Nidal works two jobs. Each morning he crosses Qalandya en route to Ram where his computer/high tech office is located. Around 2pm he leaves that job, comes back through the checkpoint to East Jerusalem, and ends up on Al-Hariri by 4 pm. Sunday, Nidal did not show up for work.
On Monday, Najat and I were chatting, as we usually do throughout the day, when she stopped suddenly and remembered to tell me, "Nidal was arrested yesterday at the checkpoint, we don't know if he's coming to work today because we don't know where he is."
During late morning, the phone rang and Marwan picked up. Najat could overhear Marwan talking on the telephone, made out it was Nidal on the other end of the line, and said, "Nidal is not in jail, that was him calling for Marwan."
I asked Najat if she knew what happened. She told me we'd ask Nidal later on when he came to the office. Nidal came in around 4pm, the usual time, looking a little tired, but as always with a half-smile of amusement on his face.
I had to leave the office because Sammy Blumberg and I had an East Jerusalem shawarma at Al-Shu'leh-followed by a visit to the Kotel date. However, we finished around 5:30 so I headed back to the office to talk to Nidal about what happened.
At 3:20 p.m. Sunday, Nidal and a large crowd of people waited at the checkpoint turnstile for the light to turn green so they could pass through. Finally, the light switched red to green. The people pushed through to the other side of the turnstile. Suddenly, over the intercom a soldier's voice instructed everyone to go back through the turnstile to the other side. As Nidal speaks fluent Hebrew, he heard the soldier making the announcements also say, "you aren't humans you are animals."
"This thing really made me crazy, Heidi," Nidal said.
As Nidal passed by the soldier he said to her, "You are the animal, you don't know how to treat people."
Once again, the crowd of people were permitted back through the checkpoint. When it was Nidal's turn, the soldier took his identity card and told him he would not get it back. Nidal stopped and said he wasn't leaving until he had his identity card, what was he going to do without it?
She told him to step to the side and pointed him to a room of dimensions one meter, by one meter and a half. There he was told to stay without any other information. He asked the soldier to give him back his card and why was he being held? She gave him no response and so he started calling her names. In kind, she responded by calling him names and making obscene gestures like flicking him off, things like this.
With his phone, Nidal photographed and recorded the soldier in her fury, directed at him. Nidal then told the soldier that he wanted to see her supervisor, "someone bigger than her."
The soldier disappeared and Nidal waited another 45 minutes without any news.
"My legs were really freezing now," Nidal said.
He couldn't move, he couldn't get out and he didn't know when the requested supervisor would appear, if at all.
Finally, another soldier, a male, appeared and asked him what happened. Nidal told him his side of the story. The higher-up soldier told Nidal he had to delete the pictures of the soldier making faces, gestures, and calling Nidal names. Nidal refused and the man informed Nidal he was going to be arrested. He also told Nidal he wasn't allowed to eat, drink, smoke, or talk on the phone while being detained. Nidal was then taken outside and made to wait, minus his phone battery, which the soldiers confiscated after deleting the photos for him.
After an hour and a half, allowed only to move within a few meters of space outside, he was taken to the Makom HaKera, what I understand to be a detention center. In tow was the female soldier, Nidal and the supervisor. Arriving at the detention center Nidal was informed that he would be arrested for 24 to 48 hours, and was he in contact with a lawyer? Nidal replied that he had a lawyer and wanted to speak with him immediately.
The woman processing his case at the detention center asked him why he hadn't already called the lawyer to which Nidal responded, "Are you kidding? You told me not to eat, drink, talk on the phone, and my phone battery was taken. How do you expect me to make a phone call to my lawyer?"
Nidal was allowed to call to his brother, his lawyer, who came immediately to help. Once his brother arrived and established that he was in fact a lawyer, Nidal was informed that because he has a lawyer, he would be released but he may be called in a few days to appear in court. Nidal asked for the name of the soldier with whom the incident transpired. They refused to give him her name and asked why he wanted it. Nidal responded that if he had to go to court he wanted to know her name to make his case and to identify her. Again, the soldiers refused to give her name.
Before leaving, Nidal looked at the young soldier and said, "I have one question for you. Do you treat people like this at home?"
The soldier responded, "No".
Eight hours and ten minutes later, at 11:30 p.m., Nidal and his brother left and went home.
Nidal looked at me and said, "Heidi, I don't want to have a problem. Usually, this doesn't happen. When a soldier at the checkpoint says, 'good morning, please may I see your id., thank you, have a good day,' I respond in the same way: thank you, have a nice day. This girl is sick in the head. I know I am not the problem, she has a problem. What can I do? This is our life here, there is occupation, sometimes it affects my life, sometimes it doesn't. I was so angry, but I don't want to have a problem."
Nidal continued, "they put these kids at the checkpoints who don't know who they are talking to. At the checkpoints are women, children, engineers, doctors, lawyers, professors. I don't want to start a problem. I want to go through the checkpoint and go home or go to work because that's what I have to do. These people want to do the same thing. It's not right, what's going on here."
As for the young, female soldier, "they probably moved her so that if I see her again I can't get her name and the whole thing will never have happened."
Nidal is alright. I felt infuriated and ashamed, on my own behalf.
In response to this incident, I have heard a collection of other thoughts and stories from the office.
Marwan told me of a time he was at the checkpoint with his car. He showed his license, his registration and his identity card. The soldier inspecting his license told him his papers had expired and so he had to be arrested. Marwan, who also speaks Hebrew insisted that the soldier read the dates wrong, everything was current. The soldier repeated that he was under arrest and the car would be taken. At this point Marwan started yelling, which drew the attention of another soldier, again, a higher-up/supervisor type. He asked what was going on to which Marwan explained the misunderstanding. The supervisor took the papers from the soldier, gave them back to Marwan, and told Marwan to leave, everything was fine.
The soldier mis-read the dates on the license and registration.
Marwan says, "It's not that they're stupid, these people at the checkpoints, but they are very young, many do not even read Hebrew, they are immigrants. The smart people they send to the other parts of the army, but the most impressionable they send to the checkpoints. There is something wrong with these people, they are not normal and that's what we have to deal with."
This morning Mira told me she's had experiences with checkpoint guards that don't read Hebrew. "They take your id in their hands and then they ask you: where are you from, where were you born?"
These are the more recently arrived perhaps from Ethiopia or the Former Soviet Union. They still cannot read the language and yet they are responsible for verifying documents in the Hebrew language that determine the fate of thousands every day.
With regard to Nidal, Hillel believes that the authorities won't follow up on this case. Most likely, it's in the best interest of the checkpoint guards not to bring Nidal to court.
Najat believes this case isn't over, that Nidal may be called to court and find himself in a situation with little evidence to defend himself.
Knowing that a friend of mine experienced having an Israeli soldier, in uniform, representing the State of Israel and in theory, the Jewish people -- call him and his people animals -- is immensely upsetting for me. I feel a personal sense of guilt and embarassment and a helplessness because I have no answers and no way at this moment to improve the situation. All I can do is state that this was wrong and awful. It is a practice that I cannot understand.
It is a face of the army that is difficult to reconcile with the other faces I have encountered. My contemporaries that I have befriended, like my friend Eitan, who serves in the army as an engineer, ensuring the safety and efficiency of weapons and technology that the army utilizes, who welcomes me into his home every weekend and shares with me his life as a peer, and as an Israeli.
It is in sharp contrast to my reaction to the following story I read in Haaretz yesterday. IDF troops took into custody two Palestinian youths in possession of explosive devices inlcuding a bomb weighing 7 kilograms, a gas balloon and spraying material, "apparently intended to be used in suicide bombing", at the Beit Iba checkpoint in the Nablus area. The youths were detained and questioned by Shin Bet security service but it is not clear whether the individuals intended to carry out the attack in Israel or in the West Bank.*
In isolation, the outcome of this story comforts me. The IDF is doing its job to protect the safety and security of Palestinians and Israelis by preventing an act that could incite yet another cycle of violence. However, it is one part of the bigger picture which must be examined in its entirety. There exists a cause and effect dynamic to the violence here. Questions around cause and effect for me arise.
What are the psychological effects of occupation on societies, that of both the occupied and the occupier?
What aspect of human recognition and compassion shuts off or compartmentalizes when one is required to follow orders without question, as those at the checkpoints?
What is the balance between maintaining security and respecting humanity?
If this is a Jewish State, how is it upholding or denigrating the more noble principles of the tradition? How does it violate those through security measures, through prolonged conflict that has forced a country and its people into constant fear, defense, and now offense against an enemy that has been characterized and dealt with as monolithic and separate from the daily lives of most Israelis?
Can I trust the media? This story was in Haaretz but I found no reporting on explosive devices found on Palestinian youths in any of the Arabic publications that are in English. What do I need to learn about Israeli media when Palestinians feel that it is sometimes complicit with the government in keeping certain abuses and human rights issues out of the mainstream publications?
How much of this is simply human nature, human conflict, the way the world works, not unique to this region, just in focus because this is where I choose to be and what I feel the need to focus upon?
Najat, Mira and I sat at breakfast this morning eating ka'ek, zatar and cheese, discussing Nidal's situation. I looked at them and said, "you know, people just don't care. If it doesn't affect their lives, they don't want to be involved, for the most part. This stuff is happening all over the world, it's a problem throughout, it isn't just here, this is the world."
They both looked at me but didn't respond. In that moment I realized that while I believe what I said, I also believe that there are people like Najat, Mira and myself who don't want this to be the world. We want it to look, feel and be different, and so that's how we'll spend our days.
* "IDF Soldier wounded when bomb explodes near jeep in Nablus," www.haaretz.com/hasen/objects/pages/PrintArticleEn.jhtml?itemNo=839030
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
What to think?
Monday evening my colleague, Nidal, the website manager for the Journal invited me out for an evening in Jerusalem. He picked me up at my hotel around a quarter to nine and we headed West.
Nidal's family lives in the Old City near the Kotel. Nidal speaks Hebrew fluently and he tries to teach me Hebrew more than Arabic, which is entertaining to me considering Nidal is Palestinian. Leading a very social life, Nidal goes out as much as possible with his friends in Tel Aviv, Jaffa, Haifa and Jerusalem. Although, I imagine his juggling of two jobs makes this passion for the nightlife rather difficult to pursue these days. Nevertheless, he was particularly excited to show me this place called Jan's in West Jerusalem, beneath a museum/theater, on the road to the German Colony. "Ya Heidi, it is SOOOO romantic," he told me.
In Hebrew, Jan's is spelled yud-alef-nun. Presumably then, the place is pronounced Yan's. I mention this only because Nidal kept referring to the place as Jan's, even though the Hebrew spelling was there, the whole thing was confusing. Anyway...
During the ride I asked Nidal why is it that he has no problem going back and forth between East and West Jerusalem, going out in the big cities of Israel?
"I have to live my life. I have to make the best of the way things are."
Fair enough, but in sharp contrast to other Palestinian contemporaries I have befriended in my time here.
We arrived at Jan's, a low-ceilinged, long room, with dark wood-paneled walls, covered in tapestries, portraits, and beaded ropes. The lamps were dim, Moroccan style, embossed with colored glass. There were tables and chairs but mostly cushions and floor couch-pads with low tables. Everything was muted in color, deep maroon, dark greens, browns, somewhat undistinguishable because of the lamps, casting a pale-golden hue as far as the light could reach.
Nidal and I chose a floor couch and a low table. He ordered hot chocolate with whipped cream, and I chose the warm "cinnamon drink" with pine nuts and walnuts floating on top.
Continuing our conversation about Nidal's life in the context of being a Palestinian, he said to me, "You know last week a man was killed near the post office on Salah-ah-Din. The police beat him up and he died."
Hearing this, my first reactions were shock and horror, and then my investigative dial got turned on.
"What do you mean Nidal? They killed him? They beat him up, why? Why would they do that?"
"I don't know, that's how it is here, these things happen," Nidal answered.
