due to the unfortunate nature of the free google ad on this blog that more often then not refers 'israeli victims of palestinian terror' to certain lawyers and ads that promote the buying of property in israel, i have changed blogs. you can now find my writing at:
http://walksfree.wordpress.com
and my photography at:
thanks!
Another Village Under Threat
Deir Al Ghasoon (Deir), in the northern West Bank
region of Tul Karem, is a village of farmers. Tractors
as a mode of transportation are not rare in this
village as in many farming communities throughout
Palestine and although poverty strikes Deir as in the
whole of Palestine, it is not uncommon to have every
meal be fresh vegetables, homemade cheese with yogurt
and virgin pressed olive oil.
In a valley below the village, shared with the
neighbouring village of Atil, the farmers have the bulk
of their greenhouses and fields. While most
Palestinians suffer from unemployment as a result of
the occupation, the farmers of Deir have largely
survived due to their farming practices and ability to
sell their produce in local markets.
With the building of Israels Wall within the West
Bank, the situation for the Deir farmers has changed
drastically. The Wall now cuts directly through the
Deir farm lands, forcing the farmers to either apply to
the Israeli military for permission to cross the Walls
gate in order to work their lands, or to forego their
lands altogether. Those that decide to seek and are
granted permission are then forced to wait daily for
the Israeli soldiers to allow them through the gates in
the morning and night.
The Wall in this agricultural area of Palestine
resembles a wire fence, with barbed wire along the top
and sides, two patrol roads on either side, and a
series of two main gates and a smaller middle gate that
is built into the actual Wall. The entire area becomes
its own personal war zone, with chaotic piles and rolls
of razor wire covering every open surface, trenches cut
into the earth long side the patrol roads and
concrete-barricaded soldiers posts.
There are large yellow signs posted at the gates
detailing when the soldiers will arrive to let the
farmers through. These signs state that the soldiers
will arrive between 7 and 8 am, 11 and 12 noon, and 2-3
pm. In actuality, the soldiers arrive daily at
differing times, if they arrive at all, leaving the
farmers who wish to pass waiting and wondering if they
will be able, for one more day, to reach their lands.
On the days when the soldiers do show up on time, any
farmer who is even a minute late is refused entry,
sometimes causing farmers to get stuck on the western
side of the Wall until as late as 8 pm. In same cases,
as in this past week, the farmers were let through the
first series of gates, but not the second, stranding
them in the middle of the wall for the entire day;
unable to work or return home, and without any
protection from the scorching sun.
Those holding permits must renew them every three
months, with only individuals who are 1st degree blood
relations to the landowner being allowed to apply for
permission. This means that grandchildren will lose
access to their grandfathers land, and in essence lose
the land altogether. Along the path of the entire Wall,
this is the situation for the framers; Deir Al Ghasoon
becomes an example, not a unique entity.
Jalal Aziz, a farmer from Deir, has more than half his
land on the western side of the Wall. Unlike the
majority of farmers in this area who have their olive
groves on the other side, Jalals land consists of
greenhouses. With olive groves, the necessity for
maintenance is reduced to sporadic need throughout the
year to plough the land and a week to 10 day period in
the fall to harvest. For farmers with greenhouses, such
as Aziz, the ability for daily visits is essential.
Without irrigation and constant upkeep, the crops are
lost.
During the month of March, Israeli soldiers were
ordered by their superiors not to open the gate near
Deir for two 5 day periods of time. Last month, during
the Jewish holiday of Passover, the gate was closed for
four days straight and opened 2 hours late on the
fifth. Because of these closures, Aziz lost an acre of
newly planted potatoes that he was not able to irrigate
and a crop of cucumbers that he was unable to harvest
in time. These closures cost him over 70,000 shekels
(more then 16,000$ U.S.). This was all in a one month
period of time.
While the international community praises Ariel Sharon
for his disengagement plan and the world media speaks
of a cease fire, the people of Deir feel the reality of
life. The word normalization is used here a lot these
days; spit out as if something dirty on the tongue.
How does the world expect us to believe in these
supposed moves toward peace, while still we have no
jobs, our land has been stolen, our movement controlled
and a wall around us? asks Ziyad, a farmer from Deir,
This is normalization, he says with a sneer, making
it seem as if life is moving forward and all are happy,
but for us nothing is normal, and we cannot except this
situation or conditions as such. We have nothing in
this scenario, and even that is being taken from us.
