Monday, September 29, 2008
20 Too Many
19 year old boy. A young body to be expected to handle 20 bullets. But 20 bullets he held courtesy of settlers...a too common tale these days.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
The Other Side
I had to take a medium length bus ride in Israel last week across half the country. The Central Bus Station swarms with soldiers--off duty, lounging around with guns slung across shoulders, drinking coffee in line, waiting for the next bus to wherever. It's strange to be surrounded by soldiers who are non threatening (thought guns are never non threatening). They don't know me. Even if they passed me through a checkpoint last week or last year, no one recognizes me. But for them I am traitor. I know this because I felt this yesterday.
On the first part of my journey a friend from Hebron called me, and I had to take her call because I'd neglected her far too long. I removed one ear bud of music, leaving the other one in (this is important because it made me far less aware of my volume and the people around me). I was in the back corner of the bus and directly surrounded by 4 soldiers. I can't explain how surreal it is to have them sit next to you, on a bus, and smile and chat and bump into you and apologize. It feels so wrong to move from screaming soldiers behind bullet proof glass, humiliating and degrading people to this. Some may read this and think, yea, well, they are human too. No, they are trained to oppress. And I can't see a division between work and life here. Human lives can't only be snapped during work hours. Israel is a machine that trains life to work for occupation. I hear kids saying how they are not excited to serve in the army, but we must. We must protect our country. Brainwashed.
Anyway, to the phone call. It was mostly in Arabic, and I was so embarrassed. And ashamed of my embarrassment. I got off the phone and thought, "I've betrayed myself." But no one around me seemed to notice. Not the kid in front of me with his huge gun slung over his sleeveless t or the soldier next to me who seemed to be sitting too close on purpose.
But on the return trip, again, I was forced to speak Arabic on the phone. And this time people noticed. A soldier had come to talk to a friend near me and ended up sitting by me. When I hung up the phone, he looked me over. It was something between disgust and confusion, mostly disgust. You know, Arabic is a national language here. And I was embarrassed to speak it because I feared consequences. Real consequences. I didn't just think people would not like me. I really don't give a shit. I thought they would hear my name and connect the dots and...well, fear, unfounded or not is the petroleum of the occupying machine. Self censorship. Fear. Oppression. Passivity.
On the first part of my journey a friend from Hebron called me, and I had to take her call because I'd neglected her far too long. I removed one ear bud of music, leaving the other one in (this is important because it made me far less aware of my volume and the people around me). I was in the back corner of the bus and directly surrounded by 4 soldiers. I can't explain how surreal it is to have them sit next to you, on a bus, and smile and chat and bump into you and apologize. It feels so wrong to move from screaming soldiers behind bullet proof glass, humiliating and degrading people to this. Some may read this and think, yea, well, they are human too. No, they are trained to oppress. And I can't see a division between work and life here. Human lives can't only be snapped during work hours. Israel is a machine that trains life to work for occupation. I hear kids saying how they are not excited to serve in the army, but we must. We must protect our country. Brainwashed.
Anyway, to the phone call. It was mostly in Arabic, and I was so embarrassed. And ashamed of my embarrassment. I got off the phone and thought, "I've betrayed myself." But no one around me seemed to notice. Not the kid in front of me with his huge gun slung over his sleeveless t or the soldier next to me who seemed to be sitting too close on purpose.
But on the return trip, again, I was forced to speak Arabic on the phone. And this time people noticed. A soldier had come to talk to a friend near me and ended up sitting by me. When I hung up the phone, he looked me over. It was something between disgust and confusion, mostly disgust. You know, Arabic is a national language here. And I was embarrassed to speak it because I feared consequences. Real consequences. I didn't just think people would not like me. I really don't give a shit. I thought they would hear my name and connect the dots and...well, fear, unfounded or not is the petroleum of the occupying machine. Self censorship. Fear. Oppression. Passivity.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Breaking the Isolation
Today I did something my colleagues found unconventional if not distressing. I sent up my computer, connected it to the internet and speakers, then had my class of 26 gather around the set up. We had a date with Rula Awad-Rafferty, a friend of mine in Idaho. Rula is a diasporic Palestinian who had an amazing opportunity this summer to visit the ruins of her mother's village--destroyed in 1948. Read about her story here (I assigned this article to my students).
