November 13, 2003
"I'm....I'm shocked....You being here, and working with the ISM - that doesn't shock me. But this, this shocks me."
(A radical Israeli youth, upon hearing about my vasectomy, last night)
I've been away from this thing for a while. In part, for good reason. Also in part cause I've just been too damn distracted to bother with it. All of this, despite that the last few days have been really heavy, and wrought with some of the most intense moments of my entire trip.
My first day in the ISM Media Office, we got word that several of our people in Nablus had been shot and wounded by the IDF, in the Balata refugee camp. None were seriously injured, I guess -- none went to the hospital, anyway. But then again, the last time ISM folks were wounded by soldiers in Balata, they were awoken in their hospital beds at 2am, by masked soldiers interrogating them at gunpoint, and dragging an alleged Hamas militant out, removing him from life support. So, one really can't say whether what kept them out of the hospital was the lack of seriousness in their injuries. Nonetheless, some of them were deliberately shot by soldiers, with plastic bullets, and others were hit with shrapnel from live ammunition fired at their feet (a typical tactic in the West Bank).
One of the kids was an 18 year old Swede who'd been in training with me. He was one of my favorite people from that weekend, and he'd wanted to pal up with me on wherever we decided to work, but I opted for Qalqilya, in order to work around the Wall, and the group there had requested only one male. Hearing about his injuries, I felt kinda bad for abandoning him...not because I could've really done anything for him, but... I don't know. In a situation like that, you can't really help but think shoulda, coulda, woulda. Especially since the only time I encountered soldiers in Qalqilya was at the checkpoint, and at the fence, when locals got a bit rowdy. Something in me feel guilty for having been so safe, while he was taking what was likely shrapnel to the face.
The next few days, I was on my own at the office, and got a call from Yamoun (a village west of Jenin, in the north of the West Bank), saying that the IDF had occupied the town several days before, and was basically riding roughshod over the entire population. They'd taken three houses, and locked the families in one room of each house --- in one case, 30 people confined to one room, with no food, no water, no bathroom -- and then refused to allow the Red Crescent or the ISM to bring them food. They'd shot up the water tanks in the village (an overt act of malice, in this region), and had been wantonly shooting at children, despite that there were no resistance fighters in the village, and no one was shooting back. Several kids had been wounded, and about the time I hung up the phone, one of them had died. Another kid was stranded outside his house, when he discovered it was surrounded by soldiers.
This is the sort of thing that really doesn't get much examination in this whole nightmare. Israel has managed to destroy some of the most basic structures in Palestinian society, and if they're ever to recover their lives, their world, they're going to have their work cut out for them. This much is obvious, just upon arriving here. But what's just beneath that is the way in which Israel has managed to decimate the psychic world of these people, particularly children. What kind of society can be built, in the long-run, upon a generation of people who've been barred from school by curfews, scarcely left their homes, seen their families shot dead, had their toys crushed right in front of their eyes, lost their homes, and suffered any number of other traumas? What kind of reconciliation with the people of Israel can be born of a generation of people who've never seen a Jew that wasn't carrying an automatic rifle?
Last night, I went into Jerusalem with Lisa (one of the campaign coordinators) at the invitation of a woman who was presenting a film about the ISM called Jeremy Hardy vs. The Israeli Military. It's basically the story of Jeremy Hardy (a sort of comic personality on BBC Radio 4), and his two trips to Palestine with the ISM, documenting the siege of Bethlehem and the Church of the Nativity, and other really high-profile moments from the last few years. Parts of it were downright horrifying, as with a scene where an Israeli tank opens fire with live ammo at a line of (obviously, unarmed) ISM folks, who are standing with their hands up, or Jeremy's tour of a maternity hospital that was shelled by the IDF, and the statue of the Virgin Mary atop it, riddled with bullet holes. Other parts of it were really light and comical, perfectly drawing out the irony of being here -- as when one activist tells Jeremy that he's either going to be staying in homes with the families of martyrs (to prevent them from being bulldozed), or riding in ambulances (because they are so frequently targets of IDF attack). The obvious contradiction there being that these are, under normal circumstances, the precise reasons why you wouldn't want to be anywhere near such situations, and the two guys immediately crack up laughing at the absurdity. It was comforting to know that it was ok and healthy to laugh at ourselves amidst all this.
