The solidarity campaigners, six of which stayed behind in Gaza, keep surprising me with their simple - at least what may seem simple to the observers of events - but effective activism.
I heard they are helping to replant some areas with orange trees on the borders, which the Israeli forces uprooted. Apparently the occupation forces, that forbid farmers from growing anything on their plots, isolate about 24% of the agricultural land in Gaza. These are lands on the borders, which the owners gave up cultivating, as they keep being destroyed by the Israelis.
Locals from the town of Al Fokhari, on the southeastern side of the Gaza strip, talked about how this activism boosted their moral and showed them that some outsiders care about the people of Gaza. http://www.aljazeera.net/NR/exeres/066DA418-299E-4C07-A7F9-CF30D2B2E55A.htm (sorry for those of you who can’t read Arabic, I could not find the English translation to the article, however you can have a look at the photos).
This gives me hope that things could be done to support the people of Gaza. The Gazaians, and rightly so, claim more Arab support should come. They must have heard of the Egyptian convoy that was stopped by the Egyptian security en route to Gaza. This must confirm what many are saying about the Egyptian government. They claim it serves the Israeli and American governments’ interests in the region. Some Yemenis are planning to do what the Egyptian failed to achieve during this month of Ramadan.
On the dark side, some kilometres away in another forgotten part of the world, a baby died because of lack of oxygen when trying to be born to this cruel world.
The soldiers did not let the mother, who was in her last stages of labour, and her family pass through a checkpoint to go to hospital because they didn’t have a permit. I felt a stab in my heart when I heard how desperate the father was, when he asked the soldier to have a look at the top part of the baby’s head that was already coming out.
This happened very early one morning, at half one after midnight in Za’atara check point near Nablus. In front of unmoved soldiers who stood there and did nothing in response to the desperate calls for help from the mother and the father. The father even offered the soldier to arrest him and his mother (who was in the car), to let his wife and brother (who also was in the car) pass to go to the hospital.
One of the soldiers was jailed for 14 days and removed to another area. I needn’t be cynical here, but I wonder what massage this could give to soldiers who face similar situations on a daily basis in the West Bank, especially around Nablus, which has been sealed off from the outside world with checkpoints for some time now?
I bet that many of these soldiers would be happy to take a break from this busy and cruel checkpoint. I am also sure the conditions of prison, these soldiers would be put in, are much more humane than the conditions thousands of Palestinian prisoners forced to accept in the Israeli prisons. The sentence, of that soldier, was much more lenient than the sentences given to those who refuse to serve in the occupation forces, who could face months or even years in prison.
The issue of the thousands of Palestinian prisoners (estimated to be 11000) in Israeli prisoners is worth reflecting on in the future. There are underage girls and boys, women and men, of which many have not seen a trial, cramped in horrible conditions without proper food or medical treatment. I never forget the elected MPs and ministers who were kidnapped from their homes and offices and put in prisons! I will tell you in the future about this radio programme dedicated to these prisoners.
Wednesday 17 September 2008
Monday 8 September 2008
Halper, anti-semitism, the diving bell and the butterfly…
I mentioned Jeff Halper in a previous post. He was arrested on entry to Israel from the Gaza Strip, after he arrived there with the solidarity boats. In the below link he describes his time in Gaza and in the Israeli prison. http://palestinemonitor.org/spip/spip.php?article624
Since then, some other groups started talking about similar actions. I read of a plan by Egyptian politicians and intellectuals who are organising a trip in their cars to Gaza during the Ramadan month. These people are demanding the opening of the borders with Gaza. They are also accusing their government of being the tail of the Israeli and American policies in the region.
I went to a couple of discussions this weekend on Palestine, held by the Green Party during their annual conference. I could not believe the bullying and intimidation of a small minority of Green Party members who claim that criticism of Israel could be a form of anti-semitism. Fortunately most people in these discussions did not buy to this view, even the Jewish members.
We heard a talk by one of the founders of the Palestine Solidarity Campaign in Britain, who is a Jewish man from Brighton. Another speaker was an editor from Jewish Socialist journal. They both agreed that anti-semitism is a problem for some Jewish communities around the world, but they stressed that it is part of a bigger problem of racism. They admitted that a few of the critics of Israel could be anti-semitic, but the majority of people, who are critical of Israel’s policy and the Zionist movement, do so because they see in Israel as an oppressor controlling the Palestinian population without regards to international law and human rights.
