I have decided, after much contemplation, to change the location of this blog! I apologize for the inconvenience, but I am hoping that the new site will allow me some more flexibility. It is also a popular site among friends of mine, so using it will enable me to more easily follow their blogs and hopefully allow them to follow mine with greater ease as well, which could ultimately lead to more followers for me. In other words, all the cool kids are doing it, so I'm gonna do it too.
Please continue to follow my story at-
http://purposeofthemoon.tumblr.com/
Thank you all for sticking with me this far! Hope to see you at my new home very soon!
Saturday, June 11, 2011
more from Nabi Saleh
another article by Joseph Dana, Israeli-American writer, who was in Nabi Saleh for the demonstration yesterday -
http://josephdana.com/2011/05/the-weight-of-jewish-nationalism-in-nabi-saleh/
Joseph Dana is one of the +972 bloggers we met on our trip!
http://josephdana.com/2011/05/the-weight-of-jewish-nationalism-in-nabi-saleh/
Joseph Dana is one of the +972 bloggers we met on our trip!
Here three representatives from the +972 bloggers discuss their site- 972mag.com -These writers, reporting from the ground in Israel, post articles discussing the conflict in English in hopes to spread broader awareness to English-speaking lands (that means you, America...)
Friday, June 10, 2011
Nabi Saleh photos and links
shattered glass in our host's top floor windows. You can see the settlement through the hole.
another view of the broken windows. Behind me (with my camera) there are tables piled with food and people stuffing their mouths and chatting!
check out -
Article on what happened in Nabi Saleh today!
(I think I recognize one of the children pictured in the photos in this article)
resistance kept silent
Today I opened my facebook account to see a long string of videos and status updates from the villages of Nabi Saleh and Bil'in. I suddenly remembered - today is Friday, the day when the people of these villages march together, along with International and Israeli peace activists, in protest of the wall, the settlements, and all symptoms of the occupation which have deteriorated their quality of life and degraded their rights as human beings over the long years. These peaceful demonstrations, including music, chanting, waving flags, and even colorful costumes, are met with tear gas (often fired with deadly projectile strength), rubber bullets, and an invention called "skunk water," which leaves a terrible stench on whomever it touches for days.
It was only about two weeks ago that I visited both these places. Saturday (May 28) we spent the day in Nazareth, touring some ruined villages and hearing how the Palestinian citizens of Israel (yes, there are many) have essentially second-class status. That evening we enjoyed some tropical drinks and music in the courtyard of our stylish Italian-villa-esque hotel. I checked my email briefly via my phone, and found a message from my Dad -
"Lisa - You go to Bil'in tomorrow. Here is what happened at yesterday's demonstration.
I realized I hadn't really prepared myself for what we would encounter the following day, and I suddenly felt the presence of a dark, ominous cloud overlooking our brief gaiety. Looking back, there really wasn't any way I could have prepared. Sunday turned out to be one of the most emotional, heart-stopping days for many of us.
Sunday morning we drove through the Jordan Valley, along the border with Jordan. This territory is technically in the West Bank, but is forbidden to all Palestinian citizens as a "closed military zone." It is deserted, aside from the occasional illegal Bedouin village, all of which are under demolition order. We then drove through breathtakingly beautiful green mountains, winding through, to eventually reach the little town of Nabi Saleh. There we were welcomed into the home of a smiling family. Our bodies gradually filled up their living room couches and floor, as we took in the mouth-watering smells coming from the kitchen and the sights and sounds of the many children running around inside and outside. A young teenage boy made his way around the room with little cups of very strong coffee. Meanwhile a woman robed in turquoise translated for her husband? (I can't remember the exact relationships among the people who spoke to us). He began to tell us things that made us gasp and brought tears to our eyes.
The villagers of Nabi Saleh hold weekly demonstrations in opposition to the Israeli settlement of Halamish. This settlement was illegally established on land belonging to Nabi Saleh back in 1977. Since then the settlement has continued to expand, seize more land and even precious water sources from Nabi Saleh, and the settlers have harassed villagers who have tried to work their land.