The Wall is built, almost fully complete from Jenin in
the north to Hebron in the south. Reports claim that it
will be finished within the next six months. Those
affected by this construction understandably cannot
seem to accept it as okay even if they would like to.
Of the several hundred farming families in Deir Al
Ghasoon, only 50 have been granted permission to pass
through the gate in the Wall, leaving the rest to
slowly wither financially like their lost crops on the
other side.
Another Village Under Attack
The mountains of Palestine form a sharp edge that plunges into the Jordan Valley as if cut by a knife. Almost to the rim of this drastic landscape lies the village of Al Aqaba, located in the farthest Palestinian lands of the Jenin region. It is almost a no-mans land, nestled in the soft rolling foothills of the towering mountains, stirred by the strong breeze cooling the hot spring day.
We went to Al Aqaba to speak with Haj Sammy, the mayor. When he was 16, Haj Sammy was shot twice by the Israeli military as he walked across the land to see his family. One of the bullets he still carries in his body, being too near his spine to safely remove. The military uses the land around Al Aqaba for their training practices, having killed 8 and wounded 50 since 1971. Haj Sammys wound is one such example. He has been paralyzed since.
Our discussion this day revolved around the current situation in Al Aqaba, of which there are several. There are currently 2 demolition orders from the Israeli military against the village. One order is for the 3 permitted buildings of the village and 17 homes. The 3 permitted buildings have all been recently built with the assistance of foreign government agencies and NGOs. The village has hired a lawyer and taken this order to the Israeli courts, having won an injunction until June 6, 2005, when their case will be heard.
The village medical clinic, open 6 days a weeks, with a doctor on duty 3 of those days, serves the entire eastern area of the Jenin region. The kindergarten has 60 students with 6 teachers, while the secondary school has an enrolment of 72 students with 4 teachers. Including the mosque, these are the permitted buildings of the village under the most recent threat of demolition.
The second order is for three homes of the village which house over 27 people, mostly children. The homes are Bedouin style, consisting of a series of tent structures and animal corals. This order was served within the last week, giving the residents 72 hours to evacuate. With only the verbal assurance from the local military captain that they will not serve out the order until the village is able to take the case to the courts, everyday is an uncertainty if the military will show up with bulldozers in order to carry out the order or not.
Al Aqaba also has a case of their own in the Israeli court system, fighting to stop the 2 military bases in the area.
Since the 1970s, the Israeli military has used the land around Al Aqaba as a training ground, having told the residents it is due to the similar landscape of southern Lebanon. From atop the kindergarten building of Al Aqaba, one can see the evidence on the surrounding landscape of this fact, with tunnels built underneath the hillside and a circle of bunkers dug a little further off. During our visit, F16 fighter jets regularly flew over head.
In the medical clinic there was a wall of pamphlets instructing the youth how to identify and avoid missiles strewn about the country side. These missiles, left behind during trainings by the Israeli military, are live and have maimed many of the young people of Al Aqaba. The pamphlets instruct the children through use of cartoon imagery in what the missiles look like and to call the police if spotted.
Only within the past year has Al Aqaba been granted permission by the Israeli military to wire electricity to their homes. In the 70s when the village was given a generator by the Palestinian Authority, the military entered the village and confiscated it after the residents initial attempt to use it. They still are required to haul water from a distant well due to lack of military permission granted and for the same reason, the roads into and out of the village are only partially paved.
With introductions and initial information about Al Aqaba shared, we began a walking tour. As we ventured the short distance from the medical clinic to kindergarten, it seemed to me that we were the only living souls within miles. The village was eerily quiet, except for the strong wind that blew. The only residents of Al Aqaba that I had seen, except for Haj Sammy, was the old man who had brought chairs for us to sit under the tree in what I assumed was the center of town, and the young school headmistress who had appeared as quietly as the old man had disappeared after serving us coffee. They seemed to materialize and vanish into the thick air like apparitions. It felt like a ghost town, a village vacant save for these three souls I had encountered, which I was actually starting to question the existence of. I heard no voices, no laughter or calls of whats yer name from children amazed at the sight of foreigners. No vehicle had passed since our arrival. Its unusual in a place like Palestine to encounter such stillness and quiet in the middle of a village. Generally, there are noises, motion, some sort of signs of life. Al Aqaba was different though, not feeling dead, but only uninhabited.
