1/10/11 Qalqilyia: On a clear day I can see Tel Aviv

Posted by Alice Rothchild on the HaHRP delegation:

1/10/11 Qalqilyia: On a clear day I can see Tel Aviv

Qalqilyia, a bulge of land protruding westward against the Green Line, was the first city in 2002 to be fully enclosed by the separation wall, with one checkpoint, like the neck of a bottle, emptying the inhabitants into the West Bank. Once known as “the city of peace,” Israelis from Kfar Saba used to shop in Qalqilyia and there was a vigorous commercial and agricultural relationship between Palestinians and the nearby Jews. I first visited the area in 2005 and I am happy to see Suhad Hashem again who offers to take us on another tour of the area.  

Her personal story touches me deeply, a human face on painful political realities. Dipping into distinctively spiced foul and humus, smoking an Imperial cigarette (made in Palestine), she reminds us that 2002 and 2003 were very difficult times as the Israeli military invaded much of the West Bank and the city was largely under closure or curfew. She remembers empty shops, patients unable to get to doctor’s appointments, and cars unable to leave the city.  Suhad, who grew up in Qalqilyia, was living in Nablus at the time, when her 62 year old mother had a heart attack in Qalqilyia and was taken to the local UNRWA hospital.  She needed to be transferred to a higher level hospital but this was not possible. “One week later, she died.” Suhad took a Palestinian Medical Relief Society ambulance to be able to get to the funeral. On 3/21 her family gathered to mourn, and she then found herself trapped in the city for six weeks. 

The day Suhad finally got out, she trekked through the mountains at 4 am, was caught by an Israeli patrol who took her IDs and made her sit on the side of the road next to snarling black dogs. She and her young daughter were released, continued their hike through the mountains, sometimes walking and sometimes driving off road through the rocky hills in a car. Once they reached Anon they took donkeys, were stopped again in Jit by the IDF, took more donkeys and the entire effort lasted six hours. 

She later returned to see her grieving father in Qalqilyia, again in 2002, got caught up in the closure, and did not return to her flat in Nablus for one year. After these terrible experiences, she decided to devote herself to working in Qalqilyia on political issues and educating internationals about the conditions.  Her underlying hopefulness led her to purchase an elderly childless aunt’s land which is beyond the wall and currently inaccessible.  She wants her daughter, now 17 and taking exams for university, to have clearly documented land that she will inherit   Her elderly father, a former citrus grower and merchant has only one wish: to see his land before he dies. She adds that she spent her childhood playing in those fields so the Israelis “have confiscated my childhood…My story is everyone’s story.”  

So what was happened in the last five years? The poverty level in Qalqilyia is second only to the Khan Younis Refugee Camp in Gaza. Many families have lost their land or their ability to work in Israel so there is a “passive transfer” occurring with families moving deeper into the West Bank cities or sometimes outside of Palestine. She pointed out one house where the owner is forbidden to go up to his roof because it allows him to see over the wall. Qalqilyia is 12 kilometers from the Mediterranean and now surrounded by 12 settlements, so the Jewish settlers are now than half the population in the Qalqilyia Governate.  Because the city is on top of the largest water aquifer in Palestine and has rich agricultural land, Suhad fears that the Israelis are squeezing Qalqilyia so that in a future land swap this area would go to Israel. 

Suhad is involved in the boycott, divestment and sanction movement supported by NGOs, working with Al Mubadara, (the Palestinian Initiative). She pulls out a collection of documents and animatedly tells us that the West Bank is the second largest market for Israel.  She works with students and adults to increase awareness that “even one shekel” is important.  Her message is to buy Palestinian whenever there is an alternative.  For instance, Israelis sell $35 million of milk, $17 million of ice cream, $6 of Acamol (like Tylenol), $25 million of cigarettes, and $8 million of cosmetics to the West Bank annually, but there are alternative products. The numbers are impressive.  She argues that even a 5% decrease in consumption of Israeli goods will create the opportunity for 100,000 new jobs in the West Bank and will impact the financing of the military machinery of the occupation as well. 

We hire a cab for a driving/walking tour of the city: the busy souk filled with brilliantly colored piles of fruits and vegetables, the zoo (now open), donkeys trotting briskly by, goats, cages of chickens and doves, acres of cabbage, cauliflower, Jawafa fruit, avocado and thick, wet, red dirt. Suhad takes us to the latest development in this walled city. The Israelis have built a worker terminal, rows of chutes where workers from all over the West Bank come, starting at 4 am, to wait on the slowly winding lines, and to pass through the turnstiles and three security checks. 5,000 day laborers make this journey every morning, many working in the black market in Tel Aviv where they need to be by 7 am. The checkpoint is intermittently closed and the laborers are largely seasonal, without job benefits or security.  As we photograph the familiar barbed wire fences and yellow gates, a soldier yells at us from a guard tower. “Who are you? You can’t be there.” Five years ago, annoyed IDF soldiers shot live ammunition over our heads, so I guess you could call this an improvement. 

The iconic eight meter high concrete wall is surrounded by demolished homes and farms, but since 2005 there is a new development.  A farmer living in the southern neighborhood of Qalqilyia can now go to an administrative office in northern Qalqilyia, and apply for a permit (separately for himself, his car, or his donkey)  to farm his lands that are often visible from his home, but inaccessible due to multiple electric fences, barbed wire, and bypass roads.  If successful (often only the grandfather or one member of the family gets a permit), he then has the unique privilege of returning to the southern area and taking a tunnel under all of the previously described obstructions into the equally inaccessible town of Habla. In Habla there is a checkpoint (two metal fences, barbed wire, yellow gate, turnstile) that is open briefly and somewhat unreliably three times per day that allows farmers to reach their vegetables and fruit trees imprisoned between the walls. Suhad points out her family’s land and the land she bought for her daughter.   She has no permit and mentions that whenever she takes a delegation here, she feels a choking sensation in her neck. This arrangement is apparently more efficient than the long trip through the main checkpoint on the east. 