Once a week the residents of Nabi Saleh (with some international and Israeli friends) parade down their streets, waving flags, chanting and singing together. They are usually almost immediately met by soldiers in full riot gear. Soldiers fire tear gas into the crowd, sometimes even directly into their homes. We found out that the young man who had brought us our coffee had many months ago been standing near a window in his house, when a tear gas projectile, launched from 300 meters away, catapulted through the window, bounced off a wall, and went directly into his leg, shattering his bone. Pins had to be inserted into his leg to put it back together again. He was at the time a freshman in college and an avid soccer player. He looked bashful in the face of our many expressions of sympathy and his relatives' praise of his bravery.
We were late in arriving to Nabi Saleh and so had not been able to eat lunch on the road, as originally planned. One of our leaders called the family before we arrived asking if there was a nearby place where we could grab a quick falafel. They would not hear of this. After our hour-long meeting, they ushered us upstairs to the attic, where we found five tables piled high with large dishes of rice, chicken, hummus, vegetables, various pickles, cabbage, and bread. We were instructed to help ourselves to what was probably the best meal of our entire journey, and we did so very enthusiastically! All the while they kept apologizing to us, saying "We wish you had given us more advance notice. This is nothing! We wish we could offer you more." This was one of our first introductions to Palestinian hospitality and generosity!
During the meal we looked around at the windows of the attic, almost all of which were shattered from the many times tear gas had been launched into the house. Sometimes this occurs when only young children are inside. The soldiers will prevent the adults from rushing inside to help their children, and those who try, even the women, will be arrested or beaten. Children ages 10 and older can also be arrested, for as simple an act as waving the Palestinian flag. When arrested these children are treated in the same manner as the adult prisoners. We were told frightening stories of soldiers coming into people's homes at night to take the names and photographs of all children in the house above the age of 10. A woman mentioned that a few years ago they had hired some psychologists to help with the children, and as it turned out the psychologists had to hire their own psychologists to help them deal with what they were hearing from these children.
All these children know of Israel is its military and its settlers. That is all they have seen of Israel. That is all Israel allows them to see. To them Israel is just the place that sends its army into their streets and their homes to fire tear gas at their friends and families. To them Israel is the place that protects the people who come to settle illegally on their family's land. To them Israel is the place that prevents them from defending themselves against those who mean them and their fathers harm. It is the place that prevents their mothers from rushing into the house to rescue them when the house is tear-gassed.
How might it affect a child to grow up in this environment? How might it affect his opinion of Israel? Does Israel protect itself by treating those whom it occupies in this way? Is this really all being done for the sake of security? Does this behavior, this treatment really encourage these children, or anyone for that matter, to recognize Israel as a sovereign state? as a democratic nation?
(later that day, we traveled to Bil'in.....more on that in a future entry!)
It was only about two weeks ago that I visited both these places. Saturday (May 28) we spent the day in Nazareth, touring some ruined villages and hearing how the Palestinian citizens of Israel (yes, there are many) have essentially second-class status. That evening we enjoyed some tropical drinks and music in the courtyard of our stylish Italian-villa-esque hotel. I checked my email briefly via my phone, and found a message from my Dad -
"Lisa - You go to Bil'in tomorrow. Here is what happened at yesterday's demonstration.
Today in the weekly march in Bil'in organized by the Popular Committee Against the Wall with the participation of US student delegation of American universities , one young men were injured, and dozens of people suffered from the effects of tear gas fired by Israeli soldiers. Dozens of Palestinians were joined by international and Israeli activists, The march began in the center of the village after Friday prayers. In the area above the wall, demonstrators raised the Palestinian flag, and pictures of the imprisoned Fatah leader Marwan Barghouti. Participants chanted nationalist slogans in favor of the right of return, and slogans calling for an end the occupation .