Before 1967, Al Aqaba was inhabited by 200 families, with an average of 10 people each. There are now 300 people that comprise the village. Much of the extreme decline in population, according to Haj Sammy, is due to the restrictions placed on the village by the Israeli military. Until quite recently, there was no ability for the village inhabitants to educate themselves, no work and since 1967 there has been a military ban on the people of Al Aqaba to build themselves new homes. The army also burns the grazing lands around the village, leaving the Al Aqaba shepherds no where to graze their flocks.
When you stand in the center of Al Aqaba, which in reality is only a stones throw from any point that is the edge of the village, it becomes clear that these multiple demolition orders issued by the Israeli military mean almost total destruction of the village. These orders, only the newest step in the war Israelhas been waging against Al Aqaba since 1971, add to the list of building bans, prior demolitions and restrictions on the progress of infrastructure.
During our conversation, Haj Sammy repeatedly asked why a superpower such as Israel, with nuclear capabilities and a first world military, would care to make war on the people of the tents. We had no answer for him.
once again, it's been a long time since i've written. there is just so much that goes on here and sitting in front of this computer at the end of the day and reliving it all through writing is sometimes just too much and so much less appealing then going to drink overwhelming amounts of tea and coffee with friends. we'll see what comes out right now though...
at the moment, i'm in the city of tul karem, where i tend to spend most of my time. this is where i lived from april 2003-april 2004. it's kinda like my home, where i can experience some sort of normal existance in this crazy reality because i have friends and relations outside of simply those i only know as political co-organizers. in tul karem, i can tend to balance well the reality of my political work and that of being amongst normal human beings in a horrible situation.
tul karem is the other city along with jericho that sharon has so amazingly removed his troops from, according to the world view. it's true, there aren't israeli soldiers in the streets of tul karem anymore. there is no longer nightly invasions into the two refugee camps, main city and 45 villages of this region, no longer tanks in the street outside the boys school as they are dismissed for the day, that's true, but what the residents of tul karem talk about everyday is the fact that there is still a ring of checkpoints surrounding the city, you still need to cross through these israeli controlled points in order to move between the city and villages.
alot of people talk about this process of normalization that is taking place in the sense that as in tul karem, the troops aren't as visable and movement isn't as difficult, that supposedly the occupation is ending, the intifada is over, yet still no one has work, still nothing is "normal". for the people here, the occupation is still alive, still controlling life, only much less in your face, much harder to see, much harder to fight. it seems the trauma that must have been building all these years due to the daily invasions, the tanks in the street, the never ending arrests and killings have finally started to surface. everywhere i go, i feel swallowed up by this overwhelming depression that is emminating from everyone around me. i want to rip at my chest to open up space for it all to get out, to give this hell i am internatlizing from all around me a place to go. i feel useless and unable to understand any longer how to fight this struggle. and this is coming from me, a foreigner, one with a way out. i think though that these emotions are not solely my own, but what it is that is swirling around me, coming from those i meet everyday, those that are my friends, those i pass on the street, those that have no out from this place. it's coming from those that still have nothing, nor a hope for anything, yet are being told things are improving and they should give thanks.
i've been back to qawawis lately. once again, sitting on the rocks, listening to the birds and watching the sheep. as i found before, it could be the most peaceful place on earth if not for the settler outpost sitting on the hill above us. then the soldiers arrive to check the id's of men entering the village, and the illusion of the peacefulness cracks a bit more. the soldiers eventually leave, and once again, i am surrounded only by the small-engine noise of sheep eating the grass around me. this place, like so much else here becomes the schizophrenic dream scape of a raving lunatic, the reality of a severe manic depressive with ups and downs like the cycle of the moon.
i walked over the land from qawawis to tawani, a palestinian village 5 km away. this walk took me within 10 yards of one of the outposts. i am dissapointed in myself that i got too scared to enter the outpost and speak with the people there. i want to hear their story--not because i think i need it in order to make my decision about this situation, but only beacuse i want to hear their words from their own mouths.
