<  Reflection Three: We See Oppression

July 2016 Delegation |  Militarization and Paths to Justice  

 

Overview: This final collection of reflections from the delegation begins with an overview by Ian Carrillo which inspires the title of the digest. Next Alison Glick and co-leader Sydney Levy share powerful reflections from the delegation's visit to Al Khalil (Hebron).

The next group of reflections focuses on the visit to Nablus. Rodney Cuny's first piece illustrates ties of solidarity between Palestinian and Native American struggles; Sararosa Davies shares a short poem; and Jacob Ertel writes of the group's visit to a former Israeli prison famous for holding children.

The third group of reflections gathers experiences from around the West Bank and Israel. Rodney Cuny speaks of "the starkness of occupation"; Hideko Otake raises strategic considerations for Palestinian resistance; Sararosa Davies' second poetic intervention ins inspired by East Jerusalem; Sydney Levy ponders the journey of an ancient Olive Tree now adorning th entrance to an illegal Israeli settlement; and Jacob Ertel is unsettled in Ramallah. This final collection ends with Sherry Altman's haunting poem.

Thank you for following the delegation. To read previous digests, use the menu at right.

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All I've Seen  |  Ian Carrillo – Albuquerque, New Mexico

It's difficult to imagine any justification for the things I've experienced on this trip. I'm trying to see both sides of the story, I have been this whole time. I'm trying to understand the Israeli mindset that would explain the need to occupy and control, I'm trying to imagine an equal conflict with equally defensible positions, I'm trying to tell myself that peace is a mutual contract with both sides admitting fault and giving reparations.

But all I've seen is an oppressive regime imposing an illegal occupation.

I see it when I see Lifta, a Palestinian community forced out of their village in 1948, lying in a state of graffiti and ruin, families spread across refugee camps and unknown cities and foreign countries. The ruins themselves remind me of some in New Mexico which date back thousands of years. I think to myself, "no wonder it's so hard for so many Israelis to remember the Nakba."

I see it in Dheisheh, a refugee camp near Bethlehem, where the most adorable children on the planet run up to us on tattered shoes, asking "where are you from?" as they weave between naked rebar and concrete rubble. The water comes back on during our stay for the first time in four days. Our hosts tell us that the drought has lasted ten times that in recent years.

I see it as we listen to Saeed and Omar, two young leftists in a Dheisheh cafe. Saeed's younger brother was recently shot in the knee by an Israeli soldier. The medical treatment in Israel did more harm than good, so through a series of miracles and secret messages, they managed to fly him to Italy, where he spent five months recovering.

"I have no hatred toward anybody," Saeed tells us. "I only want to return to the home of my family. Jewish neighbors? Fine by me. I want out of this camp."

Omar, who had an uncle die and a cousin blinded at the hands of the occupiers, agrees, and adds "and to hold those guilty of war crimes accountable."

I see it as we hear the experiences of a former child prisoner, Ra’ed, who tells us of the conditions children underwent and undergo as they are forced to sign documents in a language they can't read, admitting to political crimes they have no knowledge of. Or, often, administrative detention - the arresting of children or adults for no defined reason for months at a time, without indictment or trial.

I see it in speaking to a group of children from Al Far'a, another refugee camp, who form the Child Protection Team set up by Defense for Children International which reports children's rights abuses to international authorities. The biggest fear in the camp, they say, is that the soldiers will come and take their families. Their goal is to educate. "Education is the only viable weapon against the occupation."

I see it in Nabi Saleh, known for its activism, across the valley from an Israeli settlement, fatigued over the years from heavy bouts of tear gas and rubber bullets shot into houses, haunted by the night raids of soldiers come to arrest families and children. Still, the Tamimi family of Nabi Saleh advocate non-violence: "not easy to do to a people who are under a violent occupation. But we don't wish to kill anyone. Naturally, after losing our loved ones to the Israeli army, our natural response might be to use violence to protect my family; but we are seeking the popular, nonviolent struggle. We know Israelis who stand with their heart, against the occupation. The only solution is to live together in harmony -- this is the end that only the internationals can achieve. You, who come and see with your own eyes, are our partners in humanity."

I see it as we drive through lush green settlements, using six times the water of their Palestinian neighbors, watching the healthy palm trees turn to dead branches and garbage as we leave Area C and enter Area A, where there is no access to water or resources.