At the eastern gate of the wall, Israeli soldiers fired a shower of tear gas;; they also sprayed 'stink' water, water treated with a chemical that gives it a foul smell that can't be removed from people's clothes. Among those injured were Ibrahim Bornat, 28, who was hit by a tear gas canister in the eye and shoulder , had to be treated by ambulance and then transferred to the medical compound in Ramallah .
The soldiers also fired tear gas into the olive groves, with the purpose of setting fire to them. Fortunately, the people of Bil'in were able to put out the fire.
I realized I hadn't really prepared myself for what we would encounter the following day, and I suddenly felt the presence of a dark, ominous cloud overlooking our brief gaiety. Looking back, there really wasn't any way I could have prepared. Sunday turned out to be one of the most emotional, heart-stopping days for many of us.
Sunday morning we drove through the Jordan Valley, along the border with Jordan. This territory is technically in the West Bank, but is forbidden to all Palestinian citizens as a "closed military zone." It is deserted, aside from the occasional illegal Bedouin village, all of which are under demolition order. We then drove through breathtakingly beautiful green mountains, winding through, to eventually reach the little town of Nabi Saleh. There we were welcomed into the home of a smiling family. Our bodies gradually filled up their living room couches and floor, as we took in the mouth-watering smells coming from the kitchen and the sights and sounds of the many children running around inside and outside. A young teenage boy made his way around the room with little cups of very strong coffee. Meanwhile a woman robed in turquoise translated for her husband? (I can't remember the exact relationships among the people who spoke to us). He began to tell us things that made us gasp and brought tears to our eyes.
The villagers of Nabi Saleh hold weekly demonstrations in opposition to the Israeli settlement of Halamish. This settlement was illegally established on land belonging to Nabi Saleh back in 1977. Since then the settlement has continued to expand, seize more land and even precious water sources from Nabi Saleh, and the settlers have harassed villagers who have tried to work their land.
Once a week the residents of Nabi Saleh (with some international and Israeli friends) parade down their streets, waving flags, chanting and singing together. They are usually almost immediately met by soldiers in full riot gear. Soldiers fire tear gas into the crowd, sometimes even directly into their homes. We found out that the young man who had brought us our coffee had many months ago been standing near a window in his house, when a tear gas projectile, launched from 300 meters away, catapulted through the window, bounced off a wall, and went directly into his leg, shattering his bone. Pins had to be inserted into his leg to put it back together again. He was at the time a freshman in college and an avid soccer player. He looked bashful in the face of our many expressions of sympathy and his relatives' praise of his bravery.
We were late in arriving to Nabi Saleh and so had not been able to eat lunch on the road, as originally planned. One of our leaders called the family before we arrived asking if there was a nearby place where we could grab a quick falafel. They would not hear of this. After our hour-long meeting, they ushered us upstairs to the attic, where we found five tables piled high with large dishes of rice, chicken, hummus, vegetables, various pickles, cabbage, and bread. We were instructed to help ourselves to what was probably the best meal of our entire journey, and we did so very enthusiastically! All the while they kept apologizing to us, saying "We wish you had given us more advance notice. This is nothing! We wish we could offer you more." This was one of our first introductions to Palestinian hospitality and generosity!
During the meal we looked around at the windows of the attic, almost all of which were shattered from the many times tear gas had been launched into the house. Sometimes this occurs when only young children are inside. The soldiers will prevent the adults from rushing inside to help their children, and those who try, even the women, will be arrested or beaten. Children ages 10 and older can also be arrested, for as simple an act as waving the Palestinian flag. When arrested these children are treated in the same manner as the adult prisoners. We were told frightening stories of soldiers coming into people's homes at night to take the names and photographs of all children in the house above the age of 10. A woman mentioned that a few years ago they had hired some psychologists to help with the children, and as it turned out the psychologists had to hire their own psychologists to help them deal with what they were hearing from these children.