tawani is an amazing village. it seems to me quite similar politically to the zapatistas more so then any other place i've found here. they've built a school for themselves, deemed illegal by the military. to circumvent military interferance in the building of the their school, the residents built the school wholly at night to avoid the notice of the army, using only hand tools, so the sounds of electric machinery wouldn't carry across the valley to the settlement on the hill. day by day, the school grew so slowly, that the military didn't notice until it was complete. when they came to demolish the school, palestinians from hours around arrived to put thier bodies between the bulldozers and the structure, succeeding to stop the destruction. with that success, the village began to build a medical clinic in the same way. this time, the military said they would allow the structure although it could be no more then one story. within the past weeks, the village has once again begun their clandestine process and are adding a second floor.
tawani sits in a valley directly beneath a settlement and outpost, from which the settlers regurlary attck them. within the past month, the settlers have at least twice spread poisoned pellets throughout the grazing areas used by palestinians for their flocks. there are countless stories of the settlers attacking the palestinians, once such of a young man who was handcuffed and blindfolded, tied to a fence and beaten over a five hour period. the settlers have also attacked internationals living in the village, breaking the jaw of one italian volunteer.
i will end these thoughts here. i apolgozie they are random and a bit scattered, i am only trying to keep up with posts and don't always find the time to sit on a regular basis.
It's been a long week. I've been trying to write of everything I am seeing
and doing, but it seems hard to find the time amongst all the demonstrations
and activities. For this post, I will relay one of my experiences.
Last Friday I went down to a village called Qawawis, located in the south
Hebron hills. Qawawis is a village of caves with one standing house and
a few tents dotted throughout the hillsides. The people of this village say
the caves were built by their great grandfathers and they have been living
there since. Four years ago, the residents of Qawawis abandoned their
village in fear of the settlers living the settlement and two outposts on the
surrounding hillsides.
One year before, the residents won a court battle stating that the land was
theirs and they had a right to live there and graze their sheep. Since one
month, the people of Qawawis have been returned to their land living
amongst the one settlement, two outposts and military base. Daily now,
the settlers confront the people in Qawawis, using violence, threats and
carrying guns.
Since returning to their village, the residents have asked for a presence
from the ISM because of these daily attacks. The area is isolated and the
families have no protection from the settlers as the military and police in the
area are there to protect the settlers. Many of the police are actually residents
of the nearby settlement. Without outside eyes, this situation occurs in a
vacuum.
I went to stay in Qawawis because the ISM internationals that had been
present and one of the shepherds were attacked and beaten by the settlers
two days before and had been arrested while trying to file a report of these
attacks.
Arriving in Qawawis close to sun set, it struck me as so much does in this
land, of the juxtaposition of the heaven and hell that exists here. The green
rolling hills stretch as far as the eye can see, the overwhelming sound of
silence broken only by the wind and songs of the birds. It could have been
the most peaceful place on earth if not for the settler road carved into the
land and the settlement and two outposts ringing the valley. These things
reminded me of the looming threat that exists and the reason for my being
there. With that, the heaven turned to hell, the fear began.
In order to reach the cluster of caves that is Qawawis, we had to climb
over the guardrail of the settler road, cross the road and over another
guardrail. My fear began immediately. I went there knowing of the attack
days before, knowing of the anger the settlers have for these shepherds
and the internationals who have come to be with them and how this anger
manifests. I did not know at this time, from where the settlers would come
if they choose to do so and thought that at any moment they could show
up, irate at our reasons foe being there and try to punish us.
In the distance, I could see a soccer game and hear the laughter of the
boys involved. Shepherds were walking with there sheep along the
outskirts of what I would come to know as Qawawis. Everyone
stopped and stared at these strange foreigners walking towards them.
When they realized we were friendly, some of the children ran out to
greet us, asking 'what's your name?', as seems the formal greeting from
Palestinian children to foreigners. We were welcomed.
After a small tour of the village, which because of the caves looks
only to be one house in the midst of open land, we were taken to one
of the shepherds amongst the olive trees. The day had been quite,
whether it was due to the fact that it was Friday, the first day of the
Jewish Sabbath, or for other reasons, we didn't know. At one point in
the day though, a group of 12 or so settler cars had come from the
outpost nearest to Qawawis and stopped near to where the shepherds
were grazing their flocks. Since the attack on the internationals, the police,
for some reason, have been more helpful. When the settlers' cars stopped
on the hill overlooking the shepherds, the police were called. When they
arrived they made the settlers return to their homes, helping to diffuse
that situation.