I am haunted by new graffiti on the concrete wall. There is an enormous snarling pig (Ariel Sharon) growling at a huge baby in a bottle (the children of Qalqilyia). I think of the many Israelis I know who have told me they are really sorry the wall has “inconvenienced Palestinians” but security comes first.  I would like to invite them to Qalqilyia to feel the consequences of that thinking and to meet this dynamic and hopeful woman. 

What is this, delusional?

From Alice Rothchild on the HaHRP delegation

1/9/11 East Jerusalem

What is this, delusional?

We were in the midst of a political tour of East Jerusalem with journalist and activist Abu Hassan, trying to comprehend the bizarre realities in the Sheikh Jarrar neighborhood. We stand in front of the house of the evicted al-Ghawi family who I met last year living in a tent outside their property. In 2009, 800 soldiers and police evicted 37 members of this family from their homes. We watch a man with a large black hat and long black coat rush, head tilted down, (is he feeling shame or fear?) into the apartment which is topped by a gigantic menorah.  The Palestinian family still receives the water and electricity bills as they refuse to change the registration. What kind of insanity is this?

An elderly Palestinian woman has been evicted from her home where she lived for many decades with her family, extending the one story building to accommodate her children and grandchildren.  During the recent eviction, Jewish settlers were moved into the front portion of her house, now draped with a large Israeli flag with Stars of David painted around the front window. This poor woman is now forced to live in the back portion of her house with her son and grandchildren. They are watching cartoons when we arrive and a deadly depression weights the air. Their case is in the Israeli courts where there is little chance they will be treated favorably.  At any time this family, like others in the neighborhood, can be evicted forcibly by Israeli military and put out on the street with their meager possessions. An International Solidarity Tent stands in the garden, so it seems they have some international support but the tent is empty.

A friend of Abu Hassan’s arrives and shows him a photo on his cell phone.  A demolition is underway nearby at this very moment. Abu Hassan explains that the former house of the Grand Mufti of Jerusalem which then became a hotel and then a center for the Shin Bet and collaborators, is being demolished in order to build 500 homes for Jewish settlers. We hustle back into the bus and drive to the area which is crowded with cars and press. The scene is absolutely surreal. A metal fence topped with barbwire partially hides the multi-story building, but the large yellow Volvo bulldozers can be seen smashing at the walls, creating clouds of debris. Peaking through metal bars in a gate, I see a crumbling old structure set back from the road. A crowd of reporters, cameramen, and angry protestors quickly gathers. An older woman with a purple hijab talks and gestures animatedly to a white haired man, Elisha Peleg, a member of the City Council. The general tone of the crowd is one of frustration and rage at yet another land grab in East Jerusalem, another violation of international law, another nail in the coffin of a Palestinian state. Elisha argues that this demolition is all totally legal, citing a variety of administrative procedures. “We have a right to have Jewish families in this unified city.  I am very proud of what we are doing.” He says Arabs can easily get permits to build in West Jerusalem (not) and then accuses the protestors of racism, of being paid to come, and angrily questions if any Arabs have papers to prove they were evicted from properties in Jerusalem, had gone through the proper channels, etc etc, very legalistic.  (Does he actually believe himself?) This provokes hostile responses from a number of Arab men who clearly had personal experiences with dispossession and experience with the Israeli permitting and court systems.  People start chanting, “Shame, shame” and I notice heavily armed security guards in civilian clothes (thugs?) moving closer. At one point a women yells,” You are delusional!” He looks at her and said, “What is this, delusional?”

Violations of international law or the Judaization of East Jerusalem are very intellectual concepts, but to see it happening in real time, surrounded by the people who are watching the Israeli government irreversibly colonize their land which the international community recognizes as occupied territory, is a sobering and emotional experience. The future will clearly be built by the steady march of Israeli construction.  The silence of the international community is particularly deafening. 

But let me take you back to the beginning of this extraordinary tour. Abu Hassan meets us in front the Jerusalem Hotel for a walking/bus tour.  He notes that he has been trying unsuccessfully to get a tour license and his case is now almost at the Supreme Court. Consequently he operates his business under the aegis of the Hotel. Palestinians from East Jerusalem are residents of the city, not citizens of Israel, are allowed to vote in municipal elections only. In 1967 when they were occupied by Israeli forces, they refused to accept Israeli citizenship as that would have negated their political rights to the city. Israeli law then became more restrictive and any Palestinian in East Jerusalem has to prove that he actually lives within the Jerusalem borders to retain his residency ID. In 2004, the Israeli government stopped all residency applications. This has caused a host of problems; for instance, if a man from East Jerusalem marries a woman from the West Bank, she cannot legally live with him in East Jerusalem and if he moves to the West Bank, he will not be able to return to East Jerusalem. Hundreds of Palestinian families have “weekend relationships” with each partner retaining residency in his or her place of origin, shuttling themselves and their growing families back and forth.