All these children know of Israel is its military and its settlers. That is all they have seen of Israel. That is all Israel allows them to see. To them Israel is just the place that sends its army into their streets and their homes to fire tear gas at their friends and families. To them Israel is the place that protects the people who come to settle illegally on their family's land. To them Israel is the place that prevents them from defending themselves against those who mean them and their fathers harm. It is the place that prevents their mothers from rushing into the house to rescue them when the house is tear-gassed.
How might it affect a child to grow up in this environment? How might it affect his opinion of Israel? Does Israel protect itself by treating those whom it occupies in this way? Is this really all being done for the sake of security? Does this behavior, this treatment really encourage these children, or anyone for that matter, to recognize Israel as a sovereign state? as a democratic nation?
(later that day, we traveled to Bil'in.....more on that in a future entry!)
Thursday, June 9, 2011
O little town of Bethlehem
One of the first stops on our trip was a place with a very familiar name - Bethlehem. If you were raised Christian, like me, or even if you weren't, you probably know this city as the birthplace of Jesus. But what probably isn't as widely known is that Bethlehem is a Palestinian city in the West Bank, separated from Israel by the wall. Driving about ten minutes from Jerusalem, it was fairly easy for our tour bus to go to and from this city, in spite of the obstacles that would normally delay or prevent Palestinians from traveling between the two. In order to get into Bethlehem one has to pass through the wall, which means going through a checkpoint. We were told that an Israeli soldier would possibly come onto our bus and check our passports, but our first time we sailed right through.
In this photo you can see Bethlehem on the other side of the wall. On our side is some beautiful, fertile land. This picture is actually a pretty clear representation of how the wall functions to annex territory to Israel. That fertile land we see actually belongs to people on the other side of the wall, the Bethlehem side of the wall, but they are now prevented from accessing it and working it. Under Israeli law, the so-called "law of present absence," if the land is unworked by its owner for a period of three years the land can be confiscated by the government. Thus, by physically placing a wall between a Palestinian person and his land, Israel has effectively seized that land for itself. Bethlehem is most certainly not the only place where this is happening. It's happening everywhere in the West Bank.
After crossing the checkpoint we drove into the city. Along the way we were told how only about 13% of the land Bethlehem actually belongs to Palestinians (meaning they can build on it). On a nearby hilltop we could see an Israeli settlement Har Homa, towering above. Water in the region is scarce, and Bethlehem residents have access to water only once a week. They must keep their week's supply in a cistern (you see these on rooftops all over the place) and monitor use carefully. We were told due to the anticipated dryness ahead they will soon only have access to water once a month. The settlers of Har Homa, however have access to water continuously and pay four times less money for it than the residents of Bethlehem. Water, we have learned, is one of the major resources often limited to Palestinians. If you had access to water only once a week, how might that affect your quality of life? If you had access to water only once a week due to Israel's restriction of that water, and meanwhile your Israeli neighbor (illegally settled on your land) had continuous access to water, how might that affect your opinion of Israel?
One of my favorite meetings of the entire trip was at the Holy Land Trust in Bethlehem. The home of this modest organization is wallpapered with quotes from Gandhi, Martin Luther King, and the Dalai Lama, to name a few. Here they are trying, through a commitment to nonviolence, to empower Palestinian people and connect them through community outreach and various programs. Here Sami Awad told us his personal story. His grandparents and parents lived in Jerusalem, among Muslims, Christians, and Jews, at the time of the 1948 war, a time when many Palestinians were forced off the land, either by threats, violence, or other manipulations. His grandfather, wanting to send a message of peace, went up to the roof of their home to raise a white flag. He was shot by a sniper of the Jewish militia.
In spite of this tragic death, Sami's grandmother stood steadfast in her resolve that the family should not turn to violence or vengeance, "not even against the one soldier who shot her husband." The children had to be sent off to orphanages, and Sami's father was adopted by an American couple. Later marrying a woman from Gaza, Sami's father moved to Bethlehem. Sami grew up there, surrounded by a family committed to nonviolent resistance. His uncle Mubarak Awad during the first intifada actively organized various events of civil disobedience.