The audience for the film was exclusively Israeli, and we'd been invited, in the hope that we could field questions after the film, about the work of the ISM, etc. I'd offered to go with Lisa, in case things got heated and/or ugly, to draw some of the fire away from her. Not surprisingly, there wasn't a soul in the audience who wasn't already a committed leftist of some shade, and who wasn't already appalled by and vehemently opposed to the occupation. So, while some really good, really critical questions were asked, people were overwhelmingly supportive. And I was pleasantly surprised at what a sophisticated analysis some people had of what we do.
Moreover, it was good to finally make contact with Israelis who were not raving racist lunatics circa 1950's Alabama. I went out to D1 (a socialist pub in Jerusalem) with a couple of kids from the event, one of whom had handed out a petition before the film, calling for the abolition of the Wall. The other recently made history as the first Israeli to be exempted from military service on grounds of conscientious objection, without being sentenced to jail time. Both were extraordinarily intelligent, articulate, and committed for their respective ages (17, and 18 I think). They were among the 35 Israelis who went to Jenin this past Sunday to help Palestinians and ISM folks tear out four whole sections of the Apartheid Barrier (at the request of Palestinians). It was clear from talking to them that not only was there dissent within Israel, but there were people who told it like it was, with no reservations. One of them openly referred to settlers as "fascists" with "nazi-esque" ambitions. Another Israeli kid I'd met that night made the interesting point that Israel was perhaps the only colonial power in the history of the world that did not call itself such. I don't know how necessarily accurate that is, but it's certainly an interesting lens through which to examine the situation. All in all, a fantastic night, despite my anxiety about having left the Media Office empty, with the shit hitting the fan up in Yamoun.
There was clearly no way I was going to make it back through the Bethlehem checkpoint as late as it was, so I hiked back to the Faisal Hostel near the Old City, and stayed up talking to a Swede, a Brit, and (I think) a French fellow. They were all totally shitfaced (I'd seen them at the pub earlier), and were a hoot to talk to, as such. We swapped plans as to how to talk our respective ways out of Israel during the interrogations we will all most certainly face at the airport. I decided I'm going to talk at length, and in minute detail about how much hot anonymous gay sex I had in Independence Park, to back up my story coming into the country, and avoid having to detail the visits to holy sites that every other fake tourist has to spit out. It'll probably shock and disgust my audience such that they'll swiftly send me on my way, just to shut me up. Come to think of it, this isn't much of a departure from my life back home. This should be cake.
At this point, I'd been up for well over 24 hours, and still had to make it back to the Media Office as early as possible the following morning. I managed to fall asleep, and woke up a few hours later, just in time to catch a Servis to Beit Jala around 7am, and then a cab to Beit Sahour, putting me in front of this very computer no later than 9am. It was beautiful. Things were even slow enough most of the day that I managed to power nap much of it away, until early afternoon. It was just what I needed to come back to... A little calm.
Unfortunately, the phone began ringing regularly, updating me about the anti-Wall action in Tulkarem, where one of our coordinators had been targeted for arrest. Fortunately, she managed to escape by the skin of her teeth... Five times. Unfortunately, on at least one occasion, this involved other activists piling on top of her to protect her, and in the shuffle, an American activist from Washington state was arrested, and will likely be deported tomorrow, on charges that he threw rocks at and attacked a police officer. While it's clearly complete bullshit, if it were by some bizarre stretch true, it would be the first case ever of an ISM activist doing any such thing. Such is the absurdity of police behavior, no matter where you go. Alongside that, the soldiers had a field day beating and abusing the internationals in the action -- the worst account of which was probably when a soldier ripped a clump of hair from the head of a 73-year old man. Way to go, lads.
