Water Crisis

I get asked on occasion for my personal experience of the water crisis we constantly suffer here. I always tell people that I live in relative privilege in Ramallah and have not, to date, had to go without. All that changed this morning. We ran out of water. What do you do when you don't have water? You just wait. A friend on the other side of Ramallah gets water every 8 days. You do what you can on the day it comes, and then you wait. Fortunately, we could buy and at the very least we have other means of access. What about remote villages who have water tanks deliver to them or Gaza? 7 days doesn't seem so long when you think about the months others endure for a near nothing supply.

Guantanamo

A few days ago I had the amazing opportunity to sit next to a man who is a lawyer for Guantanamo inmates. I won't repeat his stories. But I will say that if you think you have ANY conception of the kind of violence we are inflicting on human beings in that place, think again. All I can say is god help them and god forgive us.

Hope in Palestine...

A student just came to my office and she is the third in five minutes to touch something deep inside me. It is the end of the semester and there is heavy disappointment in the air as students find that I was sadly serious at the beginning of the course when I warned that it would be a very hard class and the grades would be low. Many fail this infamously impossible course and are left severely depressed. Understandably. I handed back the last of the three major essays they write during the semester. It is worth 20% of their final grade and reflects three weeks of hard work at the end of a semester of intensive work. As I left the classroom of silent students staring at their scores, one boy walked in front of me and said, "Good. You gave me points in the good category. I am good. Good. It's the first time in one year I have this feeling. I am GOOD." I asked him if he was being sarcastic. He then exclaimed, "NO! I am good and I have waited and worked one year to hear this!" I stopped dead in my tracks. Several students near him also stopped. I said slowly, "There is something gravely wrong when a student says this. We are doing something insanely wrong if you say this after one year."

Next. Aya just left my office. As she opened the door, she turned and looked at me. She said that when she began the semester she thought to drop my class and leave the department. But she stayed. And she knows that she is stronger. In the beginning she could not write or speak well, and she knows now that she is better and she is determined to fight her way towards further improvement. I told her that I remember in the beginning of the semester seeing her and thinking how serious and sad she was. She seemed so scared to be there. But now in class she smiles and speaks out. It's amazing because her change is not limited to her writing but to her whole self. The last words were hers: "Really, I love you." And she left.

Then entered Nida. "I want to ask about my points..." I looked to her points--under 50%. Then I looked to her. "I know they are low," she said, "but I don't care. In the beginning of the semester you marked me unsatisfactory for every category on the grade sheet, but now I have two good categories! I worked so hard and I know I improved so much. I swear I don't care for the points, but just to know I improved. And I will do this course again next year and be even better!"

I find myself sitting here now, reflecting on these kids' ambition. Spectacular really. I told them in class how proud I am of their work. I told them I know I push and push and push. But they rise to meet my expectations EVERY TIME. "This is Palestine," someone whispered, "we're used to being pushed around." I smiled softly, "I know...but this is pushing to help you and look at how far you have all come! I swear I could not be more proud of you guys!"

Israeli Military Prohibits Literary Event

Tonight was the opening of the Palestine Festival of Literature, and while this is the second year that the Festival happens in Palestine, the ongoing celebrations for this year's "Jerusalem: The Cultural Capital of the Arab World" framed the Festival as part of a larger cultural movement. There was to be a reception from 6-6:30 followed by two groups of writers speaking to the audience. I went early for the reception as Michael Palin, all hail Monty Python, would be there and I am a long time fan. 10, maybe 15, minutes into the reception and something intense happened. I was outside of the foyer, just in the courtyard, making my way towards Michael Palin for my much anticipated introduction when four soldiers pushed into and passed me. I was a bit confused and annoyed and turned to see where they were going. It was just us in the theatre--a rather elite collection of Palestinians and ex pats all dressed up for the event and acting all literary--and thus I found myself a bit baffled by their rude entrance. All of a sudden people started pushing and saying "get inside now. go inside. hurry." We all pushed into the theatre, through the soldiers, and stood in confusion. Various individuals tried to speak to soldiers, including the boss military man, but none of them would speak to us. They just stood there. Five or six up the stairs. Outside in jeeps and vans. Three at the front door. Six at the entrance to the house of the theatre. Then I looked into the theatre and saw another several.

http://www.palfest.org
Everywhere I looked...more soldiers, standing and holding guns silently staring at us. No one knew where to go or what to do. So I turned to Michael Palin. How convenient that he was right next to me! "Hello Michael. My name is *******. I'm a teacher at *******. HUGE fan! Over a decade now, HUGE fan. We'll talk more later without the guns." He politely shook my hand and said, great. I suggested to the people around me that we just sit and get on with the event. More soldiers. Someone suggested the French Cultural Center--apparently the soldiers weren't allowed to enter there but then again they weren't supposed to enter Al Aqsa Mosque either and they did in 2001. So, we left through a back gate, passed a police van and the one hundred or so of us walked as a parade down the street five minutes to the French Cultural Center where everyone worked to through the food we'd carried into some sort of arrangement while others set up a sound system and stage. On the way a man asked in Arabic, "what happened?" I said in Arabic, "The military doesn't like literature. Pity." Still, it went off, a bit awkwardly, but nonetheless. Five minutes after the writers began reading their work to a frazzled but excited audience, one, then two, three, and four police vans pulled up in front of the Cultural Center. They stayed there with their lights flashing for a good ten minutes. After that, one stayed, just to remind us of the presence of the military and their might. They denied our presence at the first venue and challenged it at the second. Apparently the Israeli military has a security concern with literature. Who would have guessed? Actually, I did. This is the cultural occupation we hear less about but which is debilitating a people, their heritage, and the preservation of all that is dear to them.