As Sami told us some of the nonviolent means of resistance they had used, I realized just how beautiful nonviolence can be. The brilliant thing about nonviolence is it absolutely clarifies who the aggressor is in the conflict. At times it can even make the aggressor seem comical, highlighting just how ridiculous we humans are to have these barriers between us and these senseless battles over (I'm still not sure what). Sami told us how the whole town would plan to go up on their roofs and make noise (any kind of noise) all at the same time on one day. When daylight savings time rolled around they decided not to change their clocks. They would "free an hour of their time" and thus create their own time zone within their own city. Suddenly soldiers were running around checking people's wristwatches. Either the person would change the watch under the soldier's supervision and then change it back once around the corner, or he would refuse to do so and would be arrested - arrested for having his watch set to the wrong time. Ridiculous. But that's the thing about nonviolent resistance. It's actually even more threatening to the oppressor than violence. It has the ability to expose the truth.
Sami's uncle Mubarak was deported for his stirring up trouble without violence, but Sami has remained in Bethlehem. His calm, gentle manner, even in the face of adversity, was so inspiring. As he told tales of all these protests ultimately being squashed by the military, or kept under forced secrecy from our media, I was amazed that he still remains committed to these means. Like his grandmother, he still believes in loving his fellow men and not seeking retribution against his enemies. At the end of his talk he even expressed pity for the very soldiers who have made his and his family's lives so difficult.
The thing about Sami is that he is not an exception to the rule here in Palestine. He is the rule. We met so many people who echoed his sentiments exactly. Over and over again I have heard the people express faith in nonviolent resistance, hope for future justice and equality, and an unbelievable sympathy for the very people oppressing them. Why are these voices never heard in America? Why do we never see these faces?
In this photo you can see Bethlehem on the other side of the wall. On our side is some beautiful, fertile land. This picture is actually a pretty clear representation of how the wall functions to annex territory to Israel. That fertile land we see actually belongs to people on the other side of the wall, the Bethlehem side of the wall, but they are now prevented from accessing it and working it. Under Israeli law, the so-called "law of present absence," if the land is unworked by its owner for a period of three years the land can be confiscated by the government. Thus, by physically placing a wall between a Palestinian person and his land, Israel has effectively seized that land for itself. Bethlehem is most certainly not the only place where this is happening. It's happening everywhere in the West Bank.
After crossing the checkpoint we drove into the city. Along the way we were told how only about 13% of the land Bethlehem actually belongs to Palestinians (meaning they can build on it). On a nearby hilltop we could see an Israeli settlement Har Homa, towering above. Water in the region is scarce, and Bethlehem residents have access to water only once a week. They must keep their week's supply in a cistern (you see these on rooftops all over the place) and monitor use carefully. We were told due to the anticipated dryness ahead they will soon only have access to water once a month. The settlers of Har Homa, however have access to water continuously and pay four times less money for it than the residents of Bethlehem. Water, we have learned, is one of the major resources often limited to Palestinians. If you had access to water only once a week, how might that affect your quality of life? If you had access to water only once a week due to Israel's restriction of that water, and meanwhile your Israeli neighbor (illegally settled on your land) had continuous access to water, how might that affect your opinion of Israel?
One of my favorite meetings of the entire trip was at the Holy Land Trust in Bethlehem. The home of this modest organization is wallpapered with quotes from Gandhi, Martin Luther King, and the Dalai Lama, to name a few. Here they are trying, through a commitment to nonviolence, to empower Palestinian people and connect them through community outreach and various programs. Here Sami Awad told us his personal story. His grandparents and parents lived in Jerusalem, among Muslims, Christians, and Jews, at the time of the 1948 war, a time when many Palestinians were forced off the land, either by threats, violence, or other manipulations. His grandfather, wanting to send a message of peace, went up to the roof of their home to raise a white flag. He was shot by a sniper of the Jewish militia.