We are studying collective memory and focusing on 1948 to think through some heavy concepts. My students are really motivated and very capable kids. I decided to have them conduct an in-class interview with Rula over the internet. They saw her on my computer screen, and she saw them on hers. Together they conversed for 45 minutes. It was a brilliant and moving 45 minutes. A few times I even choked back tears.
Among other things, Rula spoke of the inspiration she felt at seeing Palestinian resilience and strength under daily occupation when she was here. She was moved by the interview experience because she was able to reconnect, online, to Palestine. As she praised these students for living under occupation, it struck me: most of them have never connected with Palestinians outside of the West Bank and Gaza. They don't know that people all over the world like Rula are working for Palestine. I asked, and they didn't know. And it's a two way street. These kids feel forgotten, isolated, abandoned by the world to endure injustice and violence. And Rula felt disconnected from the situation and people here. They inspired each other, and it was such an incredible experience to watch both of their differing isolations being broken, and replaced by inspiration and motivation.
When the interview finished I asked how it went. My students broke into joyful exclamations, saying how amazing that was. And then one girl said, "I felt a little ashamed. She is working so hard for us, and we aren't doing anything. We aren't political. We just go about our daily lives, like we have given up the fight. I want to do more." I put my hand over my heart and smiled with the joy I felt inside, "Yes! We all can and must do more. We can and must! And it starts here and now."
We are studying collective memory and focusing on 1948 to think through some heavy concepts. My students are really motivated and very capable kids. I decided to have them conduct an in-class interview with Rula over the internet. They saw her on my computer screen, and she saw them on hers. Together they conversed for 45 minutes. It was a brilliant and moving 45 minutes. A few times I even choked back tears.
Among other things, Rula spoke of the inspiration she felt at seeing Palestinian resilience and strength under daily occupation when she was here. She was moved by the interview experience because she was able to reconnect, online, to Palestine. As she praised these students for living under occupation, it struck me: most of them have never connected with Palestinians outside of the West Bank and Gaza. They don't know that people all over the world like Rula are working for Palestine. I asked, and they didn't know. And it's a two way street. These kids feel forgotten, isolated, abandoned by the world to endure injustice and violence. And Rula felt disconnected from the situation and people here. They inspired each other, and it was such an incredible experience to watch both of their differing isolations being broken, and replaced by inspiration and motivation.
When the interview finished I asked how it went. My students broke into joyful exclamations, saying how amazing that was. And then one girl said, "I felt a little ashamed. She is working so hard for us, and we aren't doing anything. We aren't political. We just go about our daily lives, like we have given up the fight. I want to do more." I put my hand over my heart and smiled with the joy I felt inside, "Yes! We all can and must do more. We can and must! And it starts here and now."
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Education Under Occupation
How do I describe occupation? How do I convey to you the frustration and humiliation, the grief and stress of living under occupation? Even just to explain what occupation is...I don't know where to start. I don't know how to paint a picture for you that can possibly give you an idea.
Today I collected a one page descriptive writing assignment from my university students.
One girl described watching a little boy at a checkpoint who was trying to sell soldiers water. The soldiers knocked the boy's good to the ground and told him to pick them up. When the boy bent down, the soldier stepped on the child's back. When the boy succeeded in picking up all the bottles, one soldier grabbed the boy's shirt and demanded he use the water to wash. The boy said I will wash your face and then he spit on the soldier. They killed the boy. I don't know if this story is true, but a Palestinian student does not need a great imagination to write this story, even if it is not true.
One boy described the waves of the sea, and the sand, and the clouds and stars and the moon. And like many students who wrote happy descriptions, he closed by saying this was his dream. But his reality is that the sound of crashing waves, the sand between his toes, the water over his feet...it all remains a dream, and he knows that it will be a dream for years to come.
I left my class and walked through campus. Students, just getting out of class themselves, walked down the campus mall. Friends strolling along, laughing and chatting. Smiling faces, fashionable clothes, backpacks slung over shoulders. Normal students who are anything but normal. They are denied education, movement, health. They are denied their humanity. They are occupied in every sense of the word--these scary, threatening Arabs we all must fear. They violent Arabs against whom Israel must build a Wall and continue a violent occupation. They are my students and they write about another life, a life in which they are more human and free from the fear and pain of occupation.
Today I collected a one page descriptive writing assignment from my university students.