Here's to taking one for the team, Bruce. You'll be missed, I can tell.
(A radical Israeli youth, upon hearing about my vasectomy, last night)
I've been away from this thing for a while. In part, for good reason. Also in part cause I've just been too damn distracted to bother with it. All of this, despite that the last few days have been really heavy, and wrought with some of the most intense moments of my entire trip.
My first day in the ISM Media Office, we got word that several of our people in Nablus had been shot and wounded by the IDF, in the Balata refugee camp. None were seriously injured, I guess -- none went to the hospital, anyway. But then again, the last time ISM folks were wounded by soldiers in Balata, they were awoken in their hospital beds at 2am, by masked soldiers interrogating them at gunpoint, and dragging an alleged Hamas militant out, removing him from life support. So, one really can't say whether what kept them out of the hospital was the lack of seriousness in their injuries. Nonetheless, some of them were deliberately shot by soldiers, with plastic bullets, and others were hit with shrapnel from live ammunition fired at their feet (a typical tactic in the West Bank).
One of the kids was an 18 year old Swede who'd been in training with me. He was one of my favorite people from that weekend, and he'd wanted to pal up with me on wherever we decided to work, but I opted for Qalqilya, in order to work around the Wall, and the group there had requested only one male. Hearing about his injuries, I felt kinda bad for abandoning him...not because I could've really done anything for him, but... I don't know. In a situation like that, you can't really help but think shoulda, coulda, woulda. Especially since the only time I encountered soldiers in Qalqilya was at the checkpoint, and at the fence, when locals got a bit rowdy. Something in me feel guilty for having been so safe, while he was taking what was likely shrapnel to the face.
The next few days, I was on my own at the office, and got a call from Yamoun (a village west of Jenin, in the north of the West Bank), saying that the IDF had occupied the town several days before, and was basically riding roughshod over the entire population. They'd taken three houses, and locked the families in one room of each house --- in one case, 30 people confined to one room, with no food, no water, no bathroom -- and then refused to allow the Red Crescent or the ISM to bring them food. They'd shot up the water tanks in the village (an overt act of malice, in this region), and had been wantonly shooting at children, despite that there were no resistance fighters in the village, and no one was shooting back. Several kids had been wounded, and about the time I hung up the phone, one of them had died. Another kid was stranded outside his house, when he discovered it was surrounded by soldiers.
This is the sort of thing that really doesn't get much examination in this whole nightmare. Israel has managed to destroy some of the most basic structures in Palestinian society, and if they're ever to recover their lives, their world, they're going to have their work cut out for them. This much is obvious, just upon arriving here. But what's just beneath that is the way in which Israel has managed to decimate the psychic world of these people, particularly children. What kind of society can be built, in the long-run, upon a generation of people who've been barred from school by curfews, scarcely left their homes, seen their families shot dead, had their toys crushed right in front of their eyes, lost their homes, and suffered any number of other traumas? What kind of reconciliation with the people of Israel can be born of a generation of people who've never seen a Jew that wasn't carrying an automatic rifle?
Last night, I went into Jerusalem with Lisa (one of the campaign coordinators) at the invitation of a woman who was presenting a film about the ISM called Jeremy Hardy vs. The Israeli Military. It's basically the story of Jeremy Hardy (a sort of comic personality on BBC Radio 4), and his two trips to Palestine with the ISM, documenting the siege of Bethlehem and the Church of the Nativity, and other really high-profile moments from the last few years. Parts of it were downright horrifying, as with a scene where an Israeli tank opens fire with live ammo at a line of (obviously, unarmed) ISM folks, who are standing with their hands up, or Jeremy's tour of a maternity hospital that was shelled by the IDF, and the statue of the Virgin Mary atop it, riddled with bullet holes. Other parts of it were really light and comical, perfectly drawing out the irony of being here -- as when one activist tells Jeremy that he's either going to be staying in homes with the families of martyrs (to prevent them from being bulldozed), or riding in ambulances (because they are so frequently targets of IDF attack). The obvious contradiction there being that these are, under normal circumstances, the precise reasons why you wouldn't want to be anywhere near such situations, and the two guys immediately crack up laughing at the absurdity. It was comforting to know that it was ok and healthy to laugh at ourselves amidst all this.
