Monday, October 30, 2006
Just another mother murdered.
Daily deaths in Gaza caused by Israeli forces are obviously no longer of much interest to many US media- but the negligence and dismissiveness with which this story was treated by the Washington Post is an indication of how little interest there is in covering the scale of Israeli oppression let alone critiquing it:http://www.imemc.org/content/view/21947/1/
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Taxi Madam?
“ Just go to the line of big yellow Mercs, ask for Al Khaleel, Arabs don’t call it Hebron. Once you get through the checkpoint outside Hebron, call me on your mobile and I’ll talk to the driver and give him instructions on where to drop you.”
Oooo..Kay! I can do this. Plot and execute my journey from Ramallah to Hebron/ Al Khaleel via the West Bank transport system without a word of Arabic. I can do this. The words of encouragement and direction were from my colleague, Sahira who had invited me to spend Eid with her inexhaustibly extended family in the Hebron area. Goddamn it I intended to get there and experience the whole nine yards of Islam’s biggest festival within the bosom of a Palestinian family.
I was the first passenger for my driver, having left my digs early to find the Merc rank and give myself plenty of time to get acquainted with the vagaries of the Palestinian equivalent of a Falls Road Black Hack service. But these lads on the West Bank win hands down, no contest. I had surrendered myself to a transport system sans speed restrictions, sans any rules of the road, few road markings and as for indicating- well that’s for wimps!
While sitting in my car, (I was beginning to think of it in the possessive, having spent the best part of an hour waiting for it to fill) I took some time to take in its fallen- on- hard- times interior. An iron bar separated the driver and front seat passenger, (me) from the six others on the two back seats. My seat kept sliding every time I moved my ass, so I settled for a yogic position of stillness out of necessity rather than familiarity. In fact the whole trip was a lesson in reaching and grasping for dear life to my core tranquillity- who knew I had one?
Then we were off, well nearly, the pre- Eid traffic was gridlocked around central Ramallah. Regular, prolonged use of car horns have neatly substituted for the absence of any traffic flow system. Not that anyone pays any attention to the car- horns but it produces an endearing caucophony to accompany the chaos. The main road out of Ramallah is a rally-driver’s tetesterone-fuelled dream, diving and pitching with abandon past run down businesses and rubble strewn, rubbish-laden streets.
The drive to Al Khaleel should take 45 minutes- but that was in the good old days when the logical route was through Jerusalem but now Jerusalem must be circumvented and the checkpoints accommodated, all of which takes at least 2 hours, 3 hours when the Israelis are having a bad hair day.
Once past the first checkpoint, the driver put his foot down and the landscape outside began to blur, I reached in and tugged hard at my inner tranquillity willing it to last the course. Just as I thought I had lost the battle, I noticed the Merc’s speedometer stayed static at 20km, even though the speed of sound was about to be broken. By the time halfway into the journey, that the car climbed the 80 degree hill out of the Valley of Fire and began to nonchalantly overtake a 16 wheeled HGV on a hairpin bend I had transcended into some kind of outer body experience and was at one with the universe. Although it may have been the next universe as I seemed particularly close to entering it.
But I not only got there, I also got back and the post traumatic stress has been well and truly ameliorated by the most wonderful 4 days in between where; I got adopted- twice, gave stunted English lessons in return for bad Arabic ones, drank what seemed like sixteen types of tea, partook of my first (and hopefully not my last ) hubbly-bubbly, laughed until I almost peed myself, went cucumber –picking, ate Middle-Eastern, home-cooked food fit for the Queen of Sheba, nervously mangled the traditional greeting for Eid in front of 10 local elders, got kissed so often I was walking around on a permanent high and found a whole community of friendship and welcome that has made me feel very, very privileged. But that’s a whole other story.
Oooo..Kay! I can do this. Plot and execute my journey from Ramallah to Hebron/ Al Khaleel via the West Bank transport system without a word of Arabic. I can do this. The words of encouragement and direction were from my colleague, Sahira who had invited me to spend Eid with her inexhaustibly extended family in the Hebron area. Goddamn it I intended to get there and experience the whole nine yards of Islam’s biggest festival within the bosom of a Palestinian family.