I decided not to pursue that topic of conversation because as much as I'm told not to ask why, for me it is necesary to not only ask why, but know "why" as well. From Nidal, I was not going to get the information I needed. I bookmarked the story in my mind.
We continued our evening, discussing various differences between Israel/Palestine and the rest of the world. Nidal is not convinced that I could live here because it is a hard life, hard to find work, the tension, the conflict, all the rough stuff that exists just below the surface. Around eleven p.m. Nidal returned me to the hotel, to prevent me from being locked out.
Now it is Tuesday morning. Najat and I are running errands. A stop at the pharmacy for one of her nephews, a birthday present for one of her brothers, a visit to the bakery for cookies, and a glass of date-rosewater juice for me.
While walking up on one of the side streets to Salah-ah-Din, en route to the bakery, Najat turned to me and said, "Heidi, did you hear a man was killed last week at the post office?"
She continued, "He was in an Israeli prison for many years. He had been married for 14 years and just one year ago he and his wife finally had a baby. Now there is a wife and baby boy with no husband, no father. He was a transport person, driving a van. They stopped him in his car, pulled him out and started beating him. They were kicking him and then brought him into the station, you know, next to the post office, and starting hitting him in the head. He lost consciousness and he never woke up."
I asked Najat, "They just pulled him out of his car and started beating him? Without reason? Why?"
"Don't asky why, Heidi. Maybe he said something to upset them. They found out he's an ex-prisoner and then they did this. This is how things are," she replied.
Now back in the office, I asked Lotahn if he had heard of this story. He had not.
I asked, "Lotahn, is it possible that for no reason they just started to beat him and it went too far? Does that really happen, with no reason?"
"For no reason, no. Maybe someone was having a bad day and yes, they got carried away. It does happen. But I don't know the story," Lotahn said.
I started searching on the internet for stories of a Palestinian man in East Jerusalem beaten to death by Israeli police. I found nothing on Google nor Al-Jazeera. Not until yesterday (March 14) did I think to look at Haaretz.
Below I have pasted three articles and corresponding links. From the Haaretz article I was able to find links to two other news sources covering the story, both Palestinian. Confusingly and distressingly, the Palestinian news sources cover the story entirely differently than Haaretz. The Haaretz article gives background on the man, the situation and the events leading up to his being at the police station here on Salah-ah-Din. The Palestinian sources state the alleged crime committed by the police officers and events during and after the beating. There are no eyewitness quotes in any of the articles, either Israeli or Palestinian. The case continues, as you can read in the articles below, with an autopsy called for by the deceased's family.
What bothers me is that there is a photo on the Palestinian news source articles that claims to be a photo of the man being beaten. This photograph, I believe, is NOT here at Salah-ah-Din street. There is no way to tell that it was taken at the scene described in the articles. You cannot see anything at all really. This photo is being used as proof of the event by readers commenting on the Haaretz website. In the photo there are two soldiers above a man on the ground, and figures looking like more soldiers in the background. The ground looks like dirt, no pavement.
Contrarily, where this event took place, there is only paved road, it is a busy intersection with lots of people during all daylight hours, and depending on the angle from which the photo was taken, one would see either: the wall of the Old City, the highway in either directions, or buildings with the numerous shops which the Palestinian articles mention. Also, the policemen here are dressed for full combat, with helmets, like the soldiers wear. The police I see every day at the station when I walk past are not dressed like this.
I could not include the photo but as of today it is still on the website pages, to which I have provided links.
For certain, a man was killed last Thursday. To what extent and why the police beat him is under investigation. I do not doubt that acts of brutality were committed and should be addressed. From the Haaretz article, it appears that there is a process under way that will penalize any wrong doing on the part of the law enforcement officers. I am perturbed by the use of such a photograph and the differences in coverage of the event.
It is problematic and alarming. It also indicates to me that one, or rather, I , cannot get a clear idea of what is going on here. Just when I think I'm beginning to understand the rules of the game here, I realize I absolutley do not. Reading the articles to put the pieces of the story together, I find I still have questions unanswered and an unclear image of what exactly happened.
Palestine News Network
Israeli police beat Palestinian man to death, family demands neutral autopsy
(Jerusalem)
Saturday, 10 March 2007
http://english.pnn.ps/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=1886&Itemid=29
Wa'el Yousef Karawi was from East Jerusalem's A-Tur neighborhood. Israeli police attacked him on a street popular for shoe, clothes and book shopping. Now the 32 year old Palestinian man is dead.
PNN's Jerusalem correspondent, Maisa Abu Ghazaleh, explained that the young man was driving on Salah Addin Street when the police stopped his car. Without any warning, the Israelis pulled Karawi out the vehicle and began severely beating him. There was
no reason offered at the time and Israeli forces still decline to comment.
Abu Ghazaleh also reported that Israeli forces have detained Karawi's body, refusing to release it to his family pending their own investigation and autopsy. The Israeli police are currently claiming that the man died as a result of falling on the ground. The family is demanding that the investigation and autopsy be performed by a neutral party.
On the end of Salah Addin Street that butts up against the walls of the Old City is the largest post office where Palestinians voted during the last presidential and Legislative Council elections. Next to that is an Israeli police station where several cruisers can be seen daily with officers milling about in the area.
from Jerusalemites.org
Israeli police beat Palestinian man to death
News In English ,,, March 2007
March 11, 2007
http://www.jerusalemites.org/News%20In%20English/english/2007/March/112.htm
(taken from IMEMC -- International Middle East Media Center
Israeli police beat Palestinian man to death
http://www.imemc.org/article/47347)
Wa'el Yousef Karawi was from East Jerusalem's A-Tur neighborhood. Israeli police attacked him on a street popular for shoe, clothes and book shopping. Now the 32 year old Palestinian man is dead.
PNN's Jerusalem correspondent, Maisa Abu Ghazaleh, explained that the young man was driving on Salah Addin Street when the police stopped his car. Without any warning, the Israelis pulled Karawi out the vehicle and began severely beating him. There was no reason offered at the time and Israeli forces still decline to comment.
Abu Ghazaleh also reported that Israeli forces have detained Karawi's body, refusing to release it to his family pending their own investigation and autopsy. The Israeli police are currently claiming that the man died as a result of falling on the ground. The family is demanding that the investigation and autopsy be performed by a neutral party.
On the end of Salah Addin Street that butts up against the walls of the Old City is the largest post office where Palestinians voted during the last presidential and Legislative Council elections. Next to that is an Israeli police station where several cruisers can be seen daily with officers milling about in the area.
Ha'aretz
Last update - 18:25 11/03/2007
Police, family clash over cause of death of Palestinian detainee
By Yoav Stern and Jonathan Lis, Haaretz Correspondents, and Agencies
http://www.haaretz.com/hasen/spages/835739.html
Police and the family of a Palestinian who died in custody clashed Sunday over the cause of death of Wa'al al-Qarawi, 32, who died of unknown causes shortly after his arrest in East Jerusalem on Saturday.
Palestinians took to the streets in East Jerusalem on Sunday during al-Qarawi's funeral, hurling rocks at Jewish homes in the a-Tur neighborhood, Israel Radio reported. There were no casualties in the incident.
Al-Qarawi was initially believed to have died of natural causes as both Magen David Adom doctors and a Palestinian doctor who examined the body did not identify any unusual marks on the body. But the affair took an unexpected turn after signs of violence were found on his head and legs as his body was being prepared to be interred.
In light of the new findings, al Qawari's family is now demanding that an autopsy be carried out in order to establish the cause of his death.
Al-Qawari was detained for questioning in the East Jerusalem neighborhood of a-Tur, as he was caught transporting a Jordanian woman who is staying in Israel illegally.
Eyewitnesses and al-Qarawi's relatives say that he was beaten by the Border Policemen who detained him. Police sourced have said, however, that the officers who arrested the man made no physical contact with him.
Jerusalem Police have said al-Qarawi was instructed to drive over to the police station on Saleh a-Din Street in East Jerusalem, and complained he is unwell upon entering the station. According to police, officers alerted an MDA ambulance and shortly thereafter al-Qarawi collapsed and all attempts to resuscitate him failed.
Detectives from the Police Investigations Department were called to the scene and took testimonies from the police officers involved in the affair and from the passenger in his car.
The PID said Saturday they do not suspect that al-Qarawi had been beaten to death during questioning and that he appears to have died of natural causes.
Attorney Na'eela Atiya, who represents the al-Qarawi family, told Haaretz on Sunday that a Palestinian pathologist will conduct the autopsy. Should the Institute of Forensic Medicine at Abu Kabir agree to take the body back for examination, an institute doctor would also participate in the examination.
The body is currently being held at the al-Mekased Hospital in East Jerusalem.
Atiya said that the autopsy would be of value should the family seek to proceed with legal action against police.
Nidal's family lives in the Old City near the Kotel. Nidal speaks Hebrew fluently and he tries to teach me Hebrew more than Arabic, which is entertaining to me considering Nidal is Palestinian. Leading a very social life, Nidal goes out as much as possible with his friends in Tel Aviv, Jaffa, Haifa and Jerusalem. Although, I imagine his juggling of two jobs makes this passion for the nightlife rather difficult to pursue these days. Nevertheless, he was particularly excited to show me this place called Jan's in West Jerusalem, beneath a museum/theater, on the road to the German Colony. "Ya Heidi, it is SOOOO romantic," he told me.
In Hebrew, Jan's is spelled yud-alef-nun. Presumably then, the place is pronounced Yan's. I mention this only because Nidal kept referring to the place as Jan's, even though the Hebrew spelling was there, the whole thing was confusing. Anyway...
During the ride I asked Nidal why is it that he has no problem going back and forth between East and West Jerusalem, going out in the big cities of Israel?
"I have to live my life. I have to make the best of the way things are."
Fair enough, but in sharp contrast to other Palestinian contemporaries I have befriended in my time here.
We arrived at Jan's, a low-ceilinged, long room, with dark wood-paneled walls, covered in tapestries, portraits, and beaded ropes. The lamps were dim, Moroccan style, embossed with colored glass. There were tables and chairs but mostly cushions and floor couch-pads with low tables. Everything was muted in color, deep maroon, dark greens, browns, somewhat undistinguishable because of the lamps, casting a pale-golden hue as far as the light could reach.
Nidal and I chose a floor couch and a low table. He ordered hot chocolate with whipped cream, and I chose the warm "cinnamon drink" with pine nuts and walnuts floating on top.
Continuing our conversation about Nidal's life in the context of being a Palestinian, he said to me, "You know last week a man was killed near the post office on Salah-ah-Din. The police beat him up and he died."
Hearing this, my first reactions were shock and horror, and then my investigative dial got turned on.
"What do you mean Nidal? They killed him? They beat him up, why? Why would they do that?"
"I don't know, that's how it is here, these things happen," Nidal answered.
I decided not to pursue that topic of conversation because as much as I'm told not to ask why, for me it is necesary to not only ask why, but know "why" as well. From Nidal, I was not going to get the information I needed. I bookmarked the story in my mind.
We continued our evening, discussing various differences between Israel/Palestine and the rest of the world. Nidal is not convinced that I could live here because it is a hard life, hard to find work, the tension, the conflict, all the rough stuff that exists just below the surface. Around eleven p.m. Nidal returned me to the hotel, to prevent me from being locked out.
Now it is Tuesday morning. Najat and I are running errands. A stop at the pharmacy for one of her nephews, a birthday present for one of her brothers, a visit to the bakery for cookies, and a glass of date-rosewater juice for me.
While walking up on one of the side streets to Salah-ah-Din, en route to the bakery, Najat turned to me and said, "Heidi, did you hear a man was killed last week at the post office?"
She continued, "He was in an Israeli prison for many years. He had been married for 14 years and just one year ago he and his wife finally had a baby. Now there is a wife and baby boy with no husband, no father. He was a transport person, driving a van. They stopped him in his car, pulled him out and started beating him. They were kicking him and then brought him into the station, you know, next to the post office, and starting hitting him in the head. He lost consciousness and he never woke up."
