt of late, it has also been brought on through speaking with various people. One Birzeit student opened up to many of us international students about how she felt about the current situation and where she felt things stood. It was not a hopeful picture. The thing that struck me and many of the other students was her affirmation that she would not speak with an Israeli person, even if she had the opportunity: 'We are not equal. They live in freedom and I live in occupation. How could I forget that?' We asked if she thought that the two peoples (Israelis and Palestinians) could ever co-exist side by side and she said: 'Not this generation, and not the next. Perhaps the one after.' However, she emphasised that she did not represent all Palestinians, no one could do that. And she, like so many other Palestinians I have spoken with, emphasised that she can only present the story as she knows it and that while she would not speak with Israelis, she thinks that we should so that we can hear their perspective. Just don't go telling her about it. She doesn't want to hear if we find the Israeli people to be kind and sensitive to the Palestinian’s plight: how does knowing that they are really decent people help the fact that she is living in an occupation?
People's perspectives and beliefs vary so much here. It struck me that it's no wonder there is no effective Palestinian leader: how can one person lead and represent such a diverse group of people?
Another Birzeit student I have met recently and who strongly affected me is O., who was recently released from prison (an Israeli prison in the Negev Desert). He had been charged with rock throwing which allegedly took place at the beginning of the second intifada (six years ago) when he was a minor. For this 'crime' he was interrogated for seven weeks and imprisoned for six months. He had been 'turned in' by another who had been arrested and similarly interrogated to the point where he gave the Israelis any and every bit of 'information' he could. Even now that he is released his trials have not ended as he must still attend court. Need I tell you what a warm and engaging person he is? Obviously highly intelligent and still embodying a light air and liberal attitude, despite his recent experiences. He jokes that at least he got to see the Negev (which the Palestinians call the Naqab), which he had always wanted to do and as a Palestinian he would not have otherwise been able to (since the Negev is in Israel).
And, as ever, the image of the security barrier is in my mind's eye. As are the dilapidated buildings and piles of rubble that I saw in the Golan Heights that were once Arab towns and villages.
But then there's also the marketplace - alive and bubbling.
To put it simply: I loved it. I felt that I could almost blend in with the shoppers and just become part of the scene. I loved being able to implement my limited Arabic ability to ask for my purchases: onions, apples and bread. One of the trolley boys even asked me if I wanted to use his trolley in Arabic and I was likewise able to answer him (‘la shukran’ ‘no thank you’). It was only when buying the bread that I had to fall into English - I didn't understand why they wouldn't let me buy the bag of bread I'd picked up and it turned out that it was old and so they wanted to give me fresh instead.
These past few days I have seen and heard much to despair about. We have been learning about the 1948 war in my Palestine Question class and I have been presented with a side of the story that I had never heard before. This 'other' story that gets so little coverage in the West is backed up and supported by UN observer reports, old British mandate papers and Israeli historians such as Benny Morris and, more recently, Ilan Pappe. My professor who took us through it was obviously heavily affected by the material we covered, it was after all the Palestinian 'nakba' ('catastrophe'), and he finished our class early - a thing he had never done so far in the semester (for he loves to talk).
I read two chapters of Ilan Pappe's book 'The Ethnic Cleansing of Palestine' and they shook me, because they forced me to realise that that is just what took place here. The only question is whether it continues to this day...
I feel that by dropping words such as 'ethnic cleansing' on Israel's doorstep I will lose my credibility and be labelled as a leftist who blindly adheres to the Palestinian cause, which is why I would normally shy away from such claims. All I can do is challenge those who disagree with me to prove their case, and make clear that I am perfectly willing to defend my position if people wish to question me. Though Ilan Pappe is far more eloquent than I would be so I recommend his book to everyone, or at least the first chapter in which he presents the definitions of 'ethnic cleansing' and evidences how what has taken place in this land fits within it.
It has not just been this class and these readings that have induced the despair I have felt of late, it has also been brought on through speaking with various people. One Birzeit student opened up to many of us international students about how she felt about the current situation and where she felt things stood. It was not a hopeful picture. The thing that struck me and many of the other students was her affirmation that she would not speak with an Israeli person, even if she had the opportunity: 'We are not equal. They live in freedom and I live in occupation. How could I forget that?' We asked if she thought that the two peoples (Israelis and Palestinians) could ever co-exist side by side and she said: 'Not this generation, and not the next. Perhaps the one after.' However, she emphasised that she did not represent all Palestinians, no one could do that. And she, like so many other Palestinians I have spoken with, emphasised that she can only present the story as she knows it and that while she would not speak with Israelis, she thinks that we should so that we can hear their perspective. Just don't go telling her about it. She doesn't want to hear if we find the Israeli people to be kind and sensitive to the Palestinian’s plight: how does knowing that they are really decent people help the fact that she is living in an occupation?
People's perspectives and beliefs vary so much here. It struck me that it's no wonder there is no effective Palestinian leader: how can one person lead and represent such a diverse group of people?
Another Birzeit student I have met recently and who strongly affected me is O., who was recently released from prison (an Israeli prison in the Negev Desert). He had been charged with rock throwing which allegedly took place at the beginning of the second intifada (six years ago) when he was a minor. For this 'crime' he was interrogated for seven weeks and imprisoned for six months. He had been 'turned in' by another who had been arrested and similarly interrogated to the point where he gave the Israelis any and every bit of 'information' he could. Even now that he is released his trials have not ended as he must still attend court. Need I tell you what a warm and engaging person he is? Obviously highly intelligent and still embodying a light air and liberal attitude, despite his recent experiences. He jokes that at least he got to see the Negev (which the Palestinians call the Naqab), which he had always wanted to do and as a Palestinian he would not have otherwise been able to (since the Negev is in Israel).
And, as ever, the image of the security barrier is in my mind's eye. As are the dilapidated buildings and piles of rubble that I saw in the Golan Heights that were once Arab towns and villages.
But then there's also the marketplace - alive and bubbling.
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