Abu Hassan’s family has lived in Jerusalem for generations, but an uncle of his lived in the neighborhood of Abu Dis and in 1967, the Israeli government declared his part of the neighborhood as part of the West Bank and he lost his East Jerusalem ID and is unable to return. The Palestinian towns of Aram and Deiht Albareid were among the five East Jerusalem towns that were declared part of the West Bank as well. 

We are now on #1 Road (formerly Mandlebaum) which was the border between east and west. Since the Israeli government established East Jerusalem in 1967 as part of a “unified city,” 40% of the land has been confiscated as a military zone or as green space which is then developed as a Jewish settlement or colony. The disappearance of Palestinian visibility continued with the building of a bridge 13 years ago so that Jewish settlers could avoid traveling through a Palestinian area; a tram is now being built to shuttle settlers in East Jerusalem to West Jerusalem, ostensibly to “unite” the city, but in actuality to avoid contact with the Palestinian population.

Abu Hassan points out the settlement of Pisgat Ze’ev, established in the 1980s and now one of the biggest colonies in East Jerusalem with 34,000 Jewish settlers, built on land from the villages of Shu’fat and Beit Hanina. The separation wall near Pisgat surrounds villages and the refugee camp of Shu’fat; 60,000 people have one entrance and they need to have an East Jerusalem ID to pass. In this bizarre and complicated world, 20% of the inhabitants within this curve of the wall have West Bank IDs and are married to East Jerusalemites so they have two options: stay on that side of the wall or move to the West Bank.  Passive transfer in action. Make life miserable.

I feel like this is some nefarious Alice in Wonderland world run by some crazed Queen of Hearts masquerading as a double headed Netanyahu- Lieberman monster. East Jerusalemites pay the same taxes as the West but receive 20% of the public services. The Jewish Quarter of the Old City is clean and well kept as opposed to the grime, garbage and disrepair in the Arab sector. Abu Hassan points out the roof tops: Jewish houses have a white water tower for hot water, Palestinian houses have the white tower, but also a black water tower because their water supply is not reliable.  In addition, they pay five times as much and in the West Bank, Jewish settlers get more water for their animals than Palestinians get for themselves. Racism anyone?

We drive into the expanding Pisgat, rows of neat well groomed apartments, a mall and good transportation, modern local services, playground and swimming pool. On the contrary, Palestinians are faced with a severe shortage of schools and have applied to build another school.  For the last 2 years, 150 Palestinian children have been unable to find schooling. The Catch 22 is that when the child is 16 and applies for an East Jerusalem residency ID, the parents have to prove that the child attended school within the Jerusalem borders by providing a yearly diploma and documentation that both parents are from East Jerusalem.

To bring this up close and personal, Abu Hassan explains that he is married to a German woman. He struggled for 12 years to get her a residency ID. For the first five years she was not allowed to leave the country or work and thus had no health insurance as well. After five years, the residency laws changed and he had to start the process all over again. The lawyer’s fees amounted to $15,000, but now he is assured his four children will be able to get their IDs. This feels like an attempt to wear people down by sheer aggravation.

1/7/11 Breaking the siege of Gaza with SKYPE

A torrential rain sweeps through Nablus, the city of hills, and the street is briefly turned into a rushing river as we come to meet Dr. Allam Jarrar, our friend and partner at Palestinian Medical Relief Society. He looks fit and cheerful, but I notice rivulets of sweat beading on his face as he discusses “the situation” which has grown increasingly difficult, especially over the last 6 months with the failure of the Obama “peace process” and the explosion in settlement growth.

Allam reviews the usual disasters:

1 ½ million people in Gaza are completely cut off from the world with the Rafa checkpoint in the south controlled by Egypt (with Israeli blessings) and the Erez checkpoint in the north controlled by Israel; maybe 12 Gazans are allowed to enter daily into Israel, mostly for extreme medical needs and sometimes forced to become collaborators in exchange for the permit. (This is well documented by multiple sources.)

There are now 500,000 Jewish settlers in the West Bank and ever expanding Jerusalem, and over 200 settlements, with Israeli control of 60% of the area. The Palestinian Authority “controls/administers” the remaining areas A and B, but in actuality everything is under Israeli control.  Twelve Israeli governmental Ministers currently reside in settlements and the Israeli government is increasingly right wing.

Some 600 checkpoints (according to the UN OCHA) damage the geographic and social integrity of the West Bank. 

Palestinians have been divided into three political, social, and economic entities:

1.       East Jerusalem with 220,000 “residents” who carry an East Jerusalem ID,

2.       West Bank where Allam describes a pass system reminiscent of South Africa. This does not include the areas around the Dead Sea and Jordan Valley as those areas are a closed military zone (where a Palestinian was recently killed at a checkpoint )and includes 2 million people

3.       Gaza with 1 ½ million people

He explores the various social movements around the separation wall, settlements and in East Jerusalem and the growing nonviolent resistance that is becoming a major feature of the Palestinian struggle.  There was even a recent article in the Israeli newspaper Haaretz about reviving the pacifist movement based on ethical values within Israel to join Palestinians. Allam is also encouraged by the BDS movement which is now supported by Palestinian NGOs as a strategy that will make the Israeli policies more visible.  “Israel can’t hide; there is a price for its behavior.”  He worries about the talk of Israel launching attacks on Lebanon, Syria, Gaza, and Iran.