I asked Najat, "They just pulled him out of his car and started beating him? Without reason? Why?"
"Don't asky why, Heidi. Maybe he said something to upset them. They found out he's an ex-prisoner and then they did this. This is how things are," she replied.
Now back in the office, I asked Lotahn if he had heard of this story. He had not.
I asked, "Lotahn, is it possible that for no reason they just started to beat him and it went too far? Does that really happen, with no reason?"
"For no reason, no. Maybe someone was having a bad day and yes, they got carried away. It does happen. But I don't know the story," Lotahn said.
I started searching on the internet for stories of a Palestinian man in East Jerusalem beaten to death by Israeli police. I found nothing on Google nor Al-Jazeera. Not until yesterday (March 14) did I think to look at Haaretz.
Below I have pasted three articles and corresponding links. From the Haaretz article I was able to find links to two other news sources covering the story, both Palestinian. Confusingly and distressingly, the Palestinian news sources cover the story entirely differently than Haaretz. The Haaretz article gives background on the man, the situation and the events leading up to his being at the police station here on Salah-ah-Din. The Palestinian sources state the alleged crime committed by the police officers and events during and after the beating. There are no eyewitness quotes in any of the articles, either Israeli or Palestinian. The case continues, as you can read in the articles below, with an autopsy called for by the deceased's family.
What bothers me is that there is a photo on the Palestinian news source articles that claims to be a photo of the man being beaten. This photograph, I believe, is NOT here at Salah-ah-Din street. There is no way to tell that it was taken at the scene described in the articles. You cannot see anything at all really. This photo is being used as proof of the event by readers commenting on the Haaretz website. In the photo there are two soldiers above a man on the ground, and figures looking like more soldiers in the background. The ground looks like dirt, no pavement.
Contrarily, where this event took place, there is only paved road, it is a busy intersection with lots of people during all daylight hours, and depending on the angle from which the photo was taken, one would see either: the wall of the Old City, the highway in either directions, or buildings with the numerous shops which the Palestinian articles mention. Also, the policemen here are dressed for full combat, with helmets, like the soldiers wear. The police I see every day at the station when I walk past are not dressed like this.
I could not include the photo but as of today it is still on the website pages, to which I have provided links.
For certain, a man was killed last Thursday. To what extent and why the police beat him is under investigation. I do not doubt that acts of brutality were committed and should be addressed. From the Haaretz article, it appears that there is a process under way that will penalize any wrong doing on the part of the law enforcement officers. I am perturbed by the use of such a photograph and the differences in coverage of the event.
It is problematic and alarming. It also indicates to me that one, or rather, I , cannot get a clear idea of what is going on here. Just when I think I'm beginning to understand the rules of the game here, I realize I absolutley do not. Reading the articles to put the pieces of the story together, I find I still have questions unanswered and an unclear image of what exactly happened.
Palestine News Network
Israeli police beat Palestinian man to death, family demands neutral autopsy
(Jerusalem)
Saturday, 10 March 2007
http://english.pnn.ps/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=1886&Itemid=29
Wa'el Yousef Karawi was from East Jerusalem's A-Tur neighborhood. Israeli police attacked him on a street popular for shoe, clothes and book shopping. Now the 32 year old Palestinian man is dead.
PNN's Jerusalem correspondent, Maisa Abu Ghazaleh, explained that the young man was driving on Salah Addin Street when the police stopped his car. Without any warning, the Israelis pulled Karawi out the vehicle and began severely beating him. There was
no reason offered at the time and Israeli forces still decline to comment.
Abu Ghazaleh also reported that Israeli forces have detained Karawi's body, refusing to release it to his family pending their own investigation and autopsy. The Israeli police are currently claiming that the man died as a result of falling on the ground. The family is demanding that the investigation and autopsy be performed by a neutral party.
On the end of Salah Addin Street that butts up against the walls of the Old City is the largest post office where Palestinians voted during the last presidential and Legislative Council elections. Next to that is an Israeli police station where several cruisers can be seen daily with officers milling about in the area.
from Jerusalemites.org
Israeli police beat Palestinian man to death
News In English ,,, March 2007
March 11, 2007
http://www.jerusalemites.org/News%20In%20English/english/2007/March/112.htm
(taken from IMEMC -- International Middle East Media Center
Israeli police beat Palestinian man to death
http://www.imemc.org/article/47347)
Wa'el Yousef Karawi was from East Jerusalem's A-Tur neighborhood. Israeli police attacked him on a street popular for shoe, clothes and book shopping. Now the 32 year old Palestinian man is dead.
PNN's Jerusalem correspondent, Maisa Abu Ghazaleh, explained that the young man was driving on Salah Addin Street when the police stopped his car. Without any warning, the Israelis pulled Karawi out the vehicle and began severely beating him. There was no reason offered at the time and Israeli forces still decline to comment.
Abu Ghazaleh also reported that Israeli forces have detained Karawi's body, refusing to release it to his family pending their own investigation and autopsy. The Israeli police are currently claiming that the man died as a result of falling on the ground. The family is demanding that the investigation and autopsy be performed by a neutral party.
On the end of Salah Addin Street that butts up against the walls of the Old City is the largest post office where Palestinians voted during the last presidential and Legislative Council elections. Next to that is an Israeli police station where several cruisers can be seen daily with officers milling about in the area.
Ha'aretz
Last update - 18:25 11/03/2007
Police, family clash over cause of death of Palestinian detainee
By Yoav Stern and Jonathan Lis, Haaretz Correspondents, and Agencies
http://www.haaretz.com/hasen/spages/835739.html
Police and the family of a Palestinian who died in custody clashed Sunday over the cause of death of Wa'al al-Qarawi, 32, who died of unknown causes shortly after his arrest in East Jerusalem on Saturday.
Palestinians took to the streets in East Jerusalem on Sunday during al-Qarawi's funeral, hurling rocks at Jewish homes in the a-Tur neighborhood, Israel Radio reported. There were no casualties in the incident.
Al-Qarawi was initially believed to have died of natural causes as both Magen David Adom doctors and a Palestinian doctor who examined the body did not identify any unusual marks on the body. But the affair took an unexpected turn after signs of violence were found on his head and legs as his body was being prepared to be interred.
In light of the new findings, al Qawari's family is now demanding that an autopsy be carried out in order to establish the cause of his death.
Al-Qawari was detained for questioning in the East Jerusalem neighborhood of a-Tur, as he was caught transporting a Jordanian woman who is staying in Israel illegally.
Eyewitnesses and al-Qarawi's relatives say that he was beaten by the Border Policemen who detained him. Police sourced have said, however, that the officers who arrested the man made no physical contact with him.
Jerusalem Police have said al-Qarawi was instructed to drive over to the police station on Saleh a-Din Street in East Jerusalem, and complained he is unwell upon entering the station. According to police, officers alerted an MDA ambulance and shortly thereafter al-Qarawi collapsed and all attempts to resuscitate him failed.
Detectives from the Police Investigations Department were called to the scene and took testimonies from the police officers involved in the affair and from the passenger in his car.
The PID said Saturday they do not suspect that al-Qarawi had been beaten to death during questioning and that he appears to have died of natural causes.
Attorney Na'eela Atiya, who represents the al-Qarawi family, told Haaretz on Sunday that a Palestinian pathologist will conduct the autopsy. Should the Institute of Forensic Medicine at Abu Kabir agree to take the body back for examination, an institute doctor would also participate in the examination.
The body is currently being held at the al-Mekased Hospital in East Jerusalem.
Atiya said that the autopsy would be of value should the family seek to proceed with legal action against police.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Birzeit, Ramallah and Back II
Yellow taxi vans run back and forth from Birzeit to Ramallah from early morning until evening. For three shekel one is speedily transported from the peaceful and studious unversity atmosphere to the hustle and bustle of Ramallah's center.
Sitting next to me on the first bench of the taxi were two male students, Salim, tall, dark and thin, and Ashraf, shorter, blue-eyed and fair. Not knowing how much was the fare I asked Salim, could he tell me if the taxi went to the bus station?
Salim answered, "Three shekels. Yes. Where are you from?"
"Los Angeles," I told him.
"You are welcome," he replied.
Salim asked me what I was doing at Birzeit, if I was a student and what I studied. I explained to him my situation and asked him similar questions. In his third year of university, Salim studies psychology.
The rest of the short ride was quiet save for all the information swimming in my head from the meeting with Sonia. Pulling to a quick stop, the taxi door opened in Ramallah amidst produce trucks, vans filled with goods and cars. Narrow streets and tall buildings surrounded me. Hopping out from the taxi after Salim and Ashraf, I asked Salim if the bus station was nearby. As he was on a phone call, he motioned for me to follow him, covered the phone's mouthpiece, and told me he and his friend would take me there.
Jewelry, clothing, house supplies, shawarma, Palestine souvenir, book and tobacco stores were packed together, one after the other. Men wearing keffiyeh and more women in hijab than East Jerusalem hurried about their business, pushing past one another to the next errand. Street level nargile and tea shops looked out onto the activity, men sitting relaxed, water pipes in hand.
Downtown Ramallah sits around a traffic circle with a sort of monument in the middle, with a tall pole bearing the Palestinian flag. A cafe with green and white decor, called Star and Bucks Cafe sits at the highest point around the circle. My escorts walked left at the traffic circle, past colorful and overflowing shops, and uphill again. I saw green and white-striped bus number 18, the Al-Quds (Jersualem)to Ramallah bus, and prepared to thank Salim and Ashraf.
Ashraf, speaking to me for the first time said, "Do you have time for coffee? It is our tradition to invite visitors for something."
Sonia's parting words proved to be an accurate prediction.
I accepted. We turned left from the bus station and walked up a quieter road. The tall buildings cast a shadow onto the street, making the air quite cool in contrast to walking beneath the shining sun. Here there were furniture stores, electrical gadget shops and the occasional empty storefront. Once again we turned left. This time into a building with shiny marble floors and headed towards the elevator.
On the seventh floor the elevator opened directly into a sun-filled restaurant with large green plants and trees, a rather unattractive fountain in the center, a bar spanning one entire side of the venue, and tables and chairs similar to the those found at the Place St. Michel in Paris.
A server asked us to choose our table. We sat at a round one by the window in front and to the right of the bar. Outside were hills spotted with buildings whose rooftops were peppered with black water tanks and satellite dishes.
From the bus station to the restaurant I established that both Salim (21) and Ashraf (24) study psychology, but Ashraf also studies sociology. Most likely after graduation, both will continue university and pursue a masters degree. Ashraf and Salim's families come from Ramallah.
Sitting to my right, Ashraf asked, "So, what do you think of our state?"
"Well, I think you need a state," was my response.
Chuckling, they both smiled at me with tired eyes. Again they asked me what exactly I'm doing in Palestine, if I had ever been, that I am welcome, and if I need anything to call them.
A server approached the table, bringing with him a a dish of Cheetos, Fritos and pretzels. We ordered three Turkish coffees and resumed our conversation.
Salim and Ashraf seemed very defeated. Their words revealed a sadness and a helplessness for the situation of their people.
"Fatah represents the United States and Israel, Hamas does what Iran and Syria want," Salim said.
They both felt that the political parties in power fail to represent them and the needs of their people. And I felt as though they were asking me for the answers. I've never felt so useless in my life!
Ashraf continued, "America and Israel make us promises, but they never keep them. We continue to live under the occupation and it's a hard life."
"One of my brothers is shahid (martyred) and the other is wanted by the Israeli police for being a patriot," Salim said.
Ashraf continued, "there are two losers here, Israel and Palestine."
I agreed with this statement but added (and feel) that on a day-to-day basis, "there are two losers but the Palestinians are the bigger loser."
Ashraf and Salim were curious to know what I hear about Palestinians in the United States. They mentioned their concern for the media and how it directs the conversation in the United States, or lack thereof, about Palestinians.
I shared with them that it depends on which media one chooses to read. Some is very pro-Israel and some very pro-Palestine and that I try to read as much as I can to get a more full picture of the situation. However, dissatisfied with even that, "That's why I came here, to see and hear for myself, what is going on," I told them.