That day, we were able to enjoy the peace, meet the people and eat.
There is no electricity in Qawawis, so after spending most nights up until
3am and waking up at 8am, at 7pm in the Qawawis darkness, I was ready
for sleep. Instead of sleep though, we all sat in the candle lit night and
communicated as well as our broken Arabic and their sparse English
would permit. This limited common language actually allowed for some
good discussions though. We spoke about the history of the village, the
family connections, and our feelings as internationals in this land of illusion.
The full moon backed us up as we spoke into the night.
We were staying in the lone house of Qawawis sharing the room of the
patriarch of the family. He was the first shepherd we had met upon
entering the village, and spoke in his sleep with the same language we
had heard him talking to the sheep. At sunrise the next morning, the
mother and father of the house were up at dawn, saying their prayers,
setting the fire and waking up the rest of us. The night before I had been
told that the mother of the house would bang a hammer against the outer
steel door in order to wake everyone up for breakfast. I though it was a
joke until at 6am in the morning, through my sleep hazed eyes I watched
as she did just that; took a hammer to the steel door, banging out our wake
up call. We obeyed the call of the hammer and rose to a fire in the foyer
on which the women were making their bread for the day.
One of the neighbouring shepherds summoned us to a clearing outside his
cave dwelling and offered us breakfast. I came to realize later that each
household took responsibility for feeding us on alternating days. This day it
was Mohammed, who would periodically come to check the progress we
were making on our breakfast and yell at us if he thought we were not eating
enough.
After breakfast, the village set to work for the day. The old women would
fill a large stomach with goat's milk, set the stomach up on a tripod, and rock
it back and forth until the milk turned to yogurt. It was like watching a baby
being swung back and forth in a cradle, and produced a beautiful calming
sound like waves upon the shore. This day, they forced one of the
internationals to bath and give up his clothes for cleaning. In the mean
time, they lent him clothes that gave him the appearance of a Mormon going
door to door to spread the Word.
And then we went out with the sheep.
I've walked with sheep quite a lot in my life. It is always such a peaceful
time, wandering through the hills surrounded by the sound of the sheep grazing,
which is actually quite louda bit like the sound of a small motor running.
So the morning went like this; peaceful wanderings with the sheep, sitting
amongst the blooming wildflowers, feeling that I was on a vacation from the
hell of checkpoints, and the horror of the daily destruction for Israel's wall.
At 11am we headed back to the village for lunch and a few hours reprieve
from the already scorching sun. Everyone found spots in the shade to rest and
talk away the hours until it was cool enough to go out for the flock's dinner. I
forgot the situation I was in and was able to actually sleep for a bit. Twenty
minutes into my nap though, one of the other internationals burst into the room
where I was hiding for my nap and yelled, 'mostoutan' (settler). We went to the
front of the house to see four young settler boys walking towards us across
the valley. Most of the village from young to old were already out there and
called to us to join them, pointing out the four boys in white shirts and tan pants,
one with an Israeli military issue gun slung over his shoulder. The boys stopped
50 yards from us. One of them sat on the rocks and all four just looked. They
started back in the direction they had come, changed their minds and walked
through the village land into a grove of trees. We watched them across the
hillside as they took a rest under one of the village's almond trees. There was
a shepherd out with his flock near to the grove that we worried would get harassed
by these boys. It was the same shepherd that had been attacked two days
before.
Twenty minutes later, as we continued to watch the trees to which the boys
had disappeared, thinking that perhaps they had left without our notice, we
saw coming from the same direction, a larger group of boys with the same
white shirts and tan pants.
This time it was ten settler boys approaching us. The group walked directly
towards us, entering into the yard of the house. When I asked one of them
what they were doing, he replied that they were on their Sabbath walk, taking
a tour of the village that they had been run out of by the Palestinians.