In spite of this tragic death, Sami's grandmother stood steadfast in her resolve that the family should not turn to violence or vengeance, "not even against the one soldier who shot her husband." The children had to be sent off to orphanages, and Sami's father was adopted by an American couple. Later marrying a woman from Gaza, Sami's father moved to Bethlehem. Sami grew up there, surrounded by a family committed to nonviolent resistance. His uncle Mubarak Awad during the first intifada actively organized various events of civil disobedience.
As Sami told us some of the nonviolent means of resistance they had used, I realized just how beautiful nonviolence can be. The brilliant thing about nonviolence is it absolutely clarifies who the aggressor is in the conflict. At times it can even make the aggressor seem comical, highlighting just how ridiculous we humans are to have these barriers between us and these senseless battles over (I'm still not sure what). Sami told us how the whole town would plan to go up on their roofs and make noise (any kind of noise) all at the same time on one day. When daylight savings time rolled around they decided not to change their clocks. They would "free an hour of their time" and thus create their own time zone within their own city. Suddenly soldiers were running around checking people's wristwatches. Either the person would change the watch under the soldier's supervision and then change it back once around the corner, or he would refuse to do so and would be arrested - arrested for having his watch set to the wrong time. Ridiculous. But that's the thing about nonviolent resistance. It's actually even more threatening to the oppressor than violence. It has the ability to expose the truth.
Sami's uncle Mubarak was deported for his stirring up trouble without violence, but Sami has remained in Bethlehem. His calm, gentle manner, even in the face of adversity, was so inspiring. As he told tales of all these protests ultimately being squashed by the military, or kept under forced secrecy from our media, I was amazed that he still remains committed to these means. Like his grandmother, he still believes in loving his fellow men and not seeking retribution against his enemies. At the end of his talk he even expressed pity for the very soldiers who have made his and his family's lives so difficult.
The thing about Sami is that he is not an exception to the rule here in Palestine. He is the rule. We met so many people who echoed his sentiments exactly. Over and over again I have heard the people express faith in nonviolent resistance, hope for future justice and equality, and an unbelievable sympathy for the very people oppressing them. Why are these voices never heard in America? Why do we never see these faces?
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
violence vs nonviolence
A little over two weeks ago my group of travel companions met for the very first time in Washington, DC. There we had a day and a half of orientation, which included some introductions, some necessary preparation for what was to come, and some discussions and activities designed to get us thinking about the complicated issues we might encounter on our trip. One activity I remember in particular addressed the topic of violence and nonviolence. Most of us probably think of ourselves as nonviolent people, or at least we tend to operate under the assumption that violence = bad, nonviolence = good. This activity put those assumptions under the microscope. The room was divided in half, with a line running down the center of the floor. One side of the room was labeled "violence" and the other "nonviolence." When a certain scenario was described to us we had to each choose whether the actions being described were violent or nonviolent, and pick our side of the room accordingly. We could be as far away or as close to that line as we wanted to, or even be right on the line if we chose. The way in which one positioned oneself would indicate to what degree one believed the described scene was violent or nonviolent.
Very soon it became evident just how different people's definitions of "violence" and "nonviolence" tend to be. For some scenarios we had people spread all the way across the room! I soon realized that people's decisions were very much tied into their feelings of whether the use of violence was justified or not. One situation I remember particularly dividing people was - "You see a man attacking a woman on the street. You run over and forcibly pull the man away from her." Violence or nonviolence? I believe my particular decision in this case was to stand right on the line. I, like many in the room, was torn between the knowledge that forcibly pulling someone was a violent action and my understanding that use of that violent action would be justified given the circumstance. As discussion unfolded, with the room being starkly divided, about half on the side of nonviolence and the other half on the side of violence, I realized that defining an action as "violent" does not necessarily mean that that action is unjustified or for that matter justified. But it's amazing how inseparably the two are linked in our minds, so much that we can actually persuade ourselves that a violent action is nonviolent if we feel it is deserved. That's potentially a very dangerous thing.