I got this general sense that these two boys were genuinely interested in what I could report to them from the world outside of their own. We discussed preconceived notions of Palestinians and Israelis for one another, the stereotype of all Palestinians being terrorists, and all Israelis as agressive settlers and abusive soldiers, and how these boys have never really interacted with Israelis. A curiosity to know came across from them to me. From this I was able to cultivate a morsel of hopefulness that these young would have the opportunity to make their society better, some may. Maybe that's part of my job to help figure out, or not, or something in between, I don't know yet.
In the opportunities that I have had thus far to speak with Palestinians, I am open and candid about my background and intentions. To me it is important for them to know that I am a Jew. Inevitably, this comes up when I am asked what I do for a living. As the answer to that question is that I am a second grade religious school teacher and a Hebrew tutor, this offers the perfect opportunity to divulge my religious background.
In the political discussions, I am sure to state my belief that there must be a Jewish state for the Jewish people because historically, the world has tried to disappear the Jews. I share that my grandfather is a Holocaust survivor and so I have a very personal connection to this belief and steadfastness in the present and future of the Jewish State of Israel. Usually I finish this spiel with the my heartfelt truth that because of my people's success (Baruch Hashem) in securing a state of their own, it is my obligation as a Jew and a human being to play a just role in seeing that my fellow human beings of different peoples enjoy that which I have privilege to enjoy: security and freedom of religion, language, culture and expression.
Ashraf and Salim appreciated this, although it didn't solve any problems and I still didn't have answers for them. Even now when I write this, I feel tired, a heavines settle over me. For now, it appears that power to make change does not rest with these young men who were children in the First Intifada and young adults in the Second. I suppose that to some extent their being at a loss for knowing what to do is encouraging. This signals they don't believe the violence is working.
The only thing I can do for now is stay in touch, learn more about them and offer them my views and my support as a friend. Also, I offer the distraction or excitement of a foreigner willing to listen, learn and work with them.
After coffee, cigarettes and cheetos Salim and Ashraf escorted me back to the bus station and verified with the driver of Bus #18 that I'd be delivered back to East Jerusalem via the Qalandya checkpoint. Once again they reminded me that I am welcome to Ramallah anytime and they'd be happy to answer any of my questions.
Boarding the bus I felt a sense of relief that I would soon return to the office, sit behind a computer, work and not have my emotional reserve further depleted.
Ten minutes from Ramallah I arrived on the other side of the separation wall at the Qalandya checkpoint. As a foreigner, and in possession of a U.S.passport, I did not have to get off the bus and walk through the checkpoint.
"You have a U.S. passport? You don't have to get off the bus, unless you want to see," said my bus driver.
With the rest of the passengers I descended from the bus, crossed the parking lot and followed those before me to the checkpoint. On that Tuesday afternoon the checkpoint was not crowded. The easiest thing to compare Qalandya to-- for me-- is an entrance to the New York subway system, sort of. As I walked toward the tall, bar columned-turnstyles, behind me was a covered area with metal benches. In operation were two lanes with approximately twenty people in each line. Voices over loud speakers were shouting instructions. I joined the line closest to me and watched those before me go through the turnstyle which revolves as long as the green light above is lit. Red indicates the turnstyle is locked. This went off and on every few people or so and without warning, stopping people short who tried to enter as the light switched.
After passing through the turnstyle I passed through a metal detector, an x-ray conveyor belt and two soldiers sitting in an office behind glass.
Everyone showed their identity cards. I was asked to slip my passport through a slot beneath the glass. After approval, I walked out another turnstyle and to the other side of the checkpoint, along a walk way, and into another parking lot where the bus waited. Once the bus was full, the driver continued the short ride back to Jerusalem, but only after a soldier briefly boarded the bus during which time the passengers once again pulled out their identity cards and held them up for the soldier to see.
As the sun descended onto the horizon and the scenery turned golden, I pushed the stop button and disembarked on Salah-a-Din Street and returned to the office.
Sitting next to me on the first bench of the taxi were two male students, Salim, tall, dark and thin, and Ashraf, shorter, blue-eyed and fair. Not knowing how much was the fare I asked Salim, could he tell me if the taxi went to the bus station?
Salim answered, "Three shekels. Yes. Where are you from?"
"Los Angeles," I told him.
"You are welcome," he replied.
Salim asked me what I was doing at Birzeit, if I was a student and what I studied. I explained to him my situation and asked him similar questions. In his third year of university, Salim studies psychology.
The rest of the short ride was quiet save for all the information swimming in my head from the meeting with Sonia. Pulling to a quick stop, the taxi door opened in Ramallah amidst produce trucks, vans filled with goods and cars. Narrow streets and tall buildings surrounded me. Hopping out from the taxi after Salim and Ashraf, I asked Salim if the bus station was nearby. As he was on a phone call, he motioned for me to follow him, covered the phone's mouthpiece, and told me he and his friend would take me there.
Jewelry, clothing, house supplies, shawarma, Palestine souvenir, book and tobacco stores were packed together, one after the other. Men wearing keffiyeh and more women in hijab than East Jerusalem hurried about their business, pushing past one another to the next errand. Street level nargile and tea shops looked out onto the activity, men sitting relaxed, water pipes in hand.
Downtown Ramallah sits around a traffic circle with a sort of monument in the middle, with a tall pole bearing the Palestinian flag. A cafe with green and white decor, called Star and Bucks Cafe sits at the highest point around the circle. My escorts walked left at the traffic circle, past colorful and overflowing shops, and uphill again. I saw green and white-striped bus number 18, the Al-Quds (Jersualem)to Ramallah bus, and prepared to thank Salim and Ashraf.
Ashraf, speaking to me for the first time said, "Do you have time for coffee? It is our tradition to invite visitors for something."
Sonia's parting words proved to be an accurate prediction.
I accepted. We turned left from the bus station and walked up a quieter road. The tall buildings cast a shadow onto the street, making the air quite cool in contrast to walking beneath the shining sun. Here there were furniture stores, electrical gadget shops and the occasional empty storefront. Once again we turned left. This time into a building with shiny marble floors and headed towards the elevator.
On the seventh floor the elevator opened directly into a sun-filled restaurant with large green plants and trees, a rather unattractive fountain in the center, a bar spanning one entire side of the venue, and tables and chairs similar to the those found at the Place St. Michel in Paris.
A server asked us to choose our table. We sat at a round one by the window in front and to the right of the bar. Outside were hills spotted with buildings whose rooftops were peppered with black water tanks and satellite dishes.
From the bus station to the restaurant I established that both Salim (21) and Ashraf (24) study psychology, but Ashraf also studies sociology. Most likely after graduation, both will continue university and pursue a masters degree. Ashraf and Salim's families come from Ramallah.
Sitting to my right, Ashraf asked, "So, what do you think of our state?"
"Well, I think you need a state," was my response.
Chuckling, they both smiled at me with tired eyes. Again they asked me what exactly I'm doing in Palestine, if I had ever been, that I am welcome, and if I need anything to call them.
A server approached the table, bringing with him a a dish of Cheetos, Fritos and pretzels. We ordered three Turkish coffees and resumed our conversation.
Salim and Ashraf seemed very defeated. Their words revealed a sadness and a helplessness for the situation of their people.
"Fatah represents the United States and Israel, Hamas does what Iran and Syria want," Salim said.
They both felt that the political parties in power fail to represent them and the needs of their people. And I felt as though they were asking me for the answers. I've never felt so useless in my life!
Ashraf continued, "America and Israel make us promises, but they never keep them. We continue to live under the occupation and it's a hard life."
"One of my brothers is shahid (martyred) and the other is wanted by the Israeli police for being a patriot," Salim said.
Ashraf continued, "there are two losers here, Israel and Palestine."
I agreed with this statement but added (and feel) that on a day-to-day basis, "there are two losers but the Palestinians are the bigger loser."
Ashraf and Salim were curious to know what I hear about Palestinians in the United States. They mentioned their concern for the media and how it directs the conversation in the United States, or lack thereof, about Palestinians.
I shared with them that it depends on which media one chooses to read. Some is very pro-Israel and some very pro-Palestine and that I try to read as much as I can to get a more full picture of the situation. However, dissatisfied with even that, "That's why I came here, to see and hear for myself, what is going on," I told them.
I got this general sense that these two boys were genuinely interested in what I could report to them from the world outside of their own. We discussed preconceived notions of Palestinians and Israelis for one another, the stereotype of all Palestinians being terrorists, and all Israelis as agressive settlers and abusive soldiers, and how these boys have never really interacted with Israelis. A curiosity to know came across from them to me. From this I was able to cultivate a morsel of hopefulness that these young would have the opportunity to make their society better, some may. Maybe that's part of my job to help figure out, or not, or something in between, I don't know yet.
In the opportunities that I have had thus far to speak with Palestinians, I am open and candid about my background and intentions. To me it is important for them to know that I am a Jew. Inevitably, this comes up when I am asked what I do for a living. As the answer to that question is that I am a second grade religious school teacher and a Hebrew tutor, this offers the perfect opportunity to divulge my religious background.
In the political discussions, I am sure to state my belief that there must be a Jewish state for the Jewish people because historically, the world has tried to disappear the Jews. I share that my grandfather is a Holocaust survivor and so I have a very personal connection to this belief and steadfastness in the present and future of the Jewish State of Israel. Usually I finish this spiel with the my heartfelt truth that because of my people's success (Baruch Hashem) in securing a state of their own, it is my obligation as a Jew and a human being to play a just role in seeing that my fellow human beings of different peoples enjoy that which I have privilege to enjoy: security and freedom of religion, language, culture and expression.
Ashraf and Salim appreciated this, although it didn't solve any problems and I still didn't have answers for them. Even now when I write this, I feel tired, a heavines settle over me. For now, it appears that power to make change does not rest with these young men who were children in the First Intifada and young adults in the Second. I suppose that to some extent their being at a loss for knowing what to do is encouraging. This signals they don't believe the violence is working.
The only thing I can do for now is stay in touch, learn more about them and offer them my views and my support as a friend. Also, I offer the distraction or excitement of a foreigner willing to listen, learn and work with them.
After coffee, cigarettes and cheetos Salim and Ashraf escorted me back to the bus station and verified with the driver of Bus #18 that I'd be delivered back to East Jerusalem via the Qalandya checkpoint. Once again they reminded me that I am welcome to Ramallah anytime and they'd be happy to answer any of my questions.
Boarding the bus I felt a sense of relief that I would soon return to the office, sit behind a computer, work and not have my emotional reserve further depleted.
Ten minutes from Ramallah I arrived on the other side of the separation wall at the Qalandya checkpoint. As a foreigner, and in possession of a U.S.passport, I did not have to get off the bus and walk through the checkpoint.
"You have a U.S. passport? You don't have to get off the bus, unless you want to see," said my bus driver.
With the rest of the passengers I descended from the bus, crossed the parking lot and followed those before me to the checkpoint. On that Tuesday afternoon the checkpoint was not crowded. The easiest thing to compare Qalandya to-- for me-- is an entrance to the New York subway system, sort of. As I walked toward the tall, bar columned-turnstyles, behind me was a covered area with metal benches. In operation were two lanes with approximately twenty people in each line. Voices over loud speakers were shouting instructions. I joined the line closest to me and watched those before me go through the turnstyle which revolves as long as the green light above is lit. Red indicates the turnstyle is locked. This went off and on every few people or so and without warning, stopping people short who tried to enter as the light switched.
After passing through the turnstyle I passed through a metal detector, an x-ray conveyor belt and two soldiers sitting in an office behind glass.
Everyone showed their identity cards. I was asked to slip my passport through a slot beneath the glass. After approval, I walked out another turnstyle and to the other side of the checkpoint, along a walk way, and into another parking lot where the bus waited. Once the bus was full, the driver continued the short ride back to Jerusalem, but only after a soldier briefly boarded the bus during which time the passengers once again pulled out their identity cards and held them up for the soldier to see.