I thought Israel, as an occupying power, had an internationally recognized responsibility to provide resources to the areas under occupation. They have that responsibility, but the message is clear by their actions: the lives of the settlers are more important.

 

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City of Cages  |  Alison Glick – Silver Spring, Maryland

I was dreading going to Hebron, and in that way it didn’t disappoint.

Despite being the most populous Palestinian city in the West Bank, a large swath of Hebron is referred to by its own inhabitants as “Ghost Town.”

Area “H2” is the section of the city under Israeli control, carved out for the 400 Jewish settlers who have inserted themselves among the neighborhood’s 30,000 Palestinians. The settlers, protected by 1,500-2,000 soldiers, have forcibly taken over Palestinian homes, schools, and shops, and violently rendered adjacent property uninhabitable by attacking those unfortunate enough to live nearby with everything from acid and feces to gunfire.

H2 was officially sanctioned by the Oslo Accords in 1997, but effectively created by the 1994 massacre of 29 Palestinians shot dead while praying in Ibrahimi mosque by US-born Israeli settler Baruch Goldstein. In the aftermath of the attack, it was Palestinians who paid the price when the Israelis imposed a curfew, erected checkpoints, and closed the main commercial thoroughfare, Shuhada Street.

Two thousand or so Israeli soldiers with nearly 50 years of experience and virtually limitless supply of US aid are undoubtedly very effective at controlling a population almost 100 times larger than the armed settlers they’re there to “protect.” But there is something more at work than the soldiers pacing rooftops with fingers prominently placed on the triggers of their American-made assault rifles, the guard towers and gun turrets, and ubiquitous surveillance cameras.

There is also the architecture of self-caging.

The first cage one encounters in H2 is the checkpoint. In order to leave or enter, you must go through a hulking turnstile with vertical rows of metal bars like iron fangs. When the signal is given by the unseen soldier controlling the device, you push the bars and the teeth gnash you through into an empty space, trapped between the first set of teeth and the second. You only pass further with the ok from the soldier in control. You must first cage yourself before you can move.

Walking the streets of H2 you notice the metal bars and wire mesh over virtually every Palestinian window -- families caging themselves in their own homes in a futile attempt to protect themselves from becoming prey. In the close quarters of the old market, a ceiling of metal mesh has been erected overhead by the municipality to keep at bay the trash, old shoes and bottles of piss that the Jewish Israeli settlers ensconced in buildings above rain down upon merchants and patrons alike.

We were told that many of the shops first closed on Shuhada Street in the 1990’s were welded shut with people still inside; the only way they could get out was to break through their neighbors’ adjacent homes. Some of those impromptu egresses remain as the only way to access property sealed from the outside.

Perhaps there was an unintended message in these acts of cruelty and oppression: Palestinian survival is contingent upon the community creating unexpected internal paths as a way to break through the bonds imposed from the outside.

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Shuhada Street in Occupied Al Khalil (Hebron)  |  Sydney Levy – Oakland, California

Palestinians refer to this area as 'ghost town' and indeed it looks like a place where the Nakba is not just a story of the past, but where the same phenomenon of ethnic cleansing is happening and is being perfect before our very eyes. All of Palestine is being ethnically cleansed, but here you can see it with the clarity that only a living and breathing 'ghost town' can provide.

Shuhada Street is an empty street, where the only presence is composed of Israeli soldiers, Israeli settlers, graffiti calling “Death to Arabs,” and painted Stars of David that do not symbolize a religion but rather an aggressive claim to ethnic superiority.

There is a photo you do not get to see because we preferred not to take it out of respect for the person who would have been depicted in it.

As we were leaving the emptiness of Shuhada Street to get back into the area of Al Khalil (Hebron) where Palestinians are still allowed to be in, we had to get back through the same checkpoint we had crossed a few minutes earlier.

In the checkpoint's opposite direction stood a mother and her daughter, who must not have been more than six years old. Only one person at a time can pass through the double-gated checkpoint, and when they are on the other side, you cannot even see them, such is the level of metal doors, fences, and turnstiles that the Israeli military has imposed on Palestinians in this city.

The mother passed first.