The speakers drew comparisons between the Israeli government actions, and the Apartheid and the Nazi regimes. They stressed that it is important to note the similarities and differences when comparing these regimes. For example, the Israeli policies of segregation embodied by roads only for settlers, and the separation wall are similar in their aim to the Apartheid regime aim’s of segregation from the black community. However, the right wing white party wanted to use the black workforce to their benefits. So in a way it was an industrial policy. The Zionist movement’s main aim, however, was to grab land by uprooting Palestinians from heir homeland without exploiting their work force. As for the Nazi regime, you only have to visit a checkpoint in the West Bank or see the concrete grey wall that is punctured with watchtowers, to understand the comparison. They look just like the images you see of entrances to the concrete walls surrounding the camps in central and eastern Europe of the 1930’s and 40’s.
Far from the world of politics, but not completely unconnected, I want to tell you about a film I watched last week. The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, a film based on a book written by Jean-Dominique Bauby, who was an editor in the French Elle magazine before he suffered a stroke. He wrote a book about his experience of the Lock -in syndrome that caused him almost total physical disability. Blinking with the left eye was his only means of communicating with the outside world.
The viewer sees the world from Jean’s eye, and surprisingly the world he sees is a beautiful hopeful world, full of poetry and imagery. He tells us he lost everything but his memory and imagination which set him free like a butterfly. It is a story of human nature and hope. It is a story of compassion and positive human regard.
Jean was a prisoner inside his own body, hence the metaphor of the diving bell, but he also felt like a free butterfly with his memory and imagination. This image brought me home to my own experience. Feeling trapped and unable to control my destiny is a horrible and a claustrophobic feeling. In using my memory and imagination, in dreams and language for instance, I feel free. I feel free to play with my imagination and construct reality according to my views on how the world should be. I dream of revolutions and transformations which make me feel free like a bird. Perhaps Jean -Dominique Bauby chose a butterfly because its life span is shorter than a bird. He died 10 days after the publication of his book.
As for the people of historical Palestine, Israelis and Palestinians, the current reality may make us feel trapped, but we should hold on to our memories and imagination. The memories that made our histories and identities. Memories of homes, friendships and co-existence. Memories of exile, camps, gas chambers, disposition and massacres. Our imagination should lead us to a world of liberty, justice and piece. Imagination that could turn into reality if we remember, acknowledge and forgive.
Since then, some other groups started talking about similar actions. I read of a plan by Egyptian politicians and intellectuals who are organising a trip in their cars to Gaza during the Ramadan month. These people are demanding the opening of the borders with Gaza. They are also accusing their government of being the tail of the Israeli and American policies in the region.
I went to a couple of discussions this weekend on Palestine, held by the Green Party during their annual conference. I could not believe the bullying and intimidation of a small minority of Green Party members who claim that criticism of Israel could be a form of anti-semitism. Fortunately most people in these discussions did not buy to this view, even the Jewish members.
We heard a talk by one of the founders of the Palestine Solidarity Campaign in Britain, who is a Jewish man from Brighton. Another speaker was an editor from Jewish Socialist journal. They both agreed that anti-semitism is a problem for some Jewish communities around the world, but they stressed that it is part of a bigger problem of racism. They admitted that a few of the critics of Israel could be anti-semitic, but the majority of people, who are critical of Israel’s policy and the Zionist movement, do so because they see in Israel as an oppressor controlling the Palestinian population without regards to international law and human rights.
The speakers drew comparisons between the Israeli government actions, and the Apartheid and the Nazi regimes. They stressed that it is important to note the similarities and differences when comparing these regimes. For example, the Israeli policies of segregation embodied by roads only for settlers, and the separation wall are similar in their aim to the Apartheid regime aim’s of segregation from the black community. However, the right wing white party wanted to use the black workforce to their benefits. So in a way it was an industrial policy. The Zionist movement’s main aim, however, was to grab land by uprooting Palestinians from heir homeland without exploiting their work force. As for the Nazi regime, you only have to visit a checkpoint in the West Bank or see the concrete grey wall that is punctured with watchtowers, to understand the comparison. They look just like the images you see of entrances to the concrete walls surrounding the camps in central and eastern Europe of the 1930’s and 40’s.
Far from the world of politics, but not completely unconnected, I want to tell you about a film I watched last week. The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, a film based on a book written by Jean-Dominique Bauby, who was an editor in the French Elle magazine before he suffered a stroke. He wrote a book about his experience of the Lock -in syndrome that caused him almost total physical disability. Blinking with the left eye was his only means of communicating with the outside world.