As the sun descended onto the horizon and the scenery turned golden, I pushed the stop button and disembarked on Salah-a-Din Street and returned to the office.
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
Birzeit, Ramallah and Back I
Awad is the roommate of my Arabic teacher from UCLA, Hassan. Back in December, Hassan invited our small class over to his and Awad's apartment for traditional, homemade Arabic food, Hassan being Iraqi, Awad being Palestinian. Perhaps it was the Araq (Arabic anise liquor akin to Sambuca), copious amounts of kebab, lebne (soft cheese with olive oil plate) and piles of grilled peppers, onions and zucchini, that fogged my memory to think that Awad told me of a professor-relative at Birzeit University who he wanted me to visit during my time in the Middle East. So when I e-mailed him last week to follow up on this offer, he informed that this was not true but in fact, a professor from Birzeit came to UCLA the week before. He got her e-mail and suggested I contact her.
Within a day, Professor Sonia Nimr of Birzeit University, Department of History, told me to give her a call to arrange an appointment. We set the time at 11 a.m. in her office on the second floor of the Higher Education Building.
Tuesday morning I found myself waiting to be fetched by the daugthers of a friend of Ziad's (Palestinian editor of the PIJ). At 8:04 am, Nafouz, Lana, and Nafouz's son Karim picked me up in front of my hotel and we headed north from Jerusalem to Birzeit. Nafouz was visiting from D.C. where she lives with her husband, a photojournalist for CNN, and her 3 year old, Karim. I asked her what she did in D.C. to which she replied, "Nothing, it's impossible to do any work with a kid."
About 15 minutes into our drive I noticed a high, concrete wall to my right that reminded me of the U.S.-Mexico border.
"I see that this is a wall, but is this THE wall?" I asked.
"Yes it is the wall, we are on the Israel side now, on the other side is Palestine," replied Nafouz.
Lana, a student of finance, remained quiet for most of our trip through Jerusalem past the Qalandya checkpoint, and onto the road leading to Ramallah and Birzeit.
Getting into the West Bank on a normal day isn't a problem. We drove by the Qalandya Checkpoint and entered the road to Ramallah -- on the other side of the wall.
The road is a mess--- uneven and eroded. At parts there are enormous speed bumps that barely slow down the taxis, trucks and cars racing along the road.
"Do you see this road? It's terrible for the cars," Nafouz said.
I asked whose responsibility it is to fix it. Nafouz mumbled something about it still being Israel's land and so the Palestinians aren't going to fund it and since Israelis no longer use it, Israel won't repair it.
On either side of the road there are several half-completed projects. Half-built buildings with Palestinian flags tied to metal posts sticking out of concrete columns, abandoned foundations, a smattering of car repair shops, furniture stores and the occasional fruit and vegetable market. Through my head, the thought kept running how the earth here looks the same as the outer parts of Jerusalem, the landscape hasn't changed, the gray rocks with dirt and green sandwiched between -- yet this is practically another country. Its people speak another language and in fact, there was only Arabic on billboards and signs, no Hebrew.
I recognized Birzeit from the photo on the website. The university sits upon a hill with buildings made of Jerusalem stone, sandy-white bleached. We drove toward the West Gate where Nafouz dropped us off.
Lana asked me which building I needed to go to so she could show the way. I could only remember History and Archaelogy and not the Higher Education part, which I realized nearly two hours later was crucial to locating the building. Lana thought the building was behind the finance building and pointed left from where we were standing.
Around us were several students visiting with each other before classes. Young men and women with notebooks and cigarettes, sitting, standing, chatting on benches and low stone walls. I had about two hours to kill before my appointment so I asked Lana to show me to the cafeteria so I could have a cup of coffee.
With 8 minutes to spare before her class, Lana showed me to the cafeteria, bade me farewell and I was on my own.
The night before my cell phone mysteriously stopped working. I could no longer make outgoing calls. When I tried, a very lovely, deep Hebrew-speaking woman's voice relayed a message to me which I could not understand. With my cup of coffee, I sat down amidst the students having breakfast to look over my paperwork.
I couldn't use my phone to call the cell phone help line, which was compounded by the fact that in the West Bank, Cellcom, my phone company doesn't have great reception. I needed to find some internet access to e-mail the company and also notify the office that I had made it to Birzeit, and that I hoped to be back in the afternoon for the second office shift. Somehow, perhaps student's intuition, I located a computer lab where the student attendant kindly offered me her account in order to sign into the network. I began the e-mails to the phone company and the office. Then, I purchased a phone card. I thought perhaps I could use a pay phone to call the phone company. This failed because after I dialed the number and was connected, I could no longer push any buttons on the keypad on the pay phone. This was necessary in order to navigate the automated answering service of the phone company. I took the opportunity to call the office, however, spoke to Najat who said she'd call me every half hour or so to make sure I was doing ok.
At this point, nearly an hour and a half had passed and I realized I still didn't know where I needed to be at eleven. Everyone I asked to point me to the history building was happy to help but no one had the right answer. I was directed to the media building, passed the law school, toward the library and then the campus museum. The woman working in the museum office knew the Higher Education part of the History and Archaelogy building title, told me the name in Arabic, which I have already forgotten, and I was on my way. I figured I could use the professor's phone to try to get through to the phone company.
I climbed one flight of stairs, turned right and arrived at a red door with a plaque that stated, "Professor Sonia Nimr, Lecturer." I knocked, turned the knob and found myself in a square office with high ceilings, white walls, few posters, three desks and computers, and a sitting area with a couch and two chairs facing each other, a coffee table between them. Sonia was sitting in a chair across from a blond young man, clearly a foreigner, looking over papers and discussing. Sonia rose from her chair, Gauloise cigarette between her fingers.
Sonia is about my height, thin, busty, with mid-shoulder length, red-orange, straight hair, deep wrinkles and a noticeable twitch in her eyes. In her thick accent she welcomed me and asked me to sit down, did I want some coffee?
Declining the coffee I explained the phone situation and she put me at her desk to call the phone company. The first person I talked to informed me that I had made "suspicious calls" and so my phone had been shut. To which I said, "suspicious calls? to who, how? but I need my phone!"
He gave me a number and people to talk to, which only rang and rang and rang. So much for that. I felt awful asking Sonia to let me keep making calls because each time she had to get up from her meeting, dial in a code and then let me use a phone. The young man working with her, Philipp, a German student writing his thesis on the role of Hamas in Palestinian politics, offered me his SIM card and told me I had to go outside and walk around a bit to find Cellcom reception.
Once again I called the phone company, this time I was transferred to an English speaking operator who suggested I turn the phone off then on again. I asked why this happened and she said, "You know, it's electronics, this happens sometimes, it's just a machine."
Ok.
The trick worked. My phone picked up the SIM card signal, or however the hell it works, and I made a few phone calls to the office and a friend to inform them of my whereabouts. Heading back into the building, I felt much better about being back in communication and prepared myself to interview Sonia Nimr.
Sitting across from Sonia, I pulled out my legal pad and pen, and flipped to the page with the questions I wanted to ask to get the conversation moving. First though, she needed to know a little about me, fine.
I told her a few things. I have been here for a month and I am an intern at the Palestine-Israel Journal. That I wanted to come talk to people here about the conflict because I was tired of hearing how it is and not being able to see it so that I may have an opinion of my own, from my own experience. I told her I'm a teacher at a religious school, I am a Jew who believes it is important, no, crucial that the Jews have a state because throughout history people have tried to wipe them off the face of the earth. However, it is important for me to first understand and then educate people about what is happening here. And hopefully, do so in a way that people can listen without being defensive, disbelieving and dismissive. That we cannot deny that Israelis, Jewish or otherwise, Jews from the Diaspora and Palestinians live here and no one is really going anywhere.
With that, she allowed me to begin.
What is your job here? What are you a professor of?
I teach history here. I am also starting an Oral History Center. Who is writing Palestinian history? We are under occupation and others are writing our history. So we need to start writing our own history and teach it to ourselves.
Who is stopping Palestinians from writing their history?
No one. That's why we have to start. That's why I'm starting this center here at the university.
What is your definition of occupation?
Occupation is someone occupying someone else's land, stealing their freedom. Israelis have to recognize that in this part of the world there will be no peace until we have our rights, with a state, for self-determination.
Realistically, what do you see in the future that will work, one or two states?
Two states where we can practice our own sovereignty without trespassing. Dreamwise- I hope for one state, like South Africa. One democratic state where both people elect a government freely, where both people's rights are guaranteed equally.
Israel does not recognize Palestinian rights. If so, then they would recognize rights to movement, school, life, water use, everything is restricted, everything has restrictions.
20% of the population in Israel is Arab-Israeli without equal rights. You have more rights if you go to the army but Arabs don't go to the army. They are denying our identity by mere fact that they call Israeli-Arabs Israeli. Palestinians are living on reservations today, like the Native Americans of the U.S. Our status and our rights are similar to Native Americans.
Let's talk about the elections and the Palestinian government, Hamas and Fateh.
I am an atheist but I am highly politicized. Let me tell you something, I'm going to fight for Hamas to enter the elections but I will fight more for Hamas to not win the elections.
People have to read the elections differently. Hamas did not win, Fateh lost. The number of votes were almost equal.
People are pissed with the West, they tell us to have a democratic election and they don't like the outcome. The boycott is unfair, it's not right to dictate to Palestinians, or to interfere by giving or withdrawing funds because of a political agenda, the political agenda of the West.
People in the West Bank are not happy with Hamas, they're not very religious, but more political than religious. Why do all the Palestinians have to be punished?
Why won't Hamas recognize Israel? It seems that all they have to do is make a few statements and the international funds will come through? Why not recognize Israel?
Hamas announced a truce, they haven't had operations in recent years. What about state-terrorism/Israeli terrorism? Who talks about that?
The West doesn't understand the East. Hamas cannot say they recognize Israel. They support/recognize Israel by making a truce. You can't have a truce with someone you don't recognize. Hamas has done it [recognized Israel] in many ways. Hamas has internal problems. There's "face saving", don't ask us to go naked all over the place.
Israel and the Quartet don't want peace. Israel only recognizes the P.L.O. to do deals and the people are not happy with them.
Do you make a distinction between Israelis adn their government?
There is no difference between the government and the people. Israelis are silent. Our children see violence every day. My son has seen his father on the ground, a soldier's boot at his neck and a gun pointed at him. You think this doesn't affect our children.
In the month that I have been here I have met many people who are working for peace, Israeli and Palestinian. There are Israelis who don't agree with the government and they are doing something about it.
Yes but we need more people to just say enough. I admire Women in Black who go to the wall every week and protest the occupation.
We're both stupid, Israelis and Palestinians, we should do something about the situation without the outside world. But the culture of fear in Israel is strong. Israeli security is one hell of an excuse to get more land and restrictions.
Would it be useful for Palestinian society to make a statement, take a public stand against suicide bombings, against terrorism and violence? I hear that as a great concern of Israelis, that Palestinians don't speak out against the violence and so they continue to justify and rationalize security measures for the protection and safety of their people.
Don't ask the victim to stand up against suicide bombings. I'm against killing civilians anywhere in the world. I don't know anyone who is "enemy" enough to be killed. If we weren't put into such a situation we wouldn't have suicide bombers, it's a reaction, I don't condone it or accept it but I understand.
But, if someone were to hurt my son, I don't know what I would do.
Israel controls the media and blows thing out of proportion. We are not equal, this is not an equal war. If we have a state, an army, self-determination, then talk to us about dealing with suicide bombers. We have nothing left for us to give up, nothing.
I went to Jenin this weekend. My mother lives there. I call her twice a day to make sure she is still alive. I went this time to bury my uncle who died. All week I worried that there would be curfew, or the roads would be closed. In my custom family and friends come to pay their respects to the family after someone dies. If there were any obstacles I worried I would have to stay another week, cancel my classes.