Allam explains that Palestinian Medical Relief Society was established in 1979 by volunteers to address the needs of marginalized communities and to build an infrastructure of resistance and steadfastness against the occupation. It is now the biggest health related NGO with 25 health centers and focuses on direct care, women’s empowerment, disability, health education, youth development, school health programs, training first aid workers, emergency interventions, support during curfews, and more.  I notice in the office a woman receptionist with severe scoliosis and another working in a wheelchair.  They practice what they preach.  Funding comes from European and US NGOs.  Allam notes that Palestinians have the worst record for international dependency, approximately $800 per capita of foreign aid.  This is the end result of the occupation and the repeated destruction of the infrastructure of the society and economy. A painful example is the destruction of the Gazan fishing industry by the Israeli’s repeatedly shrinking the miles that fishing boats are allowed to go out to sea. These families then become dependent on international aid.

And then we begin our meeting with colleagues in Gaza.   SKYPE is set up and the images are projected on the wall, faces flickering, sometimes fragmented Picasso –like, but definitely present and in conversation with us in Nablus. Amjad from the International Seige of Gaza and PENGO (a Palestinian civil society organization) outlines the horrific consequences of Cast Lead and the siege of Gaza. Thousands of houses cannot be rebuilt due to lack of materials, the recent opening to construction materials is for UNRWA construction only. 20,000 people remain homeless and 100,000 housing units are needed. 80% of the population depends on international agencies for basic needs, 40% of the population lives in severe poverty.  UNRWA schools run 3 sessions per day and sometimes use containers for classrooms. 3,800 factories are not functional and there are no exports, 35% of agricultural land has been confiscated by the IDF often for “buffer zones,” the once vigorous flower and strawberry industries are decimated. 90% of the water is undrinkable. He notes that there are still daily incursions, 140 people have been injured in the past few months with several deaths, and the IDF arrested 3 fishermen today for fishing 3 miles from shore, well within the latest limits and well beyond years of previous regulations. He adds that Israel is trying to demonize Gaza and make them totally dependent. Tens of thousands of university students are now graduating with no possibilities for work, so there is also a brain drain along with no hope and no unity. His first priority is ending the siege and he strongly supports the BDS movement.

Aed Yaghi, an administrator for PMRS, then discusses the failing health sector. There are currently 180 essential medications unavailable, equipment cannot be maintained due to lack of parts, there are frequent losses of electricity, patients are unable to leave for advanced medical therapy and hundreds have died due to lack of referrals. PMRS is trying to cover the needs of patients with chronic illness. Since June 2010, some patients are able to leave via the Raffa crossing in Egypt (250-300 people per day) which is open five days per week, 8 hours per day, for the eight hour trip to an Egyptian hospital. (Imagine being critically ill, having to jump through hoops to obtain a permit to leave Gaza, getting to and waiting at the Raffa Crossing and THEN, making an eight hour trip to reach a hospital. This almost sounds like a death sentence to me.) The rare patients that get permits to leave through the Erez checkpoint are interrogated, may be forced to become collaborators in exchange for passage, can still be denied access and if traveling by ambulance, there are 400 meters between the Palestinian and Israeli ambulances. (Can you imagine when you are in pain, have cancer or severe heart disease, or you are a child whose mother could not get a permit and you are traveling alone? And let’s say you are receiving weekly chemotherapy treatments in Israel, you have to do this each time and if you are delayed and miss your appointment there is no recourse.) What ever happened to the universal right to health or the Geneva Conventions regarding health care personnel and access?

600 NGOs were destroyed or damaged during Cast Lead, including the Gaza Community Mental Health Center.  Food enters from Israel day by day, there are bread shortages and malnutrition and only Israeli agricultural products are permitted. The tunnel system between Raffa and Egypt was built out of sheer desperation and provides basic food, cooking gas, medications, sheep, cows, etc. Even the fish is now imported from Egypt through the tunnels. 150 people have been killed from tunnel collapse. Aed claims that the Israeli government uses the tunnels and the products that then end up on the shelves of local markets as proof there is no problem. But there is a corruptive black market, high priced, often low quality, that only contributes to a small number of Gazans enriching themselves and the lack of a viable economy.  He reminds us that a humanitarian crisis needs a political solution and this particularly applies to Gaza.

While this information is readily available on a variety of websites, there was something so powerful for me that we were actually talking with colleagues in Gaza despite the intense siege, listening to their concerns, asking questions, bearing witness, promising to bring their voices to our communities, verbally and visually breaking the blockade . Who ever thought SKYPE could be such a powerful political tool?

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Tear Gassed in the Holy Land

From Alice Rothchild on the HaHRP delegation.

1/7/11 Tear gassed in the Holy Land

If you are going to be tear gassed, I strongly suggest you rub Vicks Vapor Rub in your nostrils, bring an onion to smell, or alcohol swabs although fragrant baby wipes work fairly well, and don’t forget to bring a scarf and good running shoes. Needless to say, this was not on our delegation itinerary.

As you may be aware there have been weekly Friday demonstrations in the village of Bil’in seven miles west of Ramallah since 2005 to protest both the course of the separation wall and the stealing of village land by Israeli settlements. This protest has attracted international attention as a symbol of Palestinian resistance and Israeli brutality. Last week a woman named Jawaher Abu Rahmah died after a toxic exposure to tear gas at the demonstration.   Her brother had been shot dead by Israeli soldiers a few years earlier, also at the Friday protest, and there was a call for people to come this week to express their outrage at her death and to support the continued struggle of the people of Bil’in. 

Despite my strong aversion to physical danger, my aching back and less than optimal knees, this felt important to do. Our group reviewed the dynamics of previous protests, possible IDF responses to young Palestinian men throwing rocks, the consequences of tear gas and the real risk of physical injury.  Everyone wanted to come. My plan was to stay at the end of the march. Way at the end. 