The boys, many with the same Israeli military issue guns on their backs, walked
into the village. The people of Qawawis seemed quite intimidated by these young
men, and asked us to tell them to leave. The boy I spoke with, an Israeli-American
from Sioux City, Iowa, told me of how the original inhabitants of Qawawis
had voluntarily left four years ago because they desired the more comfortable
conditions of the nearby city. He said after the people had left, the Jewish
residents of the settlement had taken over Qawawis and improved it by building
new walls around the caves, and that the people of Qawawis only wanted to
move back when an Israeli from a peace group incited them to return and force
the Jews out. When I asked him if he thought he intimidated the people by
coming into their village with guns, he replied that my camera was a much
more dangerous and frightening weapon. I told him that the people of Qawawis
had a much different story then his, that they told stories of leaving their village
out of fear of the settlers. He responded that he has been living in this
settlement for three years now, and that no one would lie to him about
the history of this place.
The boys sat on one of the stone walls of the village and refused to leave.
Eventually, the police came. Joking and laughing with the settler youth, the
police brought them away from the wall and spoke with them in private.
At this point, the day seemed to turn into a circus. The police convinced the
settlers to leave. I approached the police to ask them what they thought of
the situation, to which they responded it was not their job to think, only to
follow orders. When I asked if it was within their orders to give these settler
boys a good spanking, they said it was not. We noticed that the boys had
left the village but had moved up one of the hillsides and were approaching a
shepherd there. As the police left the scene, an Israeli military hummer came
up into the village and parked in the opening. They did not exit their vehicle,
and no one around paid any attention to them. After some time of them sitting
there, we approached to ask them what they were doing. They said they were
only watching us. Again to the question of what they thought of this situation,
they replied that it was not their job to think, only follow orders. Almost word
for word the same as the police officer. In all my time talking with Israeli soldiers
in Palestine, I have never encountered this response as many times as I did that day.
Then the soldier party started.
One by one, Israeli military jeeps came up into the village until there were four
jeeps, a hummer and one private security truck, numbering at least 22 armed men
(some with multiple weapons). It seems that they came because of a tent that we
had constructed earlier in the day. The tent, located at the top of the village, was
to be the home of the internationals. It seemed to make the military very nervous.
They ordered the tent removed and then watched as we deconstructed it.
Discussion erupted between the men of the village and the highest up in the military
about the village's right to raise a tent on their land. A new military jeep showed
up with a multi-stared officer. He joined the discussion. Coming from the settler
road we could see a friend approaching in his truck. He made a rock star entrance,
pulling up in front of the mess of jeeps and screeching to a halt. Three doors of his
extended cab flew open from which each emerged a journalist armed with his own
professional foot-long zoom lens camera, our friend emerging out the driver's side
door, cowboy hat upon his head. At this sight, the soldiers immediately retreated to
their respected vehicles and sped out of the village. The party was over.
The village returned to its quiet nature, as if nothing had happened. Dinner was served, conversations were had under the stars. The peace returned. One of the young
men joked that the settlers would return in the night and slit all of our throats.
Seeing our discomfort with this thought, one of the women told us not to worry,
she would lock the door when we retired to sleep.
The next morning the same routine began the day; Haji banging on the door
with her hammer to wake the house, no one suffering a slit throat, and breakfast
being served by Halil in the next cave down. And then with the sheep.
This day started peaceful as the day before, but the shepherds were nervous
seeing a settler grazing his sheep on the hillside opposite us. In the area of
Qawawis where I stayed, there were four brothers that made up the leadership.
Each brother had their own flock of sheep. Each day it seemed, they would
keep their flocks close to the village, grazing on land that seemed would run
out of food for the sheep soon. The shepherds had been told that this was the
land they were able to use, and any wandering outside that area would result
in trouble.
The brothers continuously pointed out the settler shepherd across from us,
watching for some sort of trouble. Soon enough, the trouble came. The man
with his flock crossed the settler road and headed his sheep directly at us
amongst the village olive grove. There were two young men, both with cloth
tied around their faces, with the shepherd. One of the internationals approached
the men, extended a hand in greeting and asked why they were there. His hand
was not accepted. A settler on a horse approached us and headed directly
into the village. As there were only women in the village, the shepherds of Qawawis
became worried as to what that man was doing and asked two of the internationals
to go down into the village to monitor the situation. The other two stayed in
the grove with the shepherds and the settlers. One of the masked men
approached the Qawawis shepherd and began to tell him in fluent Arabic
that he was a bad man for being there. This eighteen year old boy from
the outpost treated this elderly shepherd as if he were a child, telling him
what he could do and where he could go, calling myself and another
international woman 'bitches' and demanding to know where we had
come from and why we were there. He told the shepherd that he could
not graze his sheep in this olive grove that belonged to Qawawis, and
if he continued to disobey, this young man would cause the old
man problems. Then the police arrived.