This time at the checkpoint we were stopped. I was in a van of men. I am not religious but in my people's way, it is shameful for a woman or a man to see another, a stranger without clothing. The men in my van were asked to remove their clothing, in front of me.
Sometimes there is a checkpoint between Birzeit and Ramallah. They stop the students, have them strip. Don' smoke, don't smile, don't fold your arms. This is not security, this is humiliation.
One time I saw one of my male students searched. He was asked to strip and saw me there. To this day he does not look me in the eye out of shame.
What do you see as your role a a professor of young Palestinians?
I try to make my students looks at things in a different way, not black and white, and not horizontal or vertical, either. I don't want any more fanatics, fanatics are bad news whatever religion they are. I try to make my students see the human perspective, look at ourselves and each other as humans, all of us as humans.
This world is like one piece of cake and everyone wants it, every generation that goes, there's a wave of destruction behind it.
And within my students there are many factions. I try to mediate the differences between them and their political affiliations.
How are the spirits of the students?
Students are depressed. As a people we feel our destiny is not in our own hands and not the way we like. It is frustrating.
At this point Sonia sat back, looked at me, cocked her head to one side and said, "I'm hungry. Let's eat lunch. Let's go. Philipp let's go have lunch I can't think when I'm this hungry."
We walked uphill from the Higher Education building, past students eating lunch, and to another building with a different cafeteria than the one I visited earlier in the morning. Climbing the stairs Sonia said to me, "You know, I teach U.S. History here at the university. All my students know about America is that it is a big evil, I teach them what is this big evil and how it came about."
Sonia treated Philipp and me to lunch. She insisted that I try a Palestinian specialty, Maskhan. It is a round piece of flat bread with tons of olive oil and chopped, grilled onions, with a large roasted chicken part on top. One eats this with plain yogurt.
We found a table and Sonia continued.
"I was in prison twice. I was tortured, I have several fake teeth," she said.
I asked why she was put in prison to which she didn't really respond. Rather she told me, "A Palestinian is guilty until proven guilty. Don't ask why. You can't ask why, there's no logic in this country. Don't ask why."
Somehow we got back on the topic of the checkpoints. Sonia shared that recently when the Israelis put up a checkpoint between Birzeit and Ramallah, the soldiers split the students into three lines. There were men, pretty women and ugly women. If a girl was standing in the pretty line and a soldier thought her to be ugly, he would ask, "what are you doing here, you're ugly."
Students were ordered to bark like a dog, make cat noises or stand on their hands.
Sonia asked if I had heard of the soldier's lottery. This is a tactic that has been used at the checkpoint to Hebron. A soldier fills his hat or helmet with pieces of paper and has a Palestinian pick out one of the paper pieces. On the paper may be written, "break a finger" or "brake fist through a windshield".
"The checkpoints are not for security, they are for humiliation," Sonia reiterated.
At this point Philipp mentioned that as a German, he participated in compulsory military service. He was trained to run checkpoints for the U.N. "These are not normal checkpoints," he said.
"The checkpoints are understaffed, there are no local language skills, there is constant yelling and there is no flow. Thousands of people go through these checkpoints every day and there are so few people processing them. You don't come into contact with a single human being, you just hear yelling. You'll see for yourself, Heidi."
At this point the conversation changed direction. Philipp told Sonia that his friend in East Jerusalem, whose home he stayed in the night before was recently released from prison. He was arrested without charge and stayed incarcerated for 15 months without trial, without a lawyer, and was released without explanation.
Philipp continued that he hears from his friends that no one sleeps alone anymore for fear of arrest in the middle of the night. You need a sleeping buddy because too often people disappear and at least, if someone else is in the room when the soldiers come there is a witness.
Before we finished, another professor stopped by to talk to Sonia. An engineering professor helping her develop something like a rickshaw for transport back and forth from the future home of the Oral History center, which will be at the old campus of Birzeit University. "A carless campus, that's what we hope for and so we are working on a prototype for it," she said.
We finished lunch hurriedly because Sonia, a high-energy type had yet to prepare for her 2pm lecture. Leaving the building, she turned to me and said, "I like Los Angeles, the ocean and the nice weather. I hope to go back there. They offered me a class to teach, on oral history, but maybe in 2008."
Back in Sonia's office I thanked her for her time. She gave me her brother's number as well, and suggested that I call him. He too is a professor at Birzeit and heads the campaign for the release of Marwan Barghouti, a political prisoner and a member of the Palestinian Legislative Council (PLC).
In parting Sonia said to me, "you always have a home in Ramallah. If you are ever stuck, if you want to meet for coffee or dinner, I'll make you dinner. Please call whenever you need, you are welcome. Now, when you go back through Ramallah, don't be afraid if someone invites you for hummus, join them and see what else you can learn."
Within a day, Professor Sonia Nimr of Birzeit University, Department of History, told me to give her a call to arrange an appointment. We set the time at 11 a.m. in her office on the second floor of the Higher Education Building.
Tuesday morning I found myself waiting to be fetched by the daugthers of a friend of Ziad's (Palestinian editor of the PIJ). At 8:04 am, Nafouz, Lana, and Nafouz's son Karim picked me up in front of my hotel and we headed north from Jerusalem to Birzeit. Nafouz was visiting from D.C. where she lives with her husband, a photojournalist for CNN, and her 3 year old, Karim. I asked her what she did in D.C. to which she replied, "Nothing, it's impossible to do any work with a kid."
About 15 minutes into our drive I noticed a high, concrete wall to my right that reminded me of the U.S.-Mexico border.
"I see that this is a wall, but is this THE wall?" I asked.
"Yes it is the wall, we are on the Israel side now, on the other side is Palestine," replied Nafouz.
Lana, a student of finance, remained quiet for most of our trip through Jerusalem past the Qalandya checkpoint, and onto the road leading to Ramallah and Birzeit.
Getting into the West Bank on a normal day isn't a problem. We drove by the Qalandya Checkpoint and entered the road to Ramallah -- on the other side of the wall.
The road is a mess--- uneven and eroded. At parts there are enormous speed bumps that barely slow down the taxis, trucks and cars racing along the road.
"Do you see this road? It's terrible for the cars," Nafouz said.
I asked whose responsibility it is to fix it. Nafouz mumbled something about it still being Israel's land and so the Palestinians aren't going to fund it and since Israelis no longer use it, Israel won't repair it.
On either side of the road there are several half-completed projects. Half-built buildings with Palestinian flags tied to metal posts sticking out of concrete columns, abandoned foundations, a smattering of car repair shops, furniture stores and the occasional fruit and vegetable market. Through my head, the thought kept running how the earth here looks the same as the outer parts of Jerusalem, the landscape hasn't changed, the gray rocks with dirt and green sandwiched between -- yet this is practically another country. Its people speak another language and in fact, there was only Arabic on billboards and signs, no Hebrew.
I recognized Birzeit from the photo on the website. The university sits upon a hill with buildings made of Jerusalem stone, sandy-white bleached. We drove toward the West Gate where Nafouz dropped us off.
Lana asked me which building I needed to go to so she could show the way. I could only remember History and Archaelogy and not the Higher Education part, which I realized nearly two hours later was crucial to locating the building. Lana thought the building was behind the finance building and pointed left from where we were standing.
Around us were several students visiting with each other before classes. Young men and women with notebooks and cigarettes, sitting, standing, chatting on benches and low stone walls. I had about two hours to kill before my appointment so I asked Lana to show me to the cafeteria so I could have a cup of coffee.
With 8 minutes to spare before her class, Lana showed me to the cafeteria, bade me farewell and I was on my own.
The night before my cell phone mysteriously stopped working. I could no longer make outgoing calls. When I tried, a very lovely, deep Hebrew-speaking woman's voice relayed a message to me which I could not understand. With my cup of coffee, I sat down amidst the students having breakfast to look over my paperwork.
I couldn't use my phone to call the cell phone help line, which was compounded by the fact that in the West Bank, Cellcom, my phone company doesn't have great reception. I needed to find some internet access to e-mail the company and also notify the office that I had made it to Birzeit, and that I hoped to be back in the afternoon for the second office shift. Somehow, perhaps student's intuition, I located a computer lab where the student attendant kindly offered me her account in order to sign into the network. I began the e-mails to the phone company and the office. Then, I purchased a phone card. I thought perhaps I could use a pay phone to call the phone company. This failed because after I dialed the number and was connected, I could no longer push any buttons on the keypad on the pay phone. This was necessary in order to navigate the automated answering service of the phone company. I took the opportunity to call the office, however, spoke to Najat who said she'd call me every half hour or so to make sure I was doing ok.
At this point, nearly an hour and a half had passed and I realized I still didn't know where I needed to be at eleven. Everyone I asked to point me to the history building was happy to help but no one had the right answer. I was directed to the media building, passed the law school, toward the library and then the campus museum. The woman working in the museum office knew the Higher Education part of the History and Archaelogy building title, told me the name in Arabic, which I have already forgotten, and I was on my way. I figured I could use the professor's phone to try to get through to the phone company.
I climbed one flight of stairs, turned right and arrived at a red door with a plaque that stated, "Professor Sonia Nimr, Lecturer." I knocked, turned the knob and found myself in a square office with high ceilings, white walls, few posters, three desks and computers, and a sitting area with a couch and two chairs facing each other, a coffee table between them. Sonia was sitting in a chair across from a blond young man, clearly a foreigner, looking over papers and discussing. Sonia rose from her chair, Gauloise cigarette between her fingers.
Sonia is about my height, thin, busty, with mid-shoulder length, red-orange, straight hair, deep wrinkles and a noticeable twitch in her eyes. In her thick accent she welcomed me and asked me to sit down, did I want some coffee?
Declining the coffee I explained the phone situation and she put me at her desk to call the phone company. The first person I talked to informed me that I had made "suspicious calls" and so my phone had been shut. To which I said, "suspicious calls? to who, how? but I need my phone!"
He gave me a number and people to talk to, which only rang and rang and rang. So much for that. I felt awful asking Sonia to let me keep making calls because each time she had to get up from her meeting, dial in a code and then let me use a phone. The young man working with her, Philipp, a German student writing his thesis on the role of Hamas in Palestinian politics, offered me his SIM card and told me I had to go outside and walk around a bit to find Cellcom reception.
Once again I called the phone company, this time I was transferred to an English speaking operator who suggested I turn the phone off then on again. I asked why this happened and she said, "You know, it's electronics, this happens sometimes, it's just a machine."
Ok.
The trick worked. My phone picked up the SIM card signal, or however the hell it works, and I made a few phone calls to the office and a friend to inform them of my whereabouts. Heading back into the building, I felt much better about being back in communication and prepared myself to interview Sonia Nimr.
Sitting across from Sonia, I pulled out my legal pad and pen, and flipped to the page with the questions I wanted to ask to get the conversation moving. First though, she needed to know a little about me, fine.
I told her a few things. I have been here for a month and I am an intern at the Palestine-Israel Journal. That I wanted to come talk to people here about the conflict because I was tired of hearing how it is and not being able to see it so that I may have an opinion of my own, from my own experience. I told her I'm a teacher at a religious school, I am a Jew who believes it is important, no, crucial that the Jews have a state because throughout history people have tried to wipe them off the face of the earth. However, it is important for me to first understand and then educate people about what is happening here. And hopefully, do so in a way that people can listen without being defensive, disbelieving and dismissive. That we cannot deny that Israelis, Jewish or otherwise, Jews from the Diaspora and Palestinians live here and no one is really going anywhere.
With that, she allowed me to begin.
What is your job here? What are you a professor of?
I teach history here. I am also starting an Oral History Center. Who is writing Palestinian history? We are under occupation and others are writing our history. So we need to start writing our own history and teach it to ourselves.
Who is stopping Palestinians from writing their history?
No one. That's why we have to start. That's why I'm starting this center here at the university.
What is your definition of occupation?
Occupation is someone occupying someone else's land, stealing their freedom. Israelis have to recognize that in this part of the world there will be no peace until we have our rights, with a state, for self-determination.