Our bus started out on a  main road, traveling though stunning countryside, white stone terraced olive orchards, small villages, and occasional villas, but came to a flying checkpoint ( a jeep parked across the road) early on. We backed up and turned onto a bumpy dirt road through an old olive orchard on the edge of a steep rocky hill, the gorgeous views marked by a large Jewish settlement, Modi’in Illit, on the next major hilltop with over 46,000 people. Again we were met with a road block and had to turn back. Our driver was constantly on his cell phone and talking with others on the road about strategies to penetrate the Israeli blockade. It dawned on me that a grassroots struggle means that the bus driver and every local Palestinian participates in some way, there is a tremendous sense of unity of purpose.  Bil’in youth telephoned that they would lead us through the fields into the town. Once again we were winding up a rocky road, passed men praying at a mosque, more consults with a truck driver and then we could see another Israeli military vehicle ahead.

We backed away and then parked the bus out of sight and quietly got out, clambering into an old olive orchard, rows of twisted gnarly trees with silver-green leaves, rich red soil, tiny begonias and daffodils erupting in little crevices. We were breathless and climbing uphill over each terrace and on to the next rock wall, the next row of trees and then up again over the piles of stones. We are joined by local Palestinians leading us ultimately to a paved road beyond the checkpoint. 

Ahead of us lay the small village of Bil’in, graced by the minaret, and the expansive Jewish settlement to the left. A taxi picked us up and drove us into the village.  The march to the separation wall had already begun and we could hear boisterous political Arabic music from a loud speaker. I started meeting up with friends from the US, the Coalition of Women for Peace, Combatants for Peace, Arik Ascherman from Rabbis for Human Rights, Mustafa Barghouti from Palestinian Medical Relief Society, as well as hundreds of Palestinians and Israelis of all ages carrying banners and flags and wearing political T shirts. There was a significant press presence, including camera men and reporters in gas masks. Two ambulances awaited the injured.  At least one person was taken out later. 

The march went down the hill from the town to a valley and then up towards a wide loop of metal fencing.  In the distance, Israeli soldiers were amassed on the right and left arms of the loop and the protesters were approaching the soldiers. I heard the pop of the tear gas firing and suddenly my eyes began tearing, my throat started to burn and there was a searing acrid smell wafting up the hill.  I can only imagine how this felt to the protesters in the valley and up on the hill, directly challenging the soldiers, shouting, and throwing rocks. Tear gas canisters were sometimes shot into the air, spiraling down to hit the ground creating a huge white cloud of gas.  Sometimes the soldiers shot directly at protesters, I could see them crouching and taking aim. There was also a large white truck that repeatedly sprayed a huge arc of white liquid that smelled like a cross between skunk and feces and is apparently difficult to get off one’s body once sprayed. (I suppose this is what the defense companies mean when they say weapons are “field tested.”) When the tear gas was too thick, everyone moved back up the hill and then down again for more defiance and more tear gas. The more active protesters were directly in the line of fire, running, ducking from canisters, coughing, eyes running and red.  A reporter from FOX news was even on the edge of the action and when someone handed him an onion to smell, he started chewing on it and then rubbed his eyes with it, clearly he hadn’t gotten the directions right. At one point the soldiers came through the fence as a wedge and as the protesters then retreated, some of the press got up close and personal with the soldiers. Protesters coming back from the direct interactions brought back empty tear gas canisters labeled “CST," a weapon made in the US.

I was crying from the tear gas and from my sorrow and rage at the Israeli government (with US support, thank you Mr. Obama) for its continued endless land grab and brutality towards its Palestinian neighbors and for Palestinians resiliently and bravely fighting back despite endless losses.  They are desperately in need of international recognition and more importantly international pressure against the behavior of the Israeli government.  I was particularly pained by the many Palestinians wearing yellow stars with the word Palestinian inscribed on it, evocative of the Jews in the ghettos of Europe forced to wear yellow stars. So now in the modern western democracy of Israel, Jewish ghettos dot the West Bank landscape while Palestinians themselves are further ghettoized by the machinery of occupation and colonization.

What have we learned?

How I became a human smuggler

Posted by Alice Rothchild travelling with the HaHRP delegation

1/6/11
How I became a human smuggler

I have to confess, we were not prepared.  We were not even aware of the white-faced American mostly Jewish privileged skin in which we were living. Our bus left the tiny village of Mas’ha, heading past Ariel to the municipality of Tel Aviv-Jaffo, or Jaffa as our Palestinian friends say. We had a yellow license plate, the seats were comfortable and the seat belts functional.  Life was good.

In a smaller car, 3 Americans (one tall bearded guy who could be mistaken for a settler and one very blond woman) and 2 Palestinian women, university students, who had not successfully obtained permits to leave the West Bank and were passing as Americans, drove in front of us. One of them had done this several times before without getting caught.  The other had never seen the Mediterranean Sea.  You might call this an exercise in human smuggling Israeli style.

A private security company pulls the two vehicles over at a checkpoint near the settlement of Ariel for a “routine security check.” I wonder, is it the obvious Arab face of our driver or just part of the mechanics of control. Why would a group of non-settlers be driving down this highway? We watch with trepidation as our friends get out of the car and are led into the checkpoint. A smiling woman in uniform enters our  bus, “Who is the tour guide?” 
“Me (gulp).” 
“What are you doing?” 
“Tourism.” 
“Where have you been?”
“Nablus.” 
“What did you do?”
“We like old things, we toured the Old City.” 
“Where did you stay?
I know I cannot say the Balata Refugee Camp. “Yaffa Guest House.”
“OK, passports, come with me.”

