November 19, 2003
Well, it's over, pretty much. Or rather, my work with the ISM is finished, for now, anyway. I board my plane home in less than 24 hours.
It's strange how these things end. I left the office tonight, after having a long dinner with Gabe and Lisa, along with Fida and Elias from the Rapprochement Center... And I felt like I wasn't really saying goodbye to them in any permanent way. Maybe I'm not, but I don't know when I'll ever see them again, especially Fida and Elias. It's like the gravity of the situation we've been in here goes out the window, and we say goodbye like it's been nothing. On some level, that's easier. And on some level, it's more time efficient than trying to find words to express things that will probably take years to process. But in another sense... It feels like a lie. It feels like I'm walking away from this, fully prepared to bury everything I can't put into words, in favor of moving on to something else; something less complicated. I'm going to try not to do that. No promises, though.
Last night, I talked to Lelia online, and told her I would stay out of trouble until I got home; that she had no reason to worry about me, cause I would basically be a tourist for the rest of my trip, which is true. However, I had to pass through the main Bethlehem checkpoint tonight -- the one where the two soldiers were killed the other day. It was dark, about 7pm, I think. And I was the only pedestrian passing out of Beit Jala, so I don't think the soldiers even noticed me until I was ten feet from them. The whole setup had been significantly fortified since the last time I'd passed through it (for obvious reasons) and when the soldiers finally saw me, they were pretty clearly taken by surprise, going for their guns instinctively. I kinda half-expected that reaction, and had my passport in hand, extended as far out in front of me as possible. One soldier took it while another asked me to open one of my bags (he didn't even bother looking inside). They told me if I left Bethlehem, I wouldn't be able to come back.
Some part of me wanted to tell them just how arbitrary that statement was. Some part of me felt really sorry for them, too. At the same time, I'd been lying every time I'd ever passed through a checkpoint here, until tonight. My mobility was a burden here, in that sense. The tension of every movement having to hinge on my ability to conceal the truth about something -- I'd experienced it as an instrumental strategic necessity before, sort of repressing the stress of it, for the sake of just getting through it. But it had a real psychic toll that had really started to wear me down -- not the idea of deceiving soldiers, but just the constant stress of having to veil everything, and subject myself to that sort of thing so frequently, as a rule. And I imagined what that means for people who don't have an American passport to hold out: "If you leave [family, friends, lovers, home, spirit....life], you can't come back."
"That's not a problem.", I responded, and made my way up the road, to hail a cab, keeping my promise to be in one piece, on the other side.
It's strange how these things end. I left the office tonight, after having a long dinner with Gabe and Lisa, along with Fida and Elias from the Rapprochement Center... And I felt like I wasn't really saying goodbye to them in any permanent way. Maybe I'm not, but I don't know when I'll ever see them again, especially Fida and Elias. It's like the gravity of the situation we've been in here goes out the window, and we say goodbye like it's been nothing. On some level, that's easier. And on some level, it's more time efficient than trying to find words to express things that will probably take years to process. But in another sense... It feels like a lie. It feels like I'm walking away from this, fully prepared to bury everything I can't put into words, in favor of moving on to something else; something less complicated. I'm going to try not to do that. No promises, though.
Last night, I talked to Lelia online, and told her I would stay out of trouble until I got home; that she had no reason to worry about me, cause I would basically be a tourist for the rest of my trip, which is true. However, I had to pass through the main Bethlehem checkpoint tonight -- the one where the two soldiers were killed the other day. It was dark, about 7pm, I think. And I was the only pedestrian passing out of Beit Jala, so I don't think the soldiers even noticed me until I was ten feet from them. The whole setup had been significantly fortified since the last time I'd passed through it (for obvious reasons) and when the soldiers finally saw me, they were pretty clearly taken by surprise, going for their guns instinctively. I kinda half-expected that reaction, and had my passport in hand, extended as far out in front of me as possible. One soldier took it while another asked me to open one of my bags (he didn't even bother looking inside). They told me if I left Bethlehem, I wouldn't be able to come back.
Some part of me wanted to tell them just how arbitrary that statement was. Some part of me felt really sorry for them, too. At the same time, I'd been lying every time I'd ever passed through a checkpoint here, until tonight. My mobility was a burden here, in that sense. The tension of every movement having to hinge on my ability to conceal the truth about something -- I'd experienced it as an instrumental strategic necessity before, sort of repressing the stress of it, for the sake of just getting through it. But it had a real psychic toll that had really started to wear me down -- not the idea of deceiving soldiers, but just the constant stress of having to veil everything, and subject myself to that sort of thing so frequently, as a rule. And I imagined what that means for people who don't have an American passport to hold out: "If you leave [family, friends, lovers, home, spirit....life], you can't come back."
"That's not a problem.", I responded, and made my way up the road, to hail a cab, keeping my promise to be in one piece, on the other side.
posted by Joshua | 9:33 PM
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