Realistically, what do you see in the future that will work, one or two states?
Two states where we can practice our own sovereignty without trespassing. Dreamwise- I hope for one state, like South Africa. One democratic state where both people elect a government freely, where both people's rights are guaranteed equally.
Israel does not recognize Palestinian rights. If so, then they would recognize rights to movement, school, life, water use, everything is restricted, everything has restrictions.
20% of the population in Israel is Arab-Israeli without equal rights. You have more rights if you go to the army but Arabs don't go to the army. They are denying our identity by mere fact that they call Israeli-Arabs Israeli. Palestinians are living on reservations today, like the Native Americans of the U.S. Our status and our rights are similar to Native Americans.
Let's talk about the elections and the Palestinian government, Hamas and Fateh.
I am an atheist but I am highly politicized. Let me tell you something, I'm going to fight for Hamas to enter the elections but I will fight more for Hamas to not win the elections.
People have to read the elections differently. Hamas did not win, Fateh lost. The number of votes were almost equal.
People are pissed with the West, they tell us to have a democratic election and they don't like the outcome. The boycott is unfair, it's not right to dictate to Palestinians, or to interfere by giving or withdrawing funds because of a political agenda, the political agenda of the West.
People in the West Bank are not happy with Hamas, they're not very religious, but more political than religious. Why do all the Palestinians have to be punished?
Why won't Hamas recognize Israel? It seems that all they have to do is make a few statements and the international funds will come through? Why not recognize Israel?
Hamas announced a truce, they haven't had operations in recent years. What about state-terrorism/Israeli terrorism? Who talks about that?
The West doesn't understand the East. Hamas cannot say they recognize Israel. They support/recognize Israel by making a truce. You can't have a truce with someone you don't recognize. Hamas has done it [recognized Israel] in many ways. Hamas has internal problems. There's "face saving", don't ask us to go naked all over the place.
Israel and the Quartet don't want peace. Israel only recognizes the P.L.O. to do deals and the people are not happy with them.
Do you make a distinction between Israelis adn their government?
There is no difference between the government and the people. Israelis are silent. Our children see violence every day. My son has seen his father on the ground, a soldier's boot at his neck and a gun pointed at him. You think this doesn't affect our children.
In the month that I have been here I have met many people who are working for peace, Israeli and Palestinian. There are Israelis who don't agree with the government and they are doing something about it.
Yes but we need more people to just say enough. I admire Women in Black who go to the wall every week and protest the occupation.
We're both stupid, Israelis and Palestinians, we should do something about the situation without the outside world. But the culture of fear in Israel is strong. Israeli security is one hell of an excuse to get more land and restrictions.
Would it be useful for Palestinian society to make a statement, take a public stand against suicide bombings, against terrorism and violence? I hear that as a great concern of Israelis, that Palestinians don't speak out against the violence and so they continue to justify and rationalize security measures for the protection and safety of their people.
Don't ask the victim to stand up against suicide bombings. I'm against killing civilians anywhere in the world. I don't know anyone who is "enemy" enough to be killed. If we weren't put into such a situation we wouldn't have suicide bombers, it's a reaction, I don't condone it or accept it but I understand.
But, if someone were to hurt my son, I don't know what I would do.
Israel controls the media and blows thing out of proportion. We are not equal, this is not an equal war. If we have a state, an army, self-determination, then talk to us about dealing with suicide bombers. We have nothing left for us to give up, nothing.
I went to Jenin this weekend. My mother lives there. I call her twice a day to make sure she is still alive. I went this time to bury my uncle who died. All week I worried that there would be curfew, or the roads would be closed. In my custom family and friends come to pay their respects to the family after someone dies. If there were any obstacles I worried I would have to stay another week, cancel my classes.
This time at the checkpoint we were stopped. I was in a van of men. I am not religious but in my people's way, it is shameful for a woman or a man to see another, a stranger without clothing. The men in my van were asked to remove their clothing, in front of me.
Sometimes there is a checkpoint between Birzeit and Ramallah. They stop the students, have them strip. Don' smoke, don't smile, don't fold your arms. This is not security, this is humiliation.
One time I saw one of my male students searched. He was asked to strip and saw me there. To this day he does not look me in the eye out of shame.
What do you see as your role a a professor of young Palestinians?
I try to make my students looks at things in a different way, not black and white, and not horizontal or vertical, either. I don't want any more fanatics, fanatics are bad news whatever religion they are. I try to make my students see the human perspective, look at ourselves and each other as humans, all of us as humans.
This world is like one piece of cake and everyone wants it, every generation that goes, there's a wave of destruction behind it.
And within my students there are many factions. I try to mediate the differences between them and their political affiliations.
How are the spirits of the students?
Students are depressed. As a people we feel our destiny is not in our own hands and not the way we like. It is frustrating.
At this point Sonia sat back, looked at me, cocked her head to one side and said, "I'm hungry. Let's eat lunch. Let's go. Philipp let's go have lunch I can't think when I'm this hungry."
We walked uphill from the Higher Education building, past students eating lunch, and to another building with a different cafeteria than the one I visited earlier in the morning. Climbing the stairs Sonia said to me, "You know, I teach U.S. History here at the university. All my students know about America is that it is a big evil, I teach them what is this big evil and how it came about."
Sonia treated Philipp and me to lunch. She insisted that I try a Palestinian specialty, Maskhan. It is a round piece of flat bread with tons of olive oil and chopped, grilled onions, with a large roasted chicken part on top. One eats this with plain yogurt.
We found a table and Sonia continued.
"I was in prison twice. I was tortured, I have several fake teeth," she said.
I asked why she was put in prison to which she didn't really respond. Rather she told me, "A Palestinian is guilty until proven guilty. Don't ask why. You can't ask why, there's no logic in this country. Don't ask why."
Somehow we got back on the topic of the checkpoints. Sonia shared that recently when the Israelis put up a checkpoint between Birzeit and Ramallah, the soldiers split the students into three lines. There were men, pretty women and ugly women. If a girl was standing in the pretty line and a soldier thought her to be ugly, he would ask, "what are you doing here, you're ugly."
Students were ordered to bark like a dog, make cat noises or stand on their hands.
Sonia asked if I had heard of the soldier's lottery. This is a tactic that has been used at the checkpoint to Hebron. A soldier fills his hat or helmet with pieces of paper and has a Palestinian pick out one of the paper pieces. On the paper may be written, "break a finger" or "brake fist through a windshield".
"The checkpoints are not for security, they are for humiliation," Sonia reiterated.
At this point Philipp mentioned that as a German, he participated in compulsory military service. He was trained to run checkpoints for the U.N. "These are not normal checkpoints," he said.
"The checkpoints are understaffed, there are no local language skills, there is constant yelling and there is no flow. Thousands of people go through these checkpoints every day and there are so few people processing them. You don't come into contact with a single human being, you just hear yelling. You'll see for yourself, Heidi."
At this point the conversation changed direction. Philipp told Sonia that his friend in East Jerusalem, whose home he stayed in the night before was recently released from prison. He was arrested without charge and stayed incarcerated for 15 months without trial, without a lawyer, and was released without explanation.
Philipp continued that he hears from his friends that no one sleeps alone anymore for fear of arrest in the middle of the night. You need a sleeping buddy because too often people disappear and at least, if someone else is in the room when the soldiers come there is a witness.
Before we finished, another professor stopped by to talk to Sonia. An engineering professor helping her develop something like a rickshaw for transport back and forth from the future home of the Oral History center, which will be at the old campus of Birzeit University. "A carless campus, that's what we hope for and so we are working on a prototype for it," she said.
We finished lunch hurriedly because Sonia, a high-energy type had yet to prepare for her 2pm lecture. Leaving the building, she turned to me and said, "I like Los Angeles, the ocean and the nice weather. I hope to go back there. They offered me a class to teach, on oral history, but maybe in 2008."
Back in Sonia's office I thanked her for her time. She gave me her brother's number as well, and suggested that I call him. He too is a professor at Birzeit and heads the campaign for the release of Marwan Barghouti, a political prisoner and a member of the Palestinian Legislative Council (PLC).
In parting Sonia said to me, "you always have a home in Ramallah. If you are ever stuck, if you want to meet for coffee or dinner, I'll make you dinner. Please call whenever you need, you are welcome. Now, when you go back through Ramallah, don't be afraid if someone invites you for hummus, join them and see what else you can learn."
Monday, March 5, 2007
Snippets
Terror Money Tracks
Last Wednesday was pay day here at the journal. I accompanied Najat to deposit both her check and Mira's. We went to Leumi Bank, the branch on Salah-ah-Din. Marwan was there too. He's the Office Manager of the journal who comes in after one p.m. from his other job at Al-Quds newspaper.
The three of us got in line to cash the checks but once at the front we were redirected to another desk. Another bank clerk had to look at the check, record it and sign off on it before cash could be received from the other desk. According to Marwan, this is anti-terrorism law in action. If he goes to the bank with a deposit of 50 NIS (Shekel) or more, the money has to be recorded on his file. Everyone has this now. The authorities can look through all of your records and financial transactions on a whim.
Chag Sameach Purim
This weekend was Purim. Israel knows how to celebrate this joyous holiday with carnivals and costumes, gift basket giving, and delicious treats, the last hurrah before the breadless Pesach. Children set off fireworks in the streets and into the sky. There is no school and communities pour into the streets for parades, drinking and sharing together in the holiday.
For the Palestinians the streets are closed. This weekend the checkpoints were sealed. The roads going to and from the West Bank into Jerusalem were therefore shut to all through traffic. Sabah, a friend of Najat's who volunteers here at the journal came in to the office today. She mentioned to Najat that she couldn't get to Ramallah, the checkpoint was closed.
I asked Sabah what it is like at the checkpoint. What do they do while waiting for hours? Are they told why they have to wait or how long it will be?
Sabah says that all you can do is wait at the checkpoint. If you laugh and enjoy the company of those around you, the soldiers yell and say they see you are enjoying waiting and so you can wait longer. If you are getting frustrated because you are in a hurry, they laugh at you.
Sabah says the soldiers talk on the phone and eat their food while she waits for them to change their mind and let people go through.
Ex-pats get drawn in
Kiyoko gives me insight to the ex-pat/foreign worker scene here in Jerusalem. As a journalist's wife, she doesn't quite fit into the diplomat's crowd but inevitably she comes into contact with them. Many of Kiyoko's lifestyle choices are politicized by those observing her. That she and her husband live in West Jerusalem, that she is learning Hebrew, that she shops in Talpiyot foster the assumptions that she is pro-unilateralism, supports a policy of building settlements and occupation.
These accusations, which is what they are, couldn't be further from the truth. Kiyoko is a dedicated volunteer at the Journal and much of her time is spent learning about the conflict and trying to understand different points of view. Most of the criticisms against her come from the European ex-pat communities here. The American diplomats don't talk about such issues.
This information makes me wonder about the role of the outsider in the Middle East. I see the European scene Kiyoko describes as a great obstacle to peace, feeding Israeli insecurities from the inside. I think the more noble, useful role of the international observer and interactor ought to be more bridgelike, promoting coexistence, utilizing the unique role of being on the outside to the advantage of all peoples here. Not feeding into the lazy and antagonistic black and white approach to conflict zones.
What happens to our identity when we give over to ideologies? How soon do those ideologies take over our better, common sense?
Last Wednesday was pay day here at the journal. I accompanied Najat to deposit both her check and Mira's. We went to Leumi Bank, the branch on Salah-ah-Din. Marwan was there too. He's the Office Manager of the journal who comes in after one p.m. from his other job at Al-Quds newspaper.
The three of us got in line to cash the checks but once at the front we were redirected to another desk. Another bank clerk had to look at the check, record it and sign off on it before cash could be received from the other desk. According to Marwan, this is anti-terrorism law in action. If he goes to the bank with a deposit of 50 NIS (Shekel) or more, the money has to be recorded on his file. Everyone has this now. The authorities can look through all of your records and financial transactions on a whim.