As the daughter was getting ready to pass, a soldier announced that the machine was broken. He did not seem to be in any hurry to fix it. Some of us could see this terrified kid, alone, trying to push a heavy turnstile gate that would not budge. Quietly, she waited. We could see her, but we could not see the anguish of the mother waiting on the other side.

This was perhaps one of the simplest and cruelest things you can ever imagine. Out of respect for the little child, no picture was taken.

The level of powerlessness she felt was met by ours. There was little we could do to help her. We waited until a Palestinian adult man, most likely unrelated to the girl, came to the checkpoint line. Knowing the girl, while still separated from her mother, was at least not alone, we had to keep on moving. With heavy hearts, we did so.

 

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We Have the Same Struggle   |  Rodney Cuny – Phoenix, Arizona

Nablus was interesting in the first part of the day. Went into a shop in the Casbah (Marketplace) to buy something. Had an interesting interaction with the shopkeeper. The shopkeeper, having lived in America at one time, noticed I was American asked what I was doing in Palestine?

To which I replied that I was on a peace building delegation. He replied in turn, mildly cynical, that that meant a "piece of Palestine." I suppose he implied that more pieces of Palestine were to be taken.

He warmed up quickly with the next question though. Noticing that my ethnic makeup was not the typical American, he asked me if I was Mexican? I replied no that I was Native American.

The smile that came to his face after I told him that was priceless. "Oh, we have the same struggle."

"Yes, we indeed have the same struggle, our ancestral lands being taken from us and confining us to certain areas called reservations," I replied in turn. 

We talked for a few minutes with him relating some experiences of life under the Occupation. As I left, he told me that I have a friend in him and anything I needed while I was in Nablus to let come back and him know. Such beautiful, loving people the Palestinians are.

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Nablus  |  Sararosa Davies - Saint Paul, Minnesota

She's a city with a sweet tooth
and a knack for resistance, knaffeh, and soap.
She's a city with a view, jabal al nar,
and if the soldiers didn't come so often at night,
she would protest in her sleep, but instead
grabs the kids, heads to the look out, and smokes.

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Al Fara'a Prison, Nablus   |   Jacob Ertel - New York, New York

Since the signing of Oslo, this prison has been closed down by the PA, as it falls under Area A jurisdiction. Today it is the Al-Shaheed Salah Khalaf Center.

Our guide, now the director of the center, knows this place well. He was imprisoned there five times. Many people he knows from the prison lost their minds.

We walk through the entrance into what he calls the 'welcome room,' and gather around a stone wall. Zionist soldiers would ask for Palestinians' names, then slam their heads against the wall until they understood that they were no longer their name, but a series of numbers assigned to them in Hebrew. Everyone in the camp was shaved bald, but because the soldiers were so rough and there was no regularly running water, infections were common from the cuts inflicted. Scabies outbreaks occurred often. When prisoners would ask for water, the guards put diesel into it before offering. Torture in the camp as also routine - prisoners were forced to sit outside in extreme heat or cold, without getting up for over 24 hours at a time. It is shaded where we are standing and I am sweating.

We move from the welcome room to the 'five star hotel.' This is the holding cell. It consists of a long narrow stone hallway with about 10 to 15 rectangular rooms on each side. The rooms couldn't have been larger than 10 by 12, and would house 6 to 7 people at a time.

The place is a concentration camp. No other words can indicate the gratuitous and sadistic nature of this prison. Though comparisons to the Nazis can be facile or ahistorical, it is impossible to escape drawing such parallels here.

Of course, these elements exist in all prisons, Israeli or not. The violence is not exceptional, but it is also distinct from other systems like that of the US. Though unbridled racism is fundamental to both systems, in the US prisons also serve a particular function: warehousing those who are cast out from a restructured economic system. Here, the focus is 100 percent committed to terrorism, but without any economic aspect.

 

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The Starkness of Occupation and Resistance   |  Rodney Cuny – Phoenix, Arizona

Met with Omar Barghouti, a spokesperson for the Palestinian Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions Movement. Such a remarkable man doing great work on behalf of his people. So eloquent and well spoken, he reminded me of one my physician colleagues in the States.

Toured the Jordan Valley and Jericho, caught a glimpse of the Dead Sea. The starkness and reality of the Occupation has hit me full bore today. I had read about it but to see it up close. Almost a total subjugation of another people in almost every facet of their life.