I step out of the bus and a snarling dog, a Belgium malinois known for good scent detection, is chewing on the leash with its handler next to the bus.  I discover that this little checkpoint, is fully equipped with x ray equipment, FAX machines, and computers. All our bags are x-rayed repeatedly as suspicious items like books, notebooks, tape recorders, etc. are removed and re x-rayed.  The questioning keeps up and I have no idea if the group will keep its story straight.  I am acutely aware that in my bag are BDS stickers (we all have them), materials about BDS, brochures from the Palestinian Agricultural Relief Committee and two copies of my book which would instantly get me in trouble.  I keep turning them over so the title is not visible. And then there are pages of incriminating notes and hundreds of easily accessible photos. Usually before any security check, I “cleanse” my belongings and make the evidence difficult to find.  I have been careless. The other wild dynamic I observe is the white, clearly Ashkenazi woman who is in charge, and the younger Ethiopian woman who receives her barking orders and unpacks and repacks our bags obediently: race and class in action. 

As anxious as we are, our main focus is on the two Palestinians who are insisting they are from the US, have quickly made up names and fake histories, and are acting their parts flawlessly.  They are aided by the performance of our group leader who plays the innocent but helpful Jewish tourist, so apologetic about the forgotten passports. The main problem is of course the issue of identities.  Oh we forgot our passports in our hotel in Tel Aviv, we didn’t know we had to have them, etc, etc. A quick phone call to a fellow activist, Hello, so wonderful visiting you in Ariel, would you talk to security about our visit….The story is being fabricated in real time and the fear and anxiety in the group for the two brave Palestinian women is gripping us all. As we sit in the waiting room, we pretend we do not know each other as that would definitely blow our cover.  While maybe I might face an angry security guard, a fine or deportation, these two women could get arrested and go to jail for the crime of visiting Jaffa with a group of activists.

The bus finally passes inspection and we have to drive off not knowing the fate of our friends. After a prolonged interrogation and much dancing around, I think the head security woman knew something was not right, they are turned back.  We all cheer when we learned by cell phone that  they sailed through Hizma checkpoint without being stopped.  

When the group is finally reunited for a tour of Jaffa, one of the Palestinian women runs down the beach and into the water, soaking her boots and pants, crying, breathing in the smell of the sea for the first time in her life. 

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Balata Refugee Camp

Posted by Alice Rothchild on the HaHRP delegation 

Balata Refugee Camp, Existence is Resistance 1/6/11 

The Yaffa Guest House in the Balata Refugee Camp just outside of Nablus is new. There are quarters for men and for women, a well equipped kitchen with refrigerator, microwave, washer/dryer and a living room with WIFI and piles of magazines that leave a record of previous guests. Ironically, there is a   “Cosmopolitan” on top of the pile with the alluring article “Secrets of Male Sexual Arousal.” We climb into our bunk beds, crank up the heat and collapse into deep sleep.

In the morning after a breakfast of Mu’ajanat, a dough with eggs, cheese and zetar, we meet with a thin young man named Faisal. He was born in Saudi Arabia in 1986 where his father went for work. His family came from a small village near Jaffa and escaped to the mountains near Nablus after 1948 until they came to live in the Balata Refugee Camp in the early 1980s. Faisel went to UNRWA schools and studied journalism at Najah University in Nablus and now works in public relations for the Yaffa Cultural Center.

Balata was founded in 1952 and 90% of the refugees are from Yaffa and surrounding villages.  The UN announced the establishment of the camp by loudspeaker and in an area 1000 square meters, set up rows of tents, one tent per family, 5-6,000 refugees, with scattered public bathrooms. Because everyone was sure this was a temporary arrangement, they lived in tents for eight years until the UN started building housing, one room for each family. Sewer systems, water, and electricity were finally established in the 1970s. As the population grew, people expanded their homes vertically, literally on top of each other in a maze of winding dirt and stone paths and stairs, second floors jutting out into the airspace of the paths, no fresh air, no privacy. Residents can hear and smell everything. Balata is now the largest camp in the smallest space in the West Bank with more than 25,000 residents, UN offices, a cemetery and market.  The land is rented by UNRWA from the village of Balata for 99 years.

After 1967 60% of Balata workers became laborers in Israel.  Balata also has the reputation for resistance. In 1987 the First Intifada started in this camp. In 2000 there were many clashes in the camp, 230 people were killed, many in their homes, and thousands were wounded. Israel closed the border and now only 3% are able to work in Israel. This has all resulted in high levels of frustration, depression, psychiatric problems, violence, and trauma. Faisel discusses the damage done by IDF soldiers breaking into homes, through walls to the next house, Palestinian children losing their childhoods to war and teenagers seeing no opportunities. 

The cultural center was established by Balata residents to encourage children to release their energy in a positive fashion through the arts, Dabke dancing, theater, drawing, reading, storytelling, etc. The teenagers are involved in programs for leadership, women’s rights, photography, journalism and there is a recently built theater facility. Faisel says education is the main vehicle; sometimes there is no hope, but there is a need for optimism.  “I am very optimistic because I believe in young people.”

