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.