I was the first passenger for my driver, having left my digs early to find the Merc rank and give myself plenty of time to get acquainted with the vagaries of the Palestinian equivalent of a Falls Road Black Hack service. But these lads on the West Bank win hands down, no contest. I had surrendered myself to a transport system sans speed restrictions, sans any rules of the road, few road markings and as for indicating- well that’s for wimps!
While sitting in my car, (I was beginning to think of it in the possessive, having spent the best part of an hour waiting for it to fill) I took some time to take in its fallen- on- hard- times interior. An iron bar separated the driver and front seat passenger, (me) from the six others on the two back seats. My seat kept sliding every time I moved my ass, so I settled for a yogic position of stillness out of necessity rather than familiarity. In fact the whole trip was a lesson in reaching and grasping for dear life to my core tranquillity- who knew I had one?
Then we were off, well nearly, the pre- Eid traffic was gridlocked around central Ramallah. Regular, prolonged use of car horns have neatly substituted for the absence of any traffic flow system. Not that anyone pays any attention to the car- horns but it produces an endearing caucophony to accompany the chaos. The main road out of Ramallah is a rally-driver’s tetesterone-fuelled dream, diving and pitching with abandon past run down businesses and rubble strewn, rubbish-laden streets.
The drive to Al Khaleel should take 45 minutes- but that was in the good old days when the logical route was through Jerusalem but now Jerusalem must be circumvented and the checkpoints accommodated, all of which takes at least 2 hours, 3 hours when the Israelis are having a bad hair day.
Once past the first checkpoint, the driver put his foot down and the landscape outside began to blur, I reached in and tugged hard at my inner tranquillity willing it to last the course. Just as I thought I had lost the battle, I noticed the Merc’s speedometer stayed static at 20km, even though the speed of sound was about to be broken. By the time halfway into the journey, that the car climbed the 80 degree hill out of the Valley of Fire and began to nonchalantly overtake a 16 wheeled HGV on a hairpin bend I had transcended into some kind of outer body experience and was at one with the universe. Although it may have been the next universe as I seemed particularly close to entering it.
But I not only got there, I also got back and the post traumatic stress has been well and truly ameliorated by the most wonderful 4 days in between where; I got adopted- twice, gave stunted English lessons in return for bad Arabic ones, drank what seemed like sixteen types of tea, partook of my first (and hopefully not my last ) hubbly-bubbly, laughed until I almost peed myself, went cucumber –picking, ate Middle-Eastern, home-cooked food fit for the Queen of Sheba, nervously mangled the traditional greeting for Eid in front of 10 local elders, got kissed so often I was walking around on a permanent high and found a whole community of friendship and welcome that has made me feel very, very privileged. But that’s a whole other story.
Friday, October 20, 2006
Altogether Now: Do the Restrictions Shuffle
Altogether Now- Do the Restrictions Shuffle.
The bureaucratic St. Vitus’ Dance more commonly known as negotiating the nightmare that has replaced freedom of movement for Palestinians goes a little like this: Listen up class, I will be testing you all on it later.. but not as ruthlessly as the Israelis daily test Palestinians on it.
A PALESTINIAN from JERUSALEM who has a Jerusalem residence card issued by the Israelis may travel to the West Bank or 1948 territories (inside Israel). But an East Jerusalem Palestinian wanting to enter Gaza must give an acceptable reason to receive a permit usually limited to one day.
A PALESTINIAN from the WEST BANK with a West Bank residence card must apply for special authorisation in advance to go to Jerusalem or the 1948 territories. This is only given on production of a work contract or hospital certificate. The patient must travel alone to hospital unless a family member has also applied for and received a permit. It is not generally possible to visit the Muslim or Christian centres of worship in Jerusalem even on religious feasts. It is out of the question to go to Jerusalem for family visits or religious reasons without a permit.