One girl described watching a little boy at a checkpoint who was trying to sell soldiers water. The soldiers knocked the boy's good to the ground and told him to pick them up. When the boy bent down, the soldier stepped on the child's back. When the boy succeeded in picking up all the bottles, one soldier grabbed the boy's shirt and demanded he use the water to wash. The boy said I will wash your face and then he spit on the soldier. They killed the boy. I don't know if this story is true, but a Palestinian student does not need a great imagination to write this story, even if it is not true.
One boy described the waves of the sea, and the sand, and the clouds and stars and the moon. And like many students who wrote happy descriptions, he closed by saying this was his dream. But his reality is that the sound of crashing waves, the sand between his toes, the water over his feet...it all remains a dream, and he knows that it will be a dream for years to come.
I left my class and walked through campus. Students, just getting out of class themselves, walked down the campus mall. Friends strolling along, laughing and chatting. Smiling faces, fashionable clothes, backpacks slung over shoulders. Normal students who are anything but normal. They are denied education, movement, health. They are denied their humanity. They are occupied in every sense of the word--these scary, threatening Arabs we all must fear. They violent Arabs against whom Israel must build a Wall and continue a violent occupation. They are my students and they write about another life, a life in which they are more human and free from the fear and pain of occupation.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Taybeh Beer
Daily lesson in occupation policy:
Taybeh Beer is the only microbrewery in Palestine. Named after the village where it is produced, Taybeh is delicious and offered in golden, amber or dark brews. While it comes in a bottle, draft Taybeh is particularly enjoyable...though I don't know why that is exactly that it tastes so much better in the glass. There are only a handful of restaurants that offer Taybeh on tap, and they are all local restaurants (Ramallah).
A friend in Jerusalem owns a bar. I insisted he switch from Taybeh in the bottle to draft. He cocked his head to one side and said, "I cannot. What happens when I install the tap, and the delivery is held up at a checkpoint? I can't promise Taybeh to my customers because the brewery can't promise it to me. This is occupation.
And I said, that's so smart. The market inside and outside of the West Bank is so volatile, so inaccessible...and a business cannot survive without fulfilling promises. Separate the goods from the consumer, and the consumer won't buy. And so, my friend stocks Israeli beers on his shelves. They are guaranteed. Kills two birds as well: undermines the Palestinian economy and strengthens the Israeli. Man occupation is smart!
Taybeh Beer is the only microbrewery in Palestine. Named after the village where it is produced, Taybeh is delicious and offered in golden, amber or dark brews. While it comes in a bottle, draft Taybeh is particularly enjoyable...though I don't know why that is exactly that it tastes so much better in the glass. There are only a handful of restaurants that offer Taybeh on tap, and they are all local restaurants (Ramallah).
A friend in Jerusalem owns a bar. I insisted he switch from Taybeh in the bottle to draft. He cocked his head to one side and said, "I cannot. What happens when I install the tap, and the delivery is held up at a checkpoint? I can't promise Taybeh to my customers because the brewery can't promise it to me. This is occupation.
And I said, that's so smart. The market inside and outside of the West Bank is so volatile, so inaccessible...and a business cannot survive without fulfilling promises. Separate the goods from the consumer, and the consumer won't buy. And so, my friend stocks Israeli beers on his shelves. They are guaranteed. Kills two birds as well: undermines the Palestinian economy and strengthens the Israeli. Man occupation is smart!
Friday, September 12, 2008
The Privilege of Teaching
Being a teacher is really quite a privilege. To start, you have an entire hour or hour and a half to talk to a captive audience. They have to listen to you, and they can only disagree if you let them. Really, education could easily be called indoctrination, for sometimes it actually feels like brainwashing. And I think that it can be brainwashing. Students are trained to take their teachers' words as gold, and I think we have a responsibility to retrain them to not just ingest but to challenge. To challenge everything.
I always say that I don't understand why Israel won't give me a visa if I say I live in Palestine. I mean, I am NOT DOING ANYTHING WRONG! I'm teaching writing for god's sake! I gave a lecture this week that woke me up to the reality that for Israel, I am doing something very dangerous. I am inciting my captive audience.
My students are learning about collective memory--that lived experience that is shared by many and articulated by individuals of that collective. Collective memory informs the historical record, and the historical record constitutes the accepted version of the past and the present. Well, as we know from Palestine and Israel, the historical record is a Zionist history, much of which is based on myths and all of which is used to facilitate a colonialist project. Collective memory is a powerful tool...but only if articulated, accessed, and embraced.