I feel our world operates under some very strange assumptions. For some reason violence, when used by the military, in the name of defense of our country (or some other country we like), is excused, even championed. Soldiers arm themselves and become heroes. Violent acts performed under the guise of war are excused as a necessary evil. But for some reason when a group of people react to an oppressive government with violence, we look down upon them. We shake our heads and say, "If only they would use non-violence, just like Gandhi and Martin Luther King Jr would have wanted." Why don't we shake our heads and make this statement about the governments of the world more often?
Now I don't mean to imply that nonviolence is wrong. On the contrary, I think nonviolence is the most amazing and beautiful form of resistance imaginable. Honestly I'd prefer the world be as nonviolent a place as possible. But I don't think the majority of us in America actually understand the amount of strength and courage it takes to use nonviolent resistance. On my trip I met people dealing with such extreme levels of oppression that I was continuously amazed at their ability to react nonviolently and believe in the power of nonviolent resistance. Even though I am not a violent person I had to ask myself many times, "If I were in their place, would I be able to act with such restraint?" The sad thing is here in America we never see this side of Palestinian resistance. The portrait of Palestinians painted for us by our media is one of irrational violence. Through our media's (and government's) lens we see people who we don't understand. That is the very problem - we don't understand. And we are never shown the things that we actually need to see in order to make us understand. We are also never shown the extent to which these people do use nonviolence (far and away more than we could ever comprehend). Why that is I really have no idea, but I hope to tell a few stories in coming entries of things that I saw which completely changed my understanding of what it means to nonviolently resist and just how often such resistance is used.
Very soon it became evident just how different people's definitions of "violence" and "nonviolence" tend to be. For some scenarios we had people spread all the way across the room! I soon realized that people's decisions were very much tied into their feelings of whether the use of violence was justified or not. One situation I remember particularly dividing people was - "You see a man attacking a woman on the street. You run over and forcibly pull the man away from her." Violence or nonviolence? I believe my particular decision in this case was to stand right on the line. I, like many in the room, was torn between the knowledge that forcibly pulling someone was a violent action and my understanding that use of that violent action would be justified given the circumstance. As discussion unfolded, with the room being starkly divided, about half on the side of nonviolence and the other half on the side of violence, I realized that defining an action as "violent" does not necessarily mean that that action is unjustified or for that matter justified. But it's amazing how inseparably the two are linked in our minds, so much that we can actually persuade ourselves that a violent action is nonviolent if we feel it is deserved. That's potentially a very dangerous thing.
I feel our world operates under some very strange assumptions. For some reason violence, when used by the military, in the name of defense of our country (or some other country we like), is excused, even championed. Soldiers arm themselves and become heroes. Violent acts performed under the guise of war are excused as a necessary evil. But for some reason when a group of people react to an oppressive government with violence, we look down upon them. We shake our heads and say, "If only they would use non-violence, just like Gandhi and Martin Luther King Jr would have wanted." Why don't we shake our heads and make this statement about the governments of the world more often?
Now I don't mean to imply that nonviolence is wrong. On the contrary, I think nonviolence is the most amazing and beautiful form of resistance imaginable. Honestly I'd prefer the world be as nonviolent a place as possible. But I don't think the majority of us in America actually understand the amount of strength and courage it takes to use nonviolent resistance. On my trip I met people dealing with such extreme levels of oppression that I was continuously amazed at their ability to react nonviolently and believe in the power of nonviolent resistance. Even though I am not a violent person I had to ask myself many times, "If I were in their place, would I be able to act with such restraint?" The sad thing is here in America we never see this side of Palestinian resistance. The portrait of Palestinians painted for us by our media is one of irrational violence. Through our media's (and government's) lens we see people who we don't understand. That is the very problem - we don't understand. And we are never shown the things that we actually need to see in order to make us understand. We are also never shown the extent to which these people do use nonviolence (far and away more than we could ever comprehend). Why that is I really have no idea, but I hope to tell a few stories in coming entries of things that I saw which completely changed my understanding of what it means to nonviolently resist and just how often such resistance is used.