We ask why people stay in Balata and he replies that they have no place to go, no financial resources, and the UN helps them with education, housing, and health care, although these supports have been diminishing in recent years. Food distribution is less frequent and there is one medical clinic with one doctor and one nurse.  UNRWA covers 1/3 of the medical care if a patient needs to go to the local hospital.  As we hear over and over again, refugees also still dream of return to their former villages. Faisel talks about the seven million Palestinian refugees all over the world and the international laws that guarantee the right of return and compensation. I have had these conversations before, the need for the Israeli government to recognize its role in the displacement of refugees and its responsibility to engage in creative solutions for return and compensation.  

We begin a walk through the camp where 70% of the population is less than 18 years old.  We look down on the school yard where hundreds of little girls in blue uniforms and pants are playing and when they see us, waving enthusiastically and yelling hello. The paths between the grey concrete houses are often two to three feet wide with uneven surfaces and I try to imagine the disabled children who must be carried to school, the laboring pregnant woman or critically ill patient physically carried by two men through the maze to an ambulance waiting on the street, the difficulties bringing anything from food to furniture into the homes.  Laundry hangs from windows and balconies and the poverty is obvious. There are patches of brightly painted graffiti: Love Palestine, Hate Racism, 1 People, 1 World, Those who make peace impossible make violence inevitable, Existence is resistance, if you are not willing to die for it, take the word freedom out of your vocabulary. Posters for political factions plaster some areas.

I think about the many conversations I have had about Palestinian refugees and the many generations that have known no other life. Clearly Balata is bursting with people, there is tremendous unemployment, a huge focus on education and youth, but the future is bleak unless there is some resolution to this unsustainable situation.  As I recently heard, humanitarian crisis require political solutions. I wish my friends who refuse to discuss the plight of refugees could walk these winding streets and look into the eyes of these children.  They deserve a better life than this. 

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From Alice Rothchild, travelling in Palestine:

1/3/11 Ramallah Fragments

The dangerous qanun and the intoxication of power

We leave the taxi at Qalandia checkpoint and for 50 shekels grab a ride in the back of a truck with Israeli license plates. The truck doors advertise flooring and construction, three scruffy men sit in the front seat, and soon we are staring through dusty windows at the imposing separation wall, massive amounts of construction and garbage, new cream white apartment and office buildings, and a disarray of cars all heading in opposing directions. In Ramallah, people do not give you their addresses; we are in search of Supermarket Baghdad. After a dizzying tour of the rainy, foggy city (it seems that men in this culture do not ask for directions easily),  we  find the supermarket and discover that Israeli Orange phone cards are no longer sold in the West Bank, (first sign of boycott).  After a quick call on the one remaining functional phone, Ali Amr, a student at Berklee College of Music in Boston who is home to see his family after a year, meets us a block from the market. The son of a Moroccan mother and Palestinian father and a talented musician, Ali’s journey home was infinitely more torturous than ours. 

He explains, as a Palestinian he has to enter through Jordan via the Allenby Bridge. He is required to renew his Jordanian Military service papers annually in Jordan, in order to enter Palestine or travel back to the US. Arriving several days ago, he and his father headed to the border from Amman at 4 pm, got through the Jordanian border without difficulty after a brief interrogation. It seems that studying music in the US is not an entirely legitimate excuse for avoiding the military, but Ali was armed with paperwork from the music school. They then waited in line for an hour to get on a bus to the Israeli border.  Half an hour later, squeezed together with other travelers, “like they do for animals in a cage,” Ali and his father reach the line for the soldiers.  I should mention that Ali’s father is a law professor at Al Quds University; he usually dresses formally in a suit and tie, and when I met him I was struck with his dignity as well as good humor.  After half an hour, the soldiers checked Ali’s bags and threw his bags and qanun, an Arabic lap harp with 72 strings and delicate inlaid carvings, onto the x ray machine. Everyone was allowed to pass but Ali and he was separated from his father. 

Ali was interrogated for a second time, “Where they asked me just the same questions…Seems like they have a list of questions that if you answer one wrong, trouble.” Ali remembers his rising fear and nervousness, and finally stepped outside. ”It felt just like I got out of prison.” They let him go with papers that “me the 19 year old kid that's coming from America is clean and not terrorist,” but then the terror began. His luggage arrived, but no qanun. After endless waiting, Ali asked for his musical instrument and was told to come for further questioning. The soldiers knew the qanun was from Syria, (imported to the Edward Said National Conservatory of Music when Ali was a student there) despite no evidence on the instrument, and insisted that Ali pay a large tax to bring it back into Palestine.  Ali and his father where shocked. Ali has traveled all over the world with his qanun and come back home and has never been asked to pay. 

The soldiers insisted that he planned to sell it in the West Bank, despite the certificate confirming Ali as a student at Berklee College of Music, his work as a professional musician, and his instrument.  He pleaded, he argued, the soldiers started threatening him. “You wanna pay to take it or we take it.” They took his ID and told him to wait. More pleading and arguing and then the soldier yelled, “It’s your decision.” He grabbed the qanun and threatened to smash it if they did not pay. At this point, Ali’s father said, “Wait!” He asked for the bill and the soldiers came back, 866 shekels ($220). Ali remembers sweating with fear and then took out his emergency money that was supposed to pay for his travel expenses and for repairs on the qanun, and handed it all over. The two hour incident left Ali shaken, fearful, and crying. “But the situation is that there is no way we can get the money back from them…There is no one to talk to. No one to sue. The only paper I have is the receipt that they will never consider when I visit again and they will make me pay again and put it in their pockets and go get drunk with it in some Israeli bar. They are all 19 - 20 years old kids...holding guns.”  And so one of Ramallah’s most talented young musicians is welcomed home. 