A PALESTINIAN from GAZA must obtain special permission in advance to go to Jerusalem or anywhere in the State of Israel. If so s/he must go by way of Egypt and then Jordan to enter the West Bank. ( Think- travelling from Belfast to Dublin via Scotland and Liverpool)
A PALESTINIAN of 1948 Territories (in Israel) can theoretically go anywhere under Israeli jurisdiction except Gaza. There are also many restrictions for anyone originally from Gaza married to a Palestinian Israeli. The Gaza spouse may obtain an Israeli residence card but remains without a nationality, making foreign travel extremely complicated, if not impossible.
You still with me at the back of the class then? Do try to keep up.
Okay now for the advanced class in Repression, once you have secured your particular pass card this does no necessarily mean that you get to pass Go automatically. Here are the definitions of the various points of access and egress through the WALL also known as the Barrier at which you will be required to present your permit:
(Please note the term Gate is used loosely, imagine if you will queues of Palestinians on foot or in vehicles, facing soldiers of the Israeli army or State Police with carte blanche to behave as they like no matter how valid the paperwork).
Agricultural Gate- allows access to agricultural fields, green houses and orchards located on opposite side of the Wall. Farmers must obtain a green permit to get to those fields.
Checkpoint Gate- is a crossing point from the West Bank into other West Bank areas under de facto Israeli jurisdiction (like East Jerusalem). These are manned by Israeli Border Police or members of the Israeli Defence Forces (IDF) and are also used by Israeli settlers. However, Palestinians of the West Bank must have a permit to enter Israel. The Wall lies inside many WB areas so many of the gates are not located on the Green Line.
Military Gate- not permitted for Palestinian civilian use.
Road Gate- installed at the junction where the Wall blocks a road. Permits are required to cross the road gates and continue on the road.
School Gate- where Wall blocks a school route. The gate is opened during school hours to allow Palestinian schoolchildren and teachers across.
Seasonal Gate- closed to Palestinians except at harvest time. No official dates or times are posted for these gates. Otherwise they are used for military access.
Settlement Gate- Primarily used by settlers. They are officially opened to green permit holders but Palestinian farmers tend to avoid using them because of hostility from Israeli settlers.
With thanks to the Alternative Tourism Group:
Alternative Tourism Group
The bureaucratic St. Vitus’ Dance more commonly known as negotiating the nightmare that has replaced freedom of movement for Palestinians goes a little like this: Listen up class, I will be testing you all on it later.. but not as ruthlessly as the Israelis daily test Palestinians on it.
A PALESTINIAN from JERUSALEM who has a Jerusalem residence card issued by the Israelis may travel to the West Bank or 1948 territories (inside Israel). But an East Jerusalem Palestinian wanting to enter Gaza must give an acceptable reason to receive a permit usually limited to one day.
A PALESTINIAN from the WEST BANK with a West Bank residence card must apply for special authorisation in advance to go to Jerusalem or the 1948 territories. This is only given on production of a work contract or hospital certificate. The patient must travel alone to hospital unless a family member has also applied for and received a permit. It is not generally possible to visit the Muslim or Christian centres of worship in Jerusalem even on religious feasts. It is out of the question to go to Jerusalem for family visits or religious reasons without a permit.
A PALESTINIAN from GAZA must obtain special permission in advance to go to Jerusalem or anywhere in the State of Israel. If so s/he must go by way of Egypt and then Jordan to enter the West Bank. ( Think- travelling from Belfast to Dublin via Scotland and Liverpool)
A PALESTINIAN of 1948 Territories (in Israel) can theoretically go anywhere under Israeli jurisdiction except Gaza. There are also many restrictions for anyone originally from Gaza married to a Palestinian Israeli. The Gaza spouse may obtain an Israeli residence card but remains without a nationality, making foreign travel extremely complicated, if not impossible.
You still with me at the back of the class then? Do try to keep up.