Later, the internationals in the village monitoring the man on the horse,
reported that the man told them they were living with murderers. That
he refused to speak with them because of this.
The police kept asking what the problem was, did any of the settlers
use violence, as if it weren't a problem because they hadn't. We refused
to go with them to file a report seeing as how the last internationals
that had gone to report an attack on them had been arrested.
The settlers left, the police left, and we went to lunch. Another day
in Qawawis.
I left Qawawis after that, hitching a ride into town on
the back of a wagon being pulled by a tractor. It was time for me
to return to the reality of cell phones that get reception, demonstrations
that are happening on a daily basis against the wall, tear gas, soldiers
that have an (usually Zionist) opinion about the situation and my
friends in the north.
In order to return to that reality though, we first had to travel through the
city of Hebron, another step in the ladder to hell leaned against the
wall of life here.
That is a story for another day though .
Riding in the bus from Ramallah in the central West Bank area to Tul Karem in the north, so much strikes me as different, yet so much the same. This bus ride, which I did probably a thousand times while I was living in Tul Karem and working with the International Solidarity Movement from April 2003 to March 2004, is like walking down memory lane. Even the bus drivers are familiar to me although I have been gone from this place of contradiction and heartache for a year.
I returned last week after 11 months in the United States to find the situation so very similar to what I remember yet with a bright new coat of gloss painted over. Coming here from the U.S., my eyes were full of news reports of Ariel Sharon as the leader for peace with his plans for settlement disengagement and troop withdrawal. Having lived here for 14 months since 2002 (12 of those being consecutive), I understand quite well the difference between reality on the ground and reports of that reality in the main stream U.S. media. Too many times, from my computer in Tul Karem, Ive read the New York Times report of the moves toward peace Israel proclaims to create while at the same time, the city in which I sit in the West Bank is under heavy siege. So many times this juxtaposition has deepened my cynicism, darkened my faith in people of the world and ripped my heart open in tears of frustration and fury, that it no longer surprises me when I encounter it.
In that sense, things seem very much the same here. On the day that negotiations between Palestine and Israel reached agreement to pull troops out of the cities of Tul Karem and Jericho, there was a wanted man killed in a village in the Tul Karem region. He was not in his own village, but was in the home of friends. After the Israeli military killed this man, they demolished this home in which 10 people were living. The next day, another village in the Tul Karem region was invaded.
Today, I sat with friends and watched on the news as Israeli soldiers began to remove sections of one of their checkpoints from outside the city of Jericho. Later in the day I spoke by telephone with a friend who was standing in Bethlehem watching as Israeli soldiers began to erect new barricades there. We cynically joked that of course they needed SOMEWHERE to put all the pieces they had so graciously removed from Jericho.
Its important to understand also the situation here when talk about troop withdrawal is advertised as an important step towards peace. A city such as Tul Karem is surrounded by Israels wall, with no way in or out save through military controlled points. The actuality of soldiers controlling the population from the inside has not occurred in quite awhile. Even if agreements are reached to withdraw troops from the city, it does not mean that they go away. It does not mean that the checkpoints between the city and the villages in the same region disappear or that the villages themselves are saved from continued military presence and invasions. It does not mean that the farmers of these regions can now freely move between their homes and their land on the other side of Israels wall.
This is a sentiment I am encountering daily. Most people I speak with are finding it hard to be optimistic about these new steps. All around me are words such as, We want to hope that this is for real, but .
Still the military controls the gates that give farmers access to these lands, still the soldiers decide who and when can move through these gates to work their fields. A friend of mine tells me of how everyday he must still wait at these gates for permission to cross to his greenhouses on the other side. Just two days ago, his mother was allowed through, yet he was denied access because he arrived at the gate at 7:01 instead of 7:00. The soldiers were still present at the gate but refused to allow him through due to his minute of tardiness. Everyday, although the soldiers are supposed to open and shut the gate at the same time (7am and 5pm), they sometimes show up at 6 or 6:30 am and 6pm in the evening. If you are not present when they arrive, no matter the time, you do not go through.