Today an Orchestra tomorrow a State

We are warmly received by Ali’s parents, but the family is in a bit of a frenzy.  Ali’s older brother Mohammad has just arrived from Switzerland to play viola in the first performance of the Palestine National Orchestra. Classically trained professional Palestinian musicians from all over the world had converged on Ramallah, often requiring special visas from Arab countries, and after three days of rehearsals, the concert was starting in an hour.  Would we like to come? 

We found ourselves in a massive traffic jam in front of the impressive Ramallah Cultural Palace where hundreds of Palestinians had come to witness the historic birth of this orchestra, a tribute to the arts and cultural identity of the city. The concert logo featured a cello with a red flower in the center and the profile of a woman’s face wrapped in a keffeya. The program announced: Today an Orchestra tomorrow a State. The hall must have held 1500 people, and young people sat on the stairs down to the stage. As the orchestra played a very respectable Ligeti, a Mozart Exsultate featuring a Japanese/Palestinian soprano, an Allegretto by Arnita for oboe and strings, and Beethoven’s 4th Symphony, dark suited VIPs arrived surrounded by heavy security. Although cell phones rang, people whispered in hushed conversations, and clapped between movements (which is not the custom in classical music), Ali said later, “People need to be educated.” For me the most moving response was the tears, probably a mix of pride and pain, a palpable yearning to be whole, to be able to live normally like cultured people all over the world, to celebrate national aspirations without the accompaniment of tanks and apache helicopters. Ramallans were holding their heads high and I could see it on their faces. 

Dancing in the prison

There is something uncomfortable for me about having too much fun in a place where there is so much suffering, but it was New Year’s Eve and a friend from the Kennedy School at Harvard who had returned home to Ramallah to do his field work, invited us to a party.  We couldn’t resist this opportunity and found ourselves in a lovely apartment near the Bank of Palestine with his gorgeous sister who is studying at Swarthmore, an Israeli friend from University of Pennsylvania, and his aunt, a brilliant sociologist (among other things) with a wildly irreverent tongue. After tea, the aunt went to her party and we traipsed to a local restaurant hired for the evening. 

Long tables were set with humus and baba ganoush, rows of party hats, blowers, masks, and a smattering of Christmas decorations. Crowds of 20 and 30 somethings arrived.  The women in tight slinky dresses and dizzying high heels, movie star beautiful, shimmered and danced with handsome young men. (My fashion statement tended towards “haute schlep,” but I was old enough to be everyone’s mother and for the record, I held my own on the dance floor). The DJ blared music way beyond my auditory comfort level, but the throbbing beat was inspirational and the hookah smoke mixed with the fog machine creating an other worldly sensibility. Although I got fairly tipsy on a few sips of Arak, I knew I was rubbing shoulders and hips with the educated upper class of Ramallah, graduates from the Friends School, many schooled in the US, sophisticated, upwardly mobile, famous fathers and high expectations. To add to my general confusion, in between the celebrating I had intense conversations with journalists and activists about Gaza and BDS and one state solutions and getting tear gassed in Bi’iln. My friend spent much of the evening dancing, laughing, and enjoying himself with an exuberance I rarely experience. He explained the contradiction:  we must never forget we live in a prison, but we cannot behave like we do.  We have to put on our clothes and clean our houses and dance with abandon on New Year’s Eve. 

Bullets in the kitchen

New Year’s day, Ali’s parents, his father a law professor and his mother a practicing lawyer, take us for a tour of Ramallah.  I am struck by the amount of construction, the huge mansions next to empty lots, the roller coaster hills, the fascination with English: “Henny Penny Fried Chicken,” “Yummy Mummy Pastries,” “Birth Café.”  His parents came from Morocco for better opportunities for their children who would have been unable to work because they are Palestinian.  From 1997 to 2001 they lived in an apartment on the edge of Ramallah and experienced shelling from a nearby Jewish settlement, from 9 pm til morning. “I didn’t see bullets until I came here,” his mother remarked. A bullet through the kitchen window forced them to move to a safer place. 

The most striking stories that emerged were from the invasion in 2002. When the invasion started all the children were at the Edward Said National Conservatory of Music and Ali’s mother ran to bring them home. The family experienced 28 days of total curfew followed by 2 months where they were allowed to leave the house for 2 hours once a week to buy food. Ali’s mother was sure they would be killed so she stayed close to her children at all times so they would die together. Men slept at night fully clothed as they could be awoken at any time and hauled off to prison. At one point 60 neighbors in Al Bireh were placed in one house while soldiers occupied the others. 

After the invasion, soldiers were still very present. In 2003 when Ali’s paternal grandmother died in Hebron, the family traveled for seven hours in five different cars, changing at each checkpoint before they got to the funeral.  They described Ali’s sister studying at Al Quds University, getting up at 4 am to get to school “before the soldier’s opened their eyes,” running through the hills to get there unnoticed. One time she slept at Al Quds for 2 weeks rather than risk returning home. Before an exam in mathematics, soldiers confiscated her calculator. 

For me, the most painful moment came when we drove along a city road and looked down a hill at Area C, to the Jewish-only settler roads, and a settlement looming on the nearby hilltop. At another point, the barbed wire, guard towers, and rows of caravans came right up against the road and Palestinian homes, some now abandoned. Ali’s usually cheerfully gracious mother became clearly anxious and upset as his father’s voice rose with exasperation and frustration, the past merging with present as painful memories filled the car. Even the mythical city of Ramallah cannot escape the fact of occupation.