The viewer sees the world from Jean’s eye, and surprisingly the world he sees is a beautiful hopeful world, full of poetry and imagery. He tells us he lost everything but his memory and imagination which set him free like a butterfly. It is a story of human nature and hope. It is a story of compassion and positive human regard.
Jean was a prisoner inside his own body, hence the metaphor of the diving bell, but he also felt like a free butterfly with his memory and imagination. This image brought me home to my own experience. Feeling trapped and unable to control my destiny is a horrible and a claustrophobic feeling. In using my memory and imagination, in dreams and language for instance, I feel free. I feel free to play with my imagination and construct reality according to my views on how the world should be. I dream of revolutions and transformations which make me feel free like a bird. Perhaps Jean -Dominique Bauby chose a butterfly because its life span is shorter than a bird. He died 10 days after the publication of his book.
As for the people of historical Palestine, Israelis and Palestinians, the current reality may make us feel trapped, but we should hold on to our memories and imagination. The memories that made our histories and identities. Memories of homes, friendships and co-existence. Memories of exile, camps, gas chambers, disposition and massacres. Our imagination should lead us to a world of liberty, justice and piece. Imagination that could turn into reality if we remember, acknowledge and forgive.
Monday 1 September 2008
Language
“But what he still wants to do, in whatever form, is tell stories: ones which are true even when they’re not exactly real.” (From an interview with Mike Skinner from the Street. See: guardian.co.uk/film.)
Telling stories is one function language has in our lives. Language is vital in preserving our histories and identities. Through the use of language we tell stories about who we are and what we are here for.
I am reminded of one song my family sang around the kitchen table my auntie was using to make Kubi Neyie (a Palestinian dish using raw mince as its main ingredient). The beginning of one of its verses roughly goes like this: “And we went to Al-Manshyie to eat Kubi Neyie… (for those of you with knowledge of the Palestinian accent of Arabic, there is a rhyme going on between Al- Manshyie and Kubi Neyie).
I recently discovered that Al –Manshyie is actually a name of two villages destroyed and abandoned during the Palestinian Nakbe in 1948. It is common, in Palestine to find two or more towns, often in different parts of the country, with the same name.
This discovery reminded me of the powerful role traditional songs play in peoples’ lives. Words, in songs, can revive the memories of those erased places and displaced people. The song represents the facts that decent people lived in this land. They worked hard to live decent lives, and there were times when they visited each other to celebrate and eat local delicacies.
The other day I was listening to Reem Banna, a Palestinian singer from Nazareth, who sings songs written by local poets including her own mother, Zuhaira Sabbagh. The words written in a poetic language, full of local imagery, smells of flowers and emotion.
These songs made me think of the power language has in this world, and what it means to me. What it means to a person like me who speaks three languages. My mother tongue, my oppressor’s tongue and a third language that belongs to previous oppressors.
I have a love - hate relationship with my oppressor’s language, and at the moment I am in the middle of one of my love phases. I have just finished one novel, and already started the next one. I like the sound of it and its richness, which are in many ways similar to my own language. They both come from the Semitic family.
Using Hebrew, for me, is meeting the oppressor and befriending her/ him. Through her/ his language I can tell her/ him my story and listen to hers/ his. I can learn my acquaintance’s past and present. I can learn about her/ his likes and dislikes and how we could coexist forever.
We can learn how similar we are to each other, but dissimilar in many other ways. A book I am reading at the moment tells a story of people who were made to feel like exiles in their homeland, just like my family who in the 1940’s survived a war that made them an oppressed minority in their own country.
The book was written in Hebrew by an Israeli writer with Iraqi origins, Sammy Michael. The Main Character is Nouri an Iraqi Jewish boy who lived in Baghdad in the 1940’s. Nouri was the name of the boy in my first Arabic schoolbook when I was 7. Nouri, the Arab, lived in Yaffa.
Palm Trees in the Storm tells us the story of a minority who, at the start of the novel, lived happily among the dominant culture. You can hardly tell, from the novel, the difference between the Jewish and the Arabic names.
The Jewish minority progressively began feeling intimated by the Arabic Muslim majority who, according to the book, supported the Nazi’s in Germany. I don’t know much about modern Iraqi history, as we were not taught modern Arabic history at school. Another sign of attempts to erase our history and identities.
It looked bad for the Jews in Iraq during that period. A period in which Iraq was used to settle conflicts between bigger powers (Germany and Britain), not very different from the situation in Iraq or Lebanon today.