Chag Sameach Purim
This weekend was Purim. Israel knows how to celebrate this joyous holiday with carnivals and costumes, gift basket giving, and delicious treats, the last hurrah before the breadless Pesach. Children set off fireworks in the streets and into the sky. There is no school and communities pour into the streets for parades, drinking and sharing together in the holiday.
For the Palestinians the streets are closed. This weekend the checkpoints were sealed. The roads going to and from the West Bank into Jerusalem were therefore shut to all through traffic. Sabah, a friend of Najat's who volunteers here at the journal came in to the office today. She mentioned to Najat that she couldn't get to Ramallah, the checkpoint was closed.
I asked Sabah what it is like at the checkpoint. What do they do while waiting for hours? Are they told why they have to wait or how long it will be?
Sabah says that all you can do is wait at the checkpoint. If you laugh and enjoy the company of those around you, the soldiers yell and say they see you are enjoying waiting and so you can wait longer. If you are getting frustrated because you are in a hurry, they laugh at you.
Sabah says the soldiers talk on the phone and eat their food while she waits for them to change their mind and let people go through.
Ex-pats get drawn in
Kiyoko gives me insight to the ex-pat/foreign worker scene here in Jerusalem. As a journalist's wife, she doesn't quite fit into the diplomat's crowd but inevitably she comes into contact with them. Many of Kiyoko's lifestyle choices are politicized by those observing her. That she and her husband live in West Jerusalem, that she is learning Hebrew, that she shops in Talpiyot foster the assumptions that she is pro-unilateralism, supports a policy of building settlements and occupation.
These accusations, which is what they are, couldn't be further from the truth. Kiyoko is a dedicated volunteer at the Journal and much of her time is spent learning about the conflict and trying to understand different points of view. Most of the criticisms against her come from the European ex-pat communities here. The American diplomats don't talk about such issues.
This information makes me wonder about the role of the outsider in the Middle East. I see the European scene Kiyoko describes as a great obstacle to peace, feeding Israeli insecurities from the inside. I think the more noble, useful role of the international observer and interactor ought to be more bridgelike, promoting coexistence, utilizing the unique role of being on the outside to the advantage of all peoples here. Not feeding into the lazy and antagonistic black and white approach to conflict zones.
What happens to our identity when we give over to ideologies? How soon do those ideologies take over our better, common sense?
Friday, March 2, 2007
Roots Gone Gray
When I try to explain to Najat how I came to seek an internship at the Palestine-Israel Journal, inevitably I end up in tears, choking on my words and unable to finish my story. I start to tell her that I went to Religious School for thirteen years of my life. I spent five weeks in Israel at the age of fifteen but not until my second year at UC Berkeley, which coincided with the Second Intifada, had I ever heard of the Palestinian people.
I try to recount to her the demonstrations of Fall 2000 on Sproul Plaza, picket signs with "Jews are Nazis" and "Sharon=Hitler". I explain my confusion, ignorance and shock. And how I felt deeply deceived by the very community that shaped so much of my identity.
Turns out, Najat and I came to know of the plight of the Palestinians in a similar way.
Najat is a Palestinian and so perhaps it is strange to hear that she was not aware of her own people's struggle until her late teens. Najat's family is one of the wealthiest Palestinian families in the Jerusalem area. They have been in the clothing industry for decades, specializing in fashion imports from Italy.
She grew up never allowed to walk the streets with the people. She and her siblings had a driver take them to school and back home each day. If they needed anything from the stores, the driver escorted them there and back, or fetched the requested items himself.
Najat attended a school right outside the Old City, a high-walled fortress run by German nuns called Schmidt's Girls College. We walked by the school only two days ago en route to the Arab souk during our lunch break. It is enormous, safe, enclosed. Tall walls made of Jerusalem stone with fencing, making the enclosure reach from ground to sky. Within those walls Najat had no idea what was going on right on the other side. Her father insisted that his daughter take full advantage of their elite education, meaning, Najat's school day ran from 8am until 5pm every day. Her school-sponsored extracurricular activities included gymnastics, piano and guitar.
After Najat graduated from Schmidt's, she attended Bethlehem University in Bethlehem, about 10 kilometers or 6 miles south of the Old City in Jerusalem. Before checkpoints Najat took a bus to get there in about 40 minutes. Now with checkpoints, that same distance can take up to one and a half hours and there is no direct transport.
Her father could no longer protect Najat from the reality of what was happening to her people in those years, the years of the First Intifada. Najat started to hear terms like occupation, 1948, 1967 borders, checkpoints and all the stories involving these words.
"Heidi," she tells me, "I am a Palestinian, I have lived here all of my life and I did not know."
And when she found out, Najat was furious. She was angry with her parents, quarrelled with her beloved father. Najat started to uncover what she had been protected from all of her life. She visited Nablus, Jenin, Ma'ale Adumim. She started asking her grandmother what happened to her grandfather how did he die? Why did they no longer live in Deir Yassin?
In the early nineties, the First Intifada was still rocking the streets of Israel. Any time there was heightened resistance fighting, universities were surrounded and often shut down immediately by the I.D.F. Najat recalls many lectures in the homes of professors, exams taken in the gardens, and often classes were cancelled.
Najat's life changed forever one day in a courtyard of Bethlehem University. An outburst of violence brought soldiers to the university, storming the walls and planting themselves -- armed -- on the rooftops of university buildings. Najat and her friend were standing outside, talking and watching the troops gather overhead and on the periphery. Looking, watching, waiting to see what would happen. Najat looked at her friend to say something and suddenly he began to fall.
Pointing at the place above her brow, between her brown-gold eyes Najat said,"I saw blood here, on his forehead, he was shot right in front of me."
Her friend died instantly.
"I put my hands over my ears and started screaming. Then I lost consciousness."
When Najat awoke she found herself in a hospital bed, her hands still clasped over her ears.
"Can you believe it Heidi? The doctor's could not remove my hands from my ears. I lost consciousness and awoke with my hands in the same place, the doctors and the nurses couldn't remove them from my head."
In the following weeks, Najat's hair began to grow in silvery-gray. The doctors told her it was shock and trauma from witnessing her friend's murder. Najat says her mother is always asking her to dye her roots, but Najat refuses.
"Najat is proud to have this hair, it reminds me every day of who I am. What I must do to help my people," she said, looking me straight in the eyes.
When Najat's roots went gray, she sought work to help her people. Defying her parents' wishes for her, Najat worked in Ramallah at a legal rights center of sorts. Doing legal work to help Palestinians suffering from violations of human rights. With closure however, it became increasingly difficult for her to go back and from the Jerusalem to the West Bank. She wanted to take an apartment near work but her mother protested, claiming it inappropriate and unsafe for a single woman, her daughter, to do so.
"You need to see, Heidi. You need to see how these people suffer, my people. How these people live. Don't listen to Najat. Don't cry because of my words. Don't be affected by my moods. Go see it for yourself. No one can help us. Why doesn't anyone help us?"
Najat admits Palestinians are not perfect. "We are not all angels, I know we have problems," she says.
"But we just want to live, here. Najat is Palestinian. So I don't exist," she exclaims.
On Najat's identity card where the category of nationality sits there is nothing. Actually, this appears: ----. There's something hauntingly inhuman about that designation that leaves me unsettled. To deprive an individual of an identity, a national identity that means so much in our world of 191 nation-states.
I begin to understand when Najat tells me she doesn't exist.
I try to recount to her the demonstrations of Fall 2000 on Sproul Plaza, picket signs with "Jews are Nazis" and "Sharon=Hitler". I explain my confusion, ignorance and shock. And how I felt deeply deceived by the very community that shaped so much of my identity.
Turns out, Najat and I came to know of the plight of the Palestinians in a similar way.
Najat is a Palestinian and so perhaps it is strange to hear that she was not aware of her own people's struggle until her late teens. Najat's family is one of the wealthiest Palestinian families in the Jerusalem area. They have been in the clothing industry for decades, specializing in fashion imports from Italy.
She grew up never allowed to walk the streets with the people. She and her siblings had a driver take them to school and back home each day. If they needed anything from the stores, the driver escorted them there and back, or fetched the requested items himself.
Najat attended a school right outside the Old City, a high-walled fortress run by German nuns called Schmidt's Girls College. We walked by the school only two days ago en route to the Arab souk during our lunch break. It is enormous, safe, enclosed. Tall walls made of Jerusalem stone with fencing, making the enclosure reach from ground to sky. Within those walls Najat had no idea what was going on right on the other side. Her father insisted that his daughter take full advantage of their elite education, meaning, Najat's school day ran from 8am until 5pm every day. Her school-sponsored extracurricular activities included gymnastics, piano and guitar.
After Najat graduated from Schmidt's, she attended Bethlehem University in Bethlehem, about 10 kilometers or 6 miles south of the Old City in Jerusalem. Before checkpoints Najat took a bus to get there in about 40 minutes. Now with checkpoints, that same distance can take up to one and a half hours and there is no direct transport.
Her father could no longer protect Najat from the reality of what was happening to her people in those years, the years of the First Intifada. Najat started to hear terms like occupation, 1948, 1967 borders, checkpoints and all the stories involving these words.
"Heidi," she tells me, "I am a Palestinian, I have lived here all of my life and I did not know."
And when she found out, Najat was furious. She was angry with her parents, quarrelled with her beloved father. Najat started to uncover what she had been protected from all of her life. She visited Nablus, Jenin, Ma'ale Adumim. She started asking her grandmother what happened to her grandfather how did he die? Why did they no longer live in Deir Yassin?
In the early nineties, the First Intifada was still rocking the streets of Israel. Any time there was heightened resistance fighting, universities were surrounded and often shut down immediately by the I.D.F. Najat recalls many lectures in the homes of professors, exams taken in the gardens, and often classes were cancelled.
Najat's life changed forever one day in a courtyard of Bethlehem University. An outburst of violence brought soldiers to the university, storming the walls and planting themselves -- armed -- on the rooftops of university buildings. Najat and her friend were standing outside, talking and watching the troops gather overhead and on the periphery. Looking, watching, waiting to see what would happen. Najat looked at her friend to say something and suddenly he began to fall.
Pointing at the place above her brow, between her brown-gold eyes Najat said,"I saw blood here, on his forehead, he was shot right in front of me."
Her friend died instantly.
"I put my hands over my ears and started screaming. Then I lost consciousness."
When Najat awoke she found herself in a hospital bed, her hands still clasped over her ears.
"Can you believe it Heidi? The doctor's could not remove my hands from my ears. I lost consciousness and awoke with my hands in the same place, the doctors and the nurses couldn't remove them from my head."
In the following weeks, Najat's hair began to grow in silvery-gray. The doctors told her it was shock and trauma from witnessing her friend's murder. Najat says her mother is always asking her to dye her roots, but Najat refuses.
"Najat is proud to have this hair, it reminds me every day of who I am. What I must do to help my people," she said, looking me straight in the eyes.
When Najat's roots went gray, she sought work to help her people. Defying her parents' wishes for her, Najat worked in Ramallah at a legal rights center of sorts. Doing legal work to help Palestinians suffering from violations of human rights. With closure however, it became increasingly difficult for her to go back and from the Jerusalem to the West Bank. She wanted to take an apartment near work but her mother protested, claiming it inappropriate and unsafe for a single woman, her daughter, to do so.
"You need to see, Heidi. You need to see how these people suffer, my people. How these people live. Don't listen to Najat. Don't cry because of my words. Don't be affected by my moods. Go see it for yourself. No one can help us. Why doesn't anyone help us?"
Najat admits Palestinians are not perfect. "We are not all angels, I know we have problems," she says.
"But we just want to live, here. Najat is Palestinian. So I don't exist," she exclaims.
On Najat's identity card where the category of nationality sits there is nothing. Actually, this appears: ----. There's something hauntingly inhuman about that designation that leaves me unsettled. To deprive an individual of an identity, a national identity that means so much in our world of 191 nation-states.
I begin to understand when Najat tells me she doesn't exist.
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