Okay now for the advanced class in Repression, once you have secured your particular pass card this does no necessarily mean that you get to pass Go automatically. Here are the definitions of the various points of access and egress through the WALL also known as the Barrier at which you will be required to present your permit:
(Please note the term Gate is used loosely, imagine if you will queues of Palestinians on foot or in vehicles, facing soldiers of the Israeli army or State Police with carte blanche to behave as they like no matter how valid the paperwork).
Agricultural Gate- allows access to agricultural fields, green houses and orchards located on opposite side of the Wall. Farmers must obtain a green permit to get to those fields.
Checkpoint Gate- is a crossing point from the West Bank into other West Bank areas under de facto Israeli jurisdiction (like East Jerusalem). These are manned by Israeli Border Police or members of the Israeli Defence Forces (IDF) and are also used by Israeli settlers. However, Palestinians of the West Bank must have a permit to enter Israel. The Wall lies inside many WB areas so many of the gates are not located on the Green Line.
Military Gate- not permitted for Palestinian civilian use.
Road Gate- installed at the junction where the Wall blocks a road. Permits are required to cross the road gates and continue on the road.
School Gate- where Wall blocks a school route. The gate is opened during school hours to allow Palestinian schoolchildren and teachers across.
Seasonal Gate- closed to Palestinians except at harvest time. No official dates or times are posted for these gates. Otherwise they are used for military access.
Settlement Gate- Primarily used by settlers. They are officially opened to green permit holders but Palestinian farmers tend to avoid using them because of hostility from Israeli settlers.
With thanks to the Alternative Tourism Group:
Alternative Tourism Group
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Walled In
Walled In
“Something there is that doesn’t love a wall” wrote Robert Frost about neighbouring New England farmers who go out to mend the wall that separates their two fields. Frost’s wall is built by hand of natural stones, yet the poem reflects on the unnaturalness of such a barrier, nature’s disdain for the structure and questions the necessity of the divide at all. One farmer believes in the wall and mantra-like repeats, “ Good fences make good neighbours”.
But the concrete abomination that runs across the landscape of the Palestinian Territories bears no resemblance to the stone dykes of farmland and even less to do with good neighbourly relations. It looms malevolently over the lives, land and future of the people of the West Bank with undisguised hostility. It corrals an entire people into such narrow confines that they must surely begin to feel a collective claustrophobia. Move a few hundred metres north, south or east and they collide with its impenetrability, even with their backs to the Jordan River, there is no safe, open space behind, but innumerable Israeli settlements poised to encroach.
A nine metre high wall, over 200 km long, on completion running to almost 700km requires reinforcement, watching and maintaining. The array of military support is staggering: watchtowers, checkpoints, roadblocks, a buffer zone of 30-100 metres, razor wire, surveillance cameras, ditches, and electronic fences. Overkill. Disproportionate.
However, it is an historical analogy that is most conjured by this penning in of human beings. To another time and place where, herded into one small area, a people were confined, forced to endure, deprived of all but the most basic of amenities, left to rot in the Warsaw Ghetto. The profound irony of that particular parallel is not lost nor does it rest comfortably, but it is unavoidable. Layer by layer, day by day freedoms, dignity and the means of survival are being stripped from the people of the Palestinian Occupied Territories. The Wall separates and consumes. Separates them from their fields and consumes their land, separates them from their livelihoods and consumes their freedoms, separates them from their neighbours and families and consumes the place they call homeland.
The daily crossings require permits, visas, a lowered gaze, a passive countenance and even then there is no guarantee of traversing to the other side. Agricultural gates providing access to fields and groves open and close at the whim of the military, stretching the endurance of farmers and jeopardising crops. Checkpoints manned by 18 year old Israeli conscripts already inured to the humanity of those wishing to pass, test the patience of queues of expectant, anxious people needing to get to prayer, to work, to school, to family. Regularly the conditions for crossing change, one day a permit which granted egress is the passport to movement, the next day the same permit is viciously flung back in the face of its holder and the way barred. And this on their own land.