To see the settlements with all their greenery and modern development versus the nearby arid and parched areas where the Palestinians live. To know that if they were able to control this important agricultural area, it would be a cornerstone of a thriving economy for an independent Palestinian state. 

Viewed some of the areas where the Bedouins live and try to dwell, following a simple lifestyle that they have followed for centuries. The Israeli Occupation Forces and Israeli government have been incessantly cruel to them also, destroying what simple dwellings they have time and time again. Leave those poor people alone to live their lives as they have for generations! Who and what are they hurting by doing so?

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A New Strategy?  |   Hideko Otake - New York, New York

Walking through Dheisheh Palestinian refugee camp we witnessed a young man hugging with his friend with tears. He was just released from the prison. In a few minutes we encountered a gang of boys running around joyfully holding big toy guns.  

Contained by the separation wall and by the existence of heavily armed Israeli soldiers the life of children and young people are extremely tough in the violent space in the West Bank. Munther Amira, a nonviolence activist in Bethlehem, showed us a video footage showing a boy being arrested.

Amira was furiously protesting by shouting that the boy is only 6 years old but the soldiers did not listen to him. Amira said the neighbors told him that he was crazy to do such an act of resistance. He said that the camera and the recorded photos and videos protect him.

Police and military violence in the West Bank has been escalated. Amira admitted that the participants in the nonviolent actions have been shrinking.

In Nabi Saleh solders often use real bullets toward the nonviolent protesters. Tamimi family recently stopped the famous Friday protests are considering a new strategy.

Under the Military-Industrial Complex the Israeli strategy to silence the voice for justice and freedom by spreading fear seems to be working somehow. International pressure to end the violent occupation policy by the Israeli government is a must even more than before.

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East Jerusalem  |  Sararosa Davies - Saint Paul, Minnesota

If you open doors in the old city's quarters
you open up a certain type of paradise.

It is a paradise not like what you are used to,
because unfamiliar dance steps and views

of fig trees don't necessarily mean peace.
Doves on rooftop gardens don't mean

that everything is done, but instead
this paradise is a working one.

You can't see the view of the city
if the doors are locked, but if open,

paradise is up the stairs, probably smoking
a cigarette and looking at the view.

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If This Tree Could Talk  |  Sydney Levy – Oakland, California

If this olive tree could talk, what would it say?

I think it would say...

"Look at me, look at me carefully, but do not trust your eyes. Do not believe what you see. I look big and rooted in this land, but I am not of this land.

"I have been uprooted from my land, from the place where I was surrounded by farmers who cared for me and who were nurtured by my olives. I have been placed in a neighboring plot.

"Where I was once a proud tree, I am now ashamed. I am a stolen tree in a stolen land."

If you ever enter an illegal Israel settlement in the West Bank and see a Palestinian tree like this one, stop for a second. Tell the tree that you know where it came from. Tell it that one day its owners will come back, but for now just existing is resisting in the face of stifling injustice.

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Ramallah   |   Jacob Ertel - New York, New York

There is something unsettling about Ramallah. It is the only place we have visited so far that presents an illusion of normalcy. If you wanted to, you could probably ignore the occupation altogether. The city is littered with cafes, shopping centers, and a range of firms, from banking to real estate. The area has boomed since Oslo, becoming the NGO capital of Palestine. The PA representatives live lavishly, with Arafat's tomb 10 minutes from the city center.

I go into a clothing store to ask for directions back to the bus and end up talking to the store clerk for a while. He is from Jerusalem, but cannot return because of the wall.

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Watch Me    |   Sherry Altman - Ithaca, New York

I watch you   watching me    watching them
In your tower

Whose tower are you in?
Your religion   my religion   
your people   my people
But your tower is not the highest

Your tower does not protect me
You cannot protect me

Watching you    watching me   watching them
On top   over us  over them

Deadly death tool hangs from your arm
Hard face   hard eyes
Somebody’s son or daughter

Watching you    watching me   watching them
Sneering, threatening 

I am not afraid. 
You cannot stop my heart
from loving them.

I will build a tower   I will shine a strong light
I will tell others about the beautiful people
you control     on your watch

Watch me.

 

 

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