Nouri’s family were defiant to survive, and they were one of the lucky ones to do so. However, they suffered losses of neighbours, jobs and properties. Let alone the emotional trauma the war left them with. The story ends when an aunt and uncle, together with their baby son, decided to travel to Eretz Yesrael (the Zionist phrase for historic Palestine), where they hoped to be safe and begin a new life in the land of their ancestors.
In Palestine, at that same period, my grandparents were struggling to live in Haifa, as the Jewish militias approached and started expelling the Palestinian residents. My granddad lost his job in the railways, and my grandmother lost her 13-year-old brother in an attack on a bus.
They decided to move to Nazareth were they started a new life after many losses and after becoming an oppressed minority. They did not have Eretz Yesrael to go to, where they were given all the benefits from the newly formed Israeli government. A government that gives housing benefits, citizenship and many other incentives for all those Jews who wish to ‘ascend’ - The word used to signify a higher better place for the Jews – to Israel.
While Palestinian refugees are banned from their right of return (that a UN resolution gave them). In their own homeland, my family is banned from many jobs. They are banned from acquiring land that belongs to the state (most of it is destroyed villages). My family also bares the emotional and social burdens of isolation, oppression and identifying with the oppressor.
My grandparents, at that time, and until the 60’s were banned from travelling to visit relatives in nearby towns unless they have a special permit. Of course, I am not blaming Nouri’s family or any Jew who suffered in his or her own country and looked for a better place to live in. I believe that all people have the right to live safely anywhere they wish to live. Even Palestine, if all of those who were displaced return, should be a refuge for all: Jews, Arabs and others.
What I am doing here, is pointing out to the importance of language to me. Through the words of this novel, I was able to know some of my oppressors’ stories. The words made me empathise and identify with them. The novel made me realise how similar we are to each other, but also it made me realise that our destinies were different.
This is my personal experience of language, or more accurately, languages. But it comes from a long world tradition of using language to tell about everyday realities, and create reality to help us bear this world, which at times can get too much.
I note the works of Kafka, to Darwish, to Elias Khoury, and musicians such the likes of L. Cohen and M. Khalifie. Yes and Mike Skinner, together with all the decent musicians and writers in the West. Those who use language and tell stories that are true, but not necessary real.
Perhaps, I am trying to tell you that I will be attempting to do just this in by blog. I want to use language to relieve my pain and, in my own way, create my own reality and make the world a better place to live in.
This sounds like an idealistic, and perhaps, unrealistic fantasy, but it makes me hope for a better future. I will let this fantasy stay in my thoughts and help it evolve on it’s own pace.
Language is not only an evidence of the past. It makes me live in the here and now. Through language I can name my present emotions and thoughts. In words I can describe my inner and outer experiences. In words I can live the moment and become more aware of my own truth, that is not always possible or real.
Language is also a way to look at our future. If we wish, it could be a future of justice, equality and peace for all.
Telling stories is one function language has in our lives. Language is vital in preserving our histories and identities. Through the use of language we tell stories about who we are and what we are here for.
I am reminded of one song my family sang around the kitchen table my auntie was using to make Kubi Neyie (a Palestinian dish using raw mince as its main ingredient). The beginning of one of its verses roughly goes like this: “And we went to Al-Manshyie to eat Kubi Neyie… (for those of you with knowledge of the Palestinian accent of Arabic, there is a rhyme going on between Al- Manshyie and Kubi Neyie).
I recently discovered that Al –Manshyie is actually a name of two villages destroyed and abandoned during the Palestinian Nakbe in 1948. It is common, in Palestine to find two or more towns, often in different parts of the country, with the same name.
This discovery reminded me of the powerful role traditional songs play in peoples’ lives. Words, in songs, can revive the memories of those erased places and displaced people. The song represents the facts that decent people lived in this land. They worked hard to live decent lives, and there were times when they visited each other to celebrate and eat local delicacies.
The other day I was listening to Reem Banna, a Palestinian singer from Nazareth, who sings songs written by local poets including her own mother, Zuhaira Sabbagh. The words written in a poetic language, full of local imagery, smells of flowers and emotion.
These songs made me think of the power language has in this world, and what it means to me. What it means to a person like me who speaks three languages. My mother tongue, my oppressor’s tongue and a third language that belongs to previous oppressors.