Let's think about 1948 in Palestine. Israel's "Independence" is celebrated extensively and globally. On this 60th anniversary, let us really think about Israeli independence. The small but determined army of Jews defended themselves against the overwhelming Arab armies. "Never again," they shouted--a clear reference to the Holocaust and exile. End of story. Israeli collective memory of 1948 paints a triumphant, nationalist picture of success against great odds. And the national imaginary and historical record are wholly based on this experience, but the less referenced historical record shows Ben Gurion, the Zionist leader at the time, knowing that they were neither outnumbered nor overpowered, and certainly not threatened existentially. Yet he and his power dogs claimed otherwise, and Jews fought on this basis. So it is their collective memory which has in turn written history.
Where is the story of the Nakba? Few hear that story of Palestinians in 1948, though this is beginning. Where is their collective memory? It has certainly not shaped the historical record in any significant way to date. What does that mean? What I told my students, and what Said articulates, is that the Palestinian failure to consolidate their collective memory of the Nabka and shape it into a coherent narrative that is accepted as historical record is absolutely detrimental to the cause of Palestine.
Israel is ethnically cleansing Palestinians. It is a 60 plus year campaign, one that morphs but whose goal is steadfast. The Zionist Project will succeed, and there will be no Palestinians.
The future of the Palestinian people depends on their ability to harness collective memory and demand a new narrative that includes them and their experiences. For as long as the world knows only the Zionist history, Israel's "security measures"--read occupation and ethnic cleansing--are wholly justified. NO! There is a history of occupation and oppression here and I must believe the world would not condone Israeli state terror and ethnic cleansing and apartheid if the world really understood. But how can it? The Palestinians are silent; they are silenced. It is terribly easy to cleanse the silent / silenced from the land. And so I say: assert the collective memory and claim it as part of a history that the world must learn. Gather it and insert it into the historical record, because it is valid. But do it now, before it's too late.
I always say that I don't understand why Israel won't give me a visa if I say I live in Palestine. I mean, I am NOT DOING ANYTHING WRONG! I'm teaching writing for god's sake! I gave a lecture this week that woke me up to the reality that for Israel, I am doing something very dangerous. I am inciting my captive audience.
My students are learning about collective memory--that lived experience that is shared by many and articulated by individuals of that collective. Collective memory informs the historical record, and the historical record constitutes the accepted version of the past and the present. Well, as we know from Palestine and Israel, the historical record is a Zionist history, much of which is based on myths and all of which is used to facilitate a colonialist project. Collective memory is a powerful tool...but only if articulated, accessed, and embraced.
Let's think about 1948 in Palestine. Israel's "Independence" is celebrated extensively and globally. On this 60th anniversary, let us really think about Israeli independence. The small but determined army of Jews defended themselves against the overwhelming Arab armies. "Never again," they shouted--a clear reference to the Holocaust and exile. End of story. Israeli collective memory of 1948 paints a triumphant, nationalist picture of success against great odds. And the national imaginary and historical record are wholly based on this experience, but the less referenced historical record shows Ben Gurion, the Zionist leader at the time, knowing that they were neither outnumbered nor overpowered, and certainly not threatened existentially. Yet he and his power dogs claimed otherwise, and Jews fought on this basis. So it is their collective memory which has in turn written history.
Where is the story of the Nakba? Few hear that story of Palestinians in 1948, though this is beginning. Where is their collective memory? It has certainly not shaped the historical record in any significant way to date. What does that mean? What I told my students, and what Said articulates, is that the Palestinian failure to consolidate their collective memory of the Nabka and shape it into a coherent narrative that is accepted as historical record is absolutely detrimental to the cause of Palestine.
Israel is ethnically cleansing Palestinians. It is a 60 plus year campaign, one that morphs but whose goal is steadfast. The Zionist Project will succeed, and there will be no Palestinians.
The future of the Palestinian people depends on their ability to harness collective memory and demand a new narrative that includes them and their experiences. For as long as the world knows only the Zionist history, Israel's "security measures"--read occupation and ethnic cleansing--are wholly justified. NO! There is a history of occupation and oppression here and I must believe the world would not condone Israeli state terror and ethnic cleansing and apartheid if the world really understood. But how can it? The Palestinians are silent; they are silenced. It is terribly easy to cleanse the silent / silenced from the land. And so I say: assert the collective memory and claim it as part of a history that the world must learn. Gather it and insert it into the historical record, because it is valid. But do it now, before it's too late.