Nothing is certain except that nothing is certain.
“Something there is that doesn’t love a wall” wrote Robert Frost about neighbouring New England farmers who go out to mend the wall that separates their two fields. Frost’s wall is built by hand of natural stones, yet the poem reflects on the unnaturalness of such a barrier, nature’s disdain for the structure and questions the necessity of the divide at all. One farmer believes in the wall and mantra-like repeats, “ Good fences make good neighbours”.
But the concrete abomination that runs across the landscape of the Palestinian Territories bears no resemblance to the stone dykes of farmland and even less to do with good neighbourly relations. It looms malevolently over the lives, land and future of the people of the West Bank with undisguised hostility. It corrals an entire people into such narrow confines that they must surely begin to feel a collective claustrophobia. Move a few hundred metres north, south or east and they collide with its impenetrability, even with their backs to the Jordan River, there is no safe, open space behind, but innumerable Israeli settlements poised to encroach.
A nine metre high wall, over 200 km long, on completion running to almost 700km requires reinforcement, watching and maintaining. The array of military support is staggering: watchtowers, checkpoints, roadblocks, a buffer zone of 30-100 metres, razor wire, surveillance cameras, ditches, and electronic fences. Overkill. Disproportionate.
However, it is an historical analogy that is most conjured by this penning in of human beings. To another time and place where, herded into one small area, a people were confined, forced to endure, deprived of all but the most basic of amenities, left to rot in the Warsaw Ghetto. The profound irony of that particular parallel is not lost nor does it rest comfortably, but it is unavoidable. Layer by layer, day by day freedoms, dignity and the means of survival are being stripped from the people of the Palestinian Occupied Territories. The Wall separates and consumes. Separates them from their fields and consumes their land, separates them from their livelihoods and consumes their freedoms, separates them from their neighbours and families and consumes the place they call homeland.
The daily crossings require permits, visas, a lowered gaze, a passive countenance and even then there is no guarantee of traversing to the other side. Agricultural gates providing access to fields and groves open and close at the whim of the military, stretching the endurance of farmers and jeopardising crops. Checkpoints manned by 18 year old Israeli conscripts already inured to the humanity of those wishing to pass, test the patience of queues of expectant, anxious people needing to get to prayer, to work, to school, to family. Regularly the conditions for crossing change, one day a permit which granted egress is the passport to movement, the next day the same permit is viciously flung back in the face of its holder and the way barred. And this on their own land.
Nothing is certain except that nothing is certain.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Perimenopausal in the Middle East
Well, thats how my little sis would describe my decision to take off for 3months to Palestine. My impending departure has been met with uncharacteristic nonchalance by mother- interpreted by middle sis as mother's failing to know where Palestine is, just that its hot there, ( If she only knew) and middle sis' faith that I will be perfectly at home there ( best not to analyse that one too much) and youngest sis who thinks I'm mad and perimenopausal and has pleaded with me not to do it.
Nevertheless, from this weekend, I will be in the West Bank, hoping to contribute something to ameliorating the struggle of women in the conflict thereand to support their efforts at developing their social and political status generally. With the help of my good friend Maman Poulet, I will also be attempting to blog throughout my stay when both external and personal conditions allow.
As we speak, Maman is trying to sort me out on skype and trying to figure out how to unlock my new, do- everything- but- make- the- dinner- mobile phone. I may even learn how to download pics by the end of this afternoon. And then all I have to do after that is not make a tit of myself in Palestine!
Nevertheless, from this weekend, I will be in the West Bank, hoping to contribute something to ameliorating the struggle of women in the conflict thereand to support their efforts at developing their social and political status generally. With the help of my good friend Maman Poulet, I will also be attempting to blog throughout my stay when both external and personal conditions allow.
As we speak, Maman is trying to sort me out on skype and trying to figure out how to unlock my new, do- everything- but- make- the- dinner- mobile phone. I may even learn how to download pics by the end of this afternoon. And then all I have to do after that is not make a tit of myself in Palestine!
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