I have a love - hate relationship with my oppressor’s language, and at the moment I am in the middle of one of my love phases. I have just finished one novel, and already started the next one. I like the sound of it and its richness, which are in many ways similar to my own language. They both come from the Semitic family.
Using Hebrew, for me, is meeting the oppressor and befriending her/ him. Through her/ his language I can tell her/ him my story and listen to hers/ his. I can learn my acquaintance’s past and present. I can learn about her/ his likes and dislikes and how we could coexist forever.
We can learn how similar we are to each other, but dissimilar in many other ways. A book I am reading at the moment tells a story of people who were made to feel like exiles in their homeland, just like my family who in the 1940’s survived a war that made them an oppressed minority in their own country.
The book was written in Hebrew by an Israeli writer with Iraqi origins, Sammy Michael. The Main Character is Nouri an Iraqi Jewish boy who lived in Baghdad in the 1940’s. Nouri was the name of the boy in my first Arabic schoolbook when I was 7. Nouri, the Arab, lived in Yaffa.
Palm Trees in the Storm tells us the story of a minority who, at the start of the novel, lived happily among the dominant culture. You can hardly tell, from the novel, the difference between the Jewish and the Arabic names.
The Jewish minority progressively began feeling intimated by the Arabic Muslim majority who, according to the book, supported the Nazi’s in Germany. I don’t know much about modern Iraqi history, as we were not taught modern Arabic history at school. Another sign of attempts to erase our history and identities.
It looked bad for the Jews in Iraq during that period. A period in which Iraq was used to settle conflicts between bigger powers (Germany and Britain), not very different from the situation in Iraq or Lebanon today.
Nouri’s family were defiant to survive, and they were one of the lucky ones to do so. However, they suffered losses of neighbours, jobs and properties. Let alone the emotional trauma the war left them with. The story ends when an aunt and uncle, together with their baby son, decided to travel to Eretz Yesrael (the Zionist phrase for historic Palestine), where they hoped to be safe and begin a new life in the land of their ancestors.
In Palestine, at that same period, my grandparents were struggling to live in Haifa, as the Jewish militias approached and started expelling the Palestinian residents. My granddad lost his job in the railways, and my grandmother lost her 13-year-old brother in an attack on a bus.
They decided to move to Nazareth were they started a new life after many losses and after becoming an oppressed minority. They did not have Eretz Yesrael to go to, where they were given all the benefits from the newly formed Israeli government. A government that gives housing benefits, citizenship and many other incentives for all those Jews who wish to ‘ascend’ - The word used to signify a higher better place for the Jews – to Israel.
While Palestinian refugees are banned from their right of return (that a UN resolution gave them). In their own homeland, my family is banned from many jobs. They are banned from acquiring land that belongs to the state (most of it is destroyed villages). My family also bares the emotional and social burdens of isolation, oppression and identifying with the oppressor.
My grandparents, at that time, and until the 60’s were banned from travelling to visit relatives in nearby towns unless they have a special permit. Of course, I am not blaming Nouri’s family or any Jew who suffered in his or her own country and looked for a better place to live in. I believe that all people have the right to live safely anywhere they wish to live. Even Palestine, if all of those who were displaced return, should be a refuge for all: Jews, Arabs and others.
What I am doing here, is pointing out to the importance of language to me. Through the words of this novel, I was able to know some of my oppressors’ stories. The words made me empathise and identify with them. The novel made me realise how similar we are to each other, but also it made me realise that our destinies were different.
This is my personal experience of language, or more accurately, languages. But it comes from a long world tradition of using language to tell about everyday realities, and create reality to help us bear this world, which at times can get too much.
I note the works of Kafka, to Darwish, to Elias Khoury, and musicians such the likes of L. Cohen and M. Khalifie. Yes and Mike Skinner, together with all the decent musicians and writers in the West. Those who use language and tell stories that are true, but not necessary real.
Perhaps, I am trying to tell you that I will be attempting to do just this in by blog. I want to use language to relieve my pain and, in my own way, create my own reality and make the world a better place to live in.
This sounds like an idealistic, and perhaps, unrealistic fantasy, but it makes me hope for a better future. I will let this fantasy stay in my thoughts and help it evolve on it’s own pace.
Language is not only an evidence of the past. It makes me live in the here and now. Through language I can name my present emotions and thoughts. In words I can describe my inner and outer experiences. In words I can live the moment and become more aware of my own truth, that is not always possible or real.
Language is also a way to look at our future. If we wish, it could be a future of justice, equality and peace for all.
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