Monday, June 6, 2011
looking back, and ahead
I have now been back in the United States for a few days, but my head is still spinning, pulsing, throbbing, and reeling with all that I learned and experienced in Israel and Palestine. I plan to continue writing about everything that moved and changed me over the course of the next few weeks. I feel a sense of urgency to write it all down before the memories fade and become more and more jumbled and unfocused with time. However, I also feel compelled to take my time and try to process everything in as calm a state as possible. There is a lot to process.
Since returning to the states I feel like I am in mild a state of shock. I thought it would feel great to return to my comfortable nest in Boston, the city I love above all others. Everything looks the same as it did when I left. But I am not the same. I don't quite know how to reinsert myself back into my own world, now that my view of the world as a whole has been so drastically shaken.
When I decided to go on this trip I knew that it would jerk me out of my comfort zone, challenge me, and most likely change my perspective on the world around me. It did all of that and more. I remember the night before the group flew off to Tel Aviv I wrote a blog entry in which I pondered the popular belief that this whole conflict is an ongoing family feud. I wondered whether I would find the situation to be black and white or whether the whole thing would be grey. To be honest, I think I was expecting to find a lot of grey and not much black and white. It's in my nature to assume grey before anything else. I can't help it. But somewhere around the midpoint of the trip I suddenly realized that as many strange grey areas as there are within and surrounding this conflict, the big picture is astonishingly black and white. As much as I had wanted to find grey areas that could be excused by humanity's complexity and clumsy navigation of our own evolution, what I found was instead inexcusable. This is not a family feud. This is a military occupation of one group of people by another group of people. Calling this or thinking of this conflict as a family feud implies that both sides are equal. They are not equal.
I feel I must make my realization plain so that you, readers, are prepared for a change in my tone as I continue with this blog. I plan to write as much as I can about everything I saw and experienced that led me to this conclusion. Come along with me if you like! There is much to say!
Since returning to the states I feel like I am in mild a state of shock. I thought it would feel great to return to my comfortable nest in Boston, the city I love above all others. Everything looks the same as it did when I left. But I am not the same. I don't quite know how to reinsert myself back into my own world, now that my view of the world as a whole has been so drastically shaken.
When I decided to go on this trip I knew that it would jerk me out of my comfort zone, challenge me, and most likely change my perspective on the world around me. It did all of that and more. I remember the night before the group flew off to Tel Aviv I wrote a blog entry in which I pondered the popular belief that this whole conflict is an ongoing family feud. I wondered whether I would find the situation to be black and white or whether the whole thing would be grey. To be honest, I think I was expecting to find a lot of grey and not much black and white. It's in my nature to assume grey before anything else. I can't help it. But somewhere around the midpoint of the trip I suddenly realized that as many strange grey areas as there are within and surrounding this conflict, the big picture is astonishingly black and white. As much as I had wanted to find grey areas that could be excused by humanity's complexity and clumsy navigation of our own evolution, what I found was instead inexcusable. This is not a family feud. This is a military occupation of one group of people by another group of people. Calling this or thinking of this conflict as a family feud implies that both sides are equal. They are not equal.
I feel I must make my realization plain so that you, readers, are prepared for a change in my tone as I continue with this blog. I plan to write as much as I can about everything I saw and experienced that led me to this conclusion. Come along with me if you like! There is much to say!
graffiti on a wall in Bil'in, the artist Naji al-Ali created the child character Handala, a representation of a child refugee who is present in all of his artwork. He can often make an appearance when you least expect it!
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