The audience for the film was exclusively Israeli, and we'd been invited, in the hope that we could field questions after the film, about the work of the ISM, etc. I'd offered to go with Lisa, in case things got heated and/or ugly, to draw some of the fire away from her. Not surprisingly, there wasn't a soul in the audience who wasn't already a committed leftist of some shade, and who wasn't already appalled by and vehemently opposed to the occupation. So, while some really good, really critical questions were asked, people were overwhelmingly supportive. And I was pleasantly surprised at what a sophisticated analysis some people had of what we do.
Moreover, it was good to finally make contact with Israelis who were not raving racist lunatics circa 1950's Alabama. I went out to D1 (a socialist pub in Jerusalem) with a couple of kids from the event, one of whom had handed out a petition before the film, calling for the abolition of the Wall. The other recently made history as the first Israeli to be exempted from military service on grounds of conscientious objection, without being sentenced to jail time. Both were extraordinarily intelligent, articulate, and committed for their respective ages (17, and 18 I think). They were among the 35 Israelis who went to Jenin this past Sunday to help Palestinians and ISM folks tear out four whole sections of the Apartheid Barrier (at the request of Palestinians). It was clear from talking to them that not only was there dissent within Israel, but there were people who told it like it was, with no reservations. One of them openly referred to settlers as "fascists" with "nazi-esque" ambitions. Another Israeli kid I'd met that night made the interesting point that Israel was perhaps the only colonial power in the history of the world that did not call itself such. I don't know how necessarily accurate that is, but it's certainly an interesting lens through which to examine the situation. All in all, a fantastic night, despite my anxiety about having left the Media Office empty, with the shit hitting the fan up in Yamoun.
There was clearly no way I was going to make it back through the Bethlehem checkpoint as late as it was, so I hiked back to the Faisal Hostel near the Old City, and stayed up talking to a Swede, a Brit, and (I think) a French fellow. They were all totally shitfaced (I'd seen them at the pub earlier), and were a hoot to talk to, as such. We swapped plans as to how to talk our respective ways out of Israel during the interrogations we will all most certainly face at the airport. I decided I'm going to talk at length, and in minute detail about how much hot anonymous gay sex I had in Independence Park, to back up my story coming into the country, and avoid having to detail the visits to holy sites that every other fake tourist has to spit out. It'll probably shock and disgust my audience such that they'll swiftly send me on my way, just to shut me up. Come to think of it, this isn't much of a departure from my life back home. This should be cake.
At this point, I'd been up for well over 24 hours, and still had to make it back to the Media Office as early as possible the following morning. I managed to fall asleep, and woke up a few hours later, just in time to catch a Servis to Beit Jala around 7am, and then a cab to Beit Sahour, putting me in front of this very computer no later than 9am. It was beautiful. Things were even slow enough most of the day that I managed to power nap much of it away, until early afternoon. It was just what I needed to come back to... A little calm.
Unfortunately, the phone began ringing regularly, updating me about the anti-Wall action in Tulkarem, where one of our coordinators had been targeted for arrest. Fortunately, she managed to escape by the skin of her teeth... Five times. Unfortunately, on at least one occasion, this involved other activists piling on top of her to protect her, and in the shuffle, an American activist from Washington state was arrested, and will likely be deported tomorrow, on charges that he threw rocks at and attacked a police officer. While it's clearly complete bullshit, if it were by some bizarre stretch true, it would be the first case ever of an ISM activist doing any such thing. Such is the absurdity of police behavior, no matter where you go. Alongside that, the soldiers had a field day beating and abusing the internationals in the action -- the worst account of which was probably when a soldier ripped a clump of hair from the head of a 73-year old man. Way to go, lads.
Here's to taking one for the team, Bruce. You'll be missed, I can tell.
posted by Joshua | 9:31 PM
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