Another friend, Hassan, talks a lot about his frustration that the world is talking of these new moves toward peace while he is living caged inside a wall that is being deemed a separation barrier, he still cannot pass freely from his city to the village of his family and most of his land has been taken from him. Still, he says, while people in the United States are applauding Ariel Sharon for suddenly finding his heart, he himself is treated as a terrorist.
One of the newest developments on the ground in this absurd reality is the building of tunnels under settler roads for Palestinian travel. Although settler roads are largely the sole source of movement between regions in the West Bank, Palestinians enjoy only limited access to them. Permits for use are given to transit and bus companies to facilitate Palestinian travel on these roads, although these permits still do not allow for free travel. Riding in a permitted bus on a 45 mile journey usually results in being stopped and checked at over a dozen checkpoints, through which settler vehicles do not have to stop. The new plan the Israeli administration has come up with for Palestinian movement is to build tunnels under the settler roads. In the region of Tul Karem, there are currently two tunnels under construction. This creation, to further emphasis the existence of one society existing literally on top of another, will also destroy even more Palestinian agricultural land.
There is also the continued expansion of Israeli checkpoints through which Palestinians must travel. One such example is Jabarra checkpoint. In 2002, this spot was a dirt road that crossed over a settler road from one village in the southern edge of the Tul Karem region to another. Generally, at that time, in the fall of 2002, an Israeli military jeep with a crew of four soldiers would guard this cross roads. Since that time, Jabarra checkpoint has become a quarter mile wide militarized zone, complete with watch tower, lockable gate and parking lot. This checkpoint is only one such example.
These are my thoughts upon first glimpse of arrival. My thoughts, while being told that, ya salaam, Ariel Sharon is ending his occupation of Palestine.
******FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE******
Contact: Alex Lundberg (612) 872-4995
Pat OConnor (212) 665-4936
LOCAL JEWISH-AMERICAN PEACE ACTIVIST
PLANS TO FIGHT DEPORTATION
K. Flo Razowsky, Minneapolis resident and long-time peace activist, was jailed and denied entry into Israel upon arrival of her flight today at Ben Gurion airport. This would be Ms. Razowsky third visit to Palestine as an international peace activist and independent journalist.
Ms. Razowsky is currently being held in a detention cell at the airport. Ms. Razowsky and her lawyer contest the grounds for deportation and plan to fight it. Despite repeated efforts to renew her visa last year, Israeli authorities have cited her yearlong stay in Palestine/Israel in 2004 as illegal and plan to deport her tomorrow. Her denied entry into Israel and the occupied territories is not only unwarranted, but affects a growing community of people in the Twin Cities who closely follow her work and depend on her eye witness accounts.
As a Jewish woman raised with the religious education of Mitzvah (good deeds), it is my duty to participate in the process towards peace between Israel and Palestine. Ms. Razowsky commented from her cell just before her phone was taken from her. Talk of peace cannot happen while one involved party is occupying the other. I am here to voice the concern that the occupation needs to end before peace can even be thought about.
The ISM has documented that over the past three years more than 130 international activists have been denied entry to Israel and the Occupied Territories by Israeli authorities. More than 70 international activists have been deported during the same period. None of these internationals have ever been found to be involved in violent activities in any way.
During a time when Israel is making moves to disengage settlements from the Gaza Strip and lessen its military presence in the West Bank, the denial of entry of non-violent peace workers only stands to prove the insincerity of their words, said Meg Novak of the Palestinian Solidarity Coalition. Two Swedish filmmakers were also detained at Ben Gurion airport today; they were on their way to document the Israeli occupation.
Ms. Razowsky, a Chicago native, has resided in Minneapolis since 1999. She has spent 14 months in Israel and the Occupied Palestinian Territories since August 2002 working with the International Solidarity Movement, a Palestinian-led non-violent direct-action group opposed to the Israeli occupation of Palestine.
Upon returning to the Twin Cities in March of last year, Ms. Razowsky continued to advocate the end of the Israeli occupation of Palestine. Her efforts have not been unfruitful, last summer she played a crucial role in the founding of the Palestinian Solidarity Coalition (PSC). The coalition, including such diverse groups as the Arab Anti-Discrimination Committee and Women Against Military Madness, reflects growing public consensus for Israeli withdrawal from Palestine
*Photo available upon request.
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