journal: community, checkpoints, flyovers

8-2-06

having coffee and cigarettes with hamoudi's mom, one of the most spirited women i have met, i felt at peace. if she had stopped me on the streets of balata or d.c., i would have written her off as a homeless beggar or a crackhead respective of location. she is very skinny, missing many of her teeth, and while she does not wear hijab, her hair is tied in a cloth. she wears full length, one piece dresses and gesticulates wildly with the appearance of a halloween witch. with this women on my left, speaking of me lovingly to strangers, i smiled to myself.

in her home, there are always many visitors. hamoudi's mother is dead so this woman, his aunt, is the matriarch. her home has daughters, sons, cousins, nieces, nephews and many children. people come in and out, she serves tea and coffee, and sucks down L & Ms one after another.

one visitor came today that i had never met before. not a relative, or a 'wanted' from the camp, but a man named she she, or sha sha, or something of that nature. he is a man of about 20, with an obvious mental disability. they explain that he is "slow," "not normal," but that he is welcome in anyone's home. he has no family so the camp raises him together. mustafa translated the conversation as a man explained: 'every week or two, the wanteds go to the bank to withdrawal their cash for the tine. when they do this, they each put aside 10 NIS (about $2.5)m enough to buy 5 falafel sandwiches, and pool the money together. after all the wanteds have paid their 10 NIS, they deliver it to she she as an income.'

this is why there are no homeless or beggars, even in an overcrowded refugee camp. because of the culture, because of the intifada, because of islam, no one is left behind. if a faction's social service do not aid a person, then they are taken into the home of someone with a room or floor space to spare. if someone has no money for bread, the shop keeper will refuse to take their money. while this is not universal, i have seen it time and again. in the camp, everyone knows everyone. everyone knows their financial situation and knows who needs a helping hand.

while israeli kibbutz life is incorrectly romanticized as communal and communistic, palestinian camp and village life is true solidarity. from the mosque, to the union, to the direct social aid, the society has learned to live under occupation.

this society is beautiful. people will wait 4 hours to pass a checkpoint, but if a parent holding a baby enters, those who have waited will part and not move until the baby is allowed through. incursions, collective punishment and direct violence have taught the people to look out for one another, to act for the whole.

i saw it today at the checkpoints, and i've seen it in homes all around. every day i meet people in nablus, balata, askar, evicted from 1948 palestine. they left haifa, tiberias, jerusalem, elot and the like. they moved into camps and cities. this collective suffering had formed a collectivity of unity. water is passed from hand to hand through checkpoint crowd more congested then nazi train cars.

when we delivered 4 bags of pita, hummus, meat, lebaneh, and water to the 7 men in detention at beit iba checkpoint, they shared it amongst themselves, then with the man in isolation, and then delivered us back enough food for all 5 of us. they refused to take any more then they could eat and refused to leave is without a lunch, despite the obvious fact that we bought the food for them. the only way we were able to make them keep the four bottles of water is be refusing to extend our arms over the razor wire to grasp the black plastic bags. they drank it quickly.

i have already learned great lessons in trust, respect, compassion, modesty and community. i have learned without being taught. they have taught by example. the women and men i have met have stoked a fire in me. they are beautiful souls surviving under brutal conditions.

tonight i dream of palestinian villages alive with folk dance, and tea, and music. i dream of soccer fields built in the shadows of refugee camps. i dream of a free palestine, contiguous, prosperous and safe. i dream of peace and i dream of our collective liberation. i dream that we are all there together, sipping juice on the beaches of gaza. in'shallah.

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8-4-06

i'm in transit from balata to ramallah. this means i have to pass through many checkpoints, starting with huwarra. it was very empty at huwarra because it is friday. there are 3 lines. one is for women, children, men over 45 and internationals. the other two for men, 16-45. the young men lines are always much linger. the palestinians i meet encourage me to stand in the line for women and kids because i'm an international, i can pass with them. i tell them that until THEY can pass in the fast line, i stay with them. it is a sort of ISM policy and my preference. when my words are translated and passed around the line, the men smile and thank me. we talk through the 40 minute - 4 hour wait.

i am waiting at the second checkpoint now as as i write.

when it is my turn at huwarra, my turn to round my way through the subway-style 8' high turnstile, i pass and approach the soldiers. there are 3, two men and one woman. a male-female team inspects me and my possessions while another man points his rifle at me.

so we just passed zatara checkpoint, the second crossing. the six men i'm traveling with my chance were made to line up on the road outside the van. the women with her baby was allowed to stay in the van. i was pulled aside and interrogated by 3 soldiers for about 10 minutes. they said they couldn't understand what i was doing here. they questioned the palestinians a bit but since we had just left huwarra, 5 minutes ago, there wasn't much new. after my interrogation, they told me to tell the men to get back in the van, we were allowed to go. they searched all my bags and read parts of this journal....i told them they couldn't read it because it contained intimate letters to my wife, and i grabbed it back forcefully from their hands. if i were a palestinian, that would have gotten me a beating.

so now that is done until the next checkpoint. at huwarra, when i approached the 3 soldiers, i was made to lift my shirt up to my neck and turn around to show my ribs and back. mind you i was displaying myself to a jewish israeli woman, haram. then i was made to raise my pant legs to my knees. the policy of using female soldiers to conduct the physical inspections of young palestinian muslim men is part of the 'break you down' harassment of the occupation. this is the treatment every palestinian man gets every time he passes.

when it came time to search my bag, they looked at the size and decided not to bother. for palestinians, every plastic bag, pocket book and container is searched.

one of the younger men in the van just asked me in arabic what i was writing. i told him they were letters for friends that i try to keep up with,

now, in the north of the west bank, we pass small mountains with crop fields, olive trees, and the occasional heard of sheep herded by men with dogs. as i write, an older man on my side reads along.

then sun is very high in the august sky and of course, it is very hot. the roads here are in moderate to poor condition and very curvy as they wrap around mountains.

i spent the morning with said, the father of hythem, the wanted internet cafe manager. after said's four arrests last week, the soldiers have left him alone. we went for ju'uma

(INSERT 1.5 DAYS WITH NO PEN)....

...at the largest mosque in balata. it was very wide, with high ceilings, and elegant glass chandeliers. the dome was overhead and the iman spoke half of the chutba (sermon) from a platform about 20 feel above th floor. we did 2 salat to begin. then 2 in the middle, then the big group prayer, and lastly, 2 salat to finish.

after, i went back to his family's house for lunch. i ate dark rice with chickpeas, arab salad and yogurt. they tried to serve me chicken, but 'ana nabati,' i eat plants, came in handy.

now 2 days later, i am on a chartered bus to tel aviv for an anti-war protest. i'm meeting with the black and pink bloc organized by the israeli anarchists. tonight we sleep in the squat, and hopefully we can get a drink.

last night we took it easy in one of the only bars open on shabat in jerusalem. we finished the taybeh keg and kept drinking. i spent 40 NIS ($9) and found 50 NIS on the walk home.

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8-6-06

we just arrived back in nablus after 2 days in israel.

when we arrived in the city center, there was a rally where we spoke as internationals. the speeches paused, and everyone was looking up. a little boy grabbed my chin to direct my eyes above. three f-16 fighter jets were flying low in formation, heading north to lebanon. they left trails of smoke marking their path. now we're in a meeting, setting up our regional committee.

i had a nice day off in jerusalem/tel aviv, but it was full of activity. today, woody and i traveled from tel aviv to jerusalem, to ramallah, met up with 2 others and then traveled to nablus. now we are 15, american, basque, swedish, spanish, palestinian, british...our flat will be very full tonight.