Friday, September 5, 2008
Accepting Oppression
This term "normalization" is thrown around as an accusation against some or a strategy for others. I was asked what is so objectionable about normalization recently? I tried to answer that question, but I was poor in articulating the answer. And it came to me, just now. Normalization is trying to forget about occupation, trying to go on with life as if this were in fact normal, accepting occupation and living with it. Okay, this is the reality--occupation--and there is no choice for the occupied but to live with it. BUT, that does NOT mean you accept it, that you fail to recognize and dissent from and even fight against that very reality. Should the oppressed and oppressor be a normal relationship that is acceptable? Should violence be normal?! Normalization is that place where you accept oppression and try to get along with it. And oppression should NOT be normal!
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
The Price of a Dollar Fare
I’m not sure that it was the extra one-dollar fare that he was able to make. My main reason for suspecting he had an alternative motive was the street lined with people hailing his shared taxi. Many of those waiting were alone, so the driver could easily have picked up an individual for the one free seat remaining in the minivan. Instead he picked up a single man with four girls, between 4 years old and 8 I would guess. We all had to rearrange ourselves in the van so they could squeeze in, taking two seats when only one was available, which meant a young teenager had to sit on a box, legs straddling the stick shift next to the driver. No one seemed annoyed. I’m sure I was immensely amused by it all, and my face showed it. When the little girl, sharing a seat with her sister, who was closest to the driver handed him the fare, I smiled again. Surely it wasn’t the dollar that was responsible for all the work we just did to fit this family inside the too tight taxi.
The mini van stopped at the university to let me out, and again, the chaos ensued…everyone in the row scooting to the next seat before stepping out of the taxi. Four girls on the side of the van, waiting as I slid out. I smiled and thanked them all. And I found I could not stop smiling as I walked through campus. Such an effort, and no complaint from anyone. This is life here. Help when you can, as much as you can. Only I seem at all entertained and inspired by this mundane, yet beautiful quality of life under occupation.
The mini van stopped at the university to let me out, and again, the chaos ensued…everyone in the row scooting to the next seat before stepping out of the taxi. Four girls on the side of the van, waiting as I slid out. I smiled and thanked them all. And I found I could not stop smiling as I walked through campus. Such an effort, and no complaint from anyone. This is life here. Help when you can, as much as you can. Only I seem at all entertained and inspired by this mundane, yet beautiful quality of life under occupation.
Monday, September 1, 2008
Boycotting Occupation
When I'm in the States, Europe, or anywhere else around the world, I proudly boycott Israel--a state which maintains a 40+ year brutal occupation of another people and which practices Apartheid. I boycott both Israeli products and those that are non Israeli but which support Israel. I believe in using my individual buying "power" to make a political statement, which could be, if enough others joined me, a forceful tool, hopefully akin to the South African model just as the state of Israel is akin to the South African state.
Two nights ago a friend came over for dinner. And I was so incredibly embarrassed as he went through the sparse products in my house. Handsoap--Israeli. Fresh mushrooms--Israeli. Milk--Israeli. Okay, I admit there are alternatives. A bar of Palestinian soap, but I love liquid handsoap. Canned mushrooms or no mushrooms, but I love fresh mushrooms. Arabic milk, but I heard it's not safe to drink. I wonder who told the woman who told me that the Arabic milk brand isn't safe? I never questioned that.
I don't get to have other things I love like breakfast burritos and tofu, so I am sure I can give up these products on the basis of moral responsibility. The point is this, it has always been easy for me to boycott Israel from afar. But here, under occupation, Israel is like a cancer and it's everywhere. Boycotting Israel doesn't mean choosing The Tea Leaf and Coffee Bean over Starbucks. That was a simple choice. There was a choice.
Boycotting Israel means not buying things that I see as essentials. Boycotting Israel means rethinking what is essential, and so I'm considering this question, and I think that life is essential, and so long as Israel disregards and robs that life (9 year old killed Friday), how can I invest in this Apartheid economy? So, I guess that means no more mushrooms or liquid handsoap for now, but when I put it in perspective, the sacrifice doesn't seem all that great.
I guess, in perspective also, is the weakness of my actions. So could you please send the same message to Israel and spread the word that Palestine has asked you to challenge occupation by boycotting Israel? Let's join the oppressed and since our governments won't do shit for them, let us use our precious individual choice to collectively fight injustice.
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