These Days to Come: The Eclipse at Midday

 For those of you following my blog about my time spent in Palestine, I’m afraid I can only apologise. Unfortunately, the content was monitored by DfID (the Department for International Development), and they were not best pleased to read about my trip to Hebron. The idea that Israeli soldiers may actually point guns at British citizens on the scheme was unconscionable; and so they contacted the organisation with whom I had been placed, who in turn contacted the country director in Palestine. He then asked my manager to make me remove the post and stop writing about my time there under my own name. Censorship.

I was forced to comply. Otherwise I may have been kicked off the scheme and would not have been able to experience fully the situation in the region. I could have written under a pseudonym, yet this seemed cowardly: Why should I have to become a shadow to express what I think, or to convey what I had seen? After all, I am a human being, and if the state of Israel or the British government feel threatened by what I have to say, they should perhaps consider their priorities.

Stopping the posts therefore seemed the only reasonable thing to do.

As I am back in the UK now, I will post about my time in Palestine over the next few weeks.

I have also being avoiding Twitter due to the same reasons, however, now I feel I may as well return.

Once again, my apologies.

These Days to Come: Children of Abraham

Travelling out of Ramallah via serveece we headed south towards Jerusalem and onto Hebron. The huge barrier still a blot on the landscape of the ancient land.

Hebron is the place that probably stuck out most in my mind when I came to Palestine. Just a few weeks before three people had been killed and others injured in clashes between the IDF and Palestinians and I was aware that it was a hotspot for trouble with Israeli settlers, given that they had annexed housing in the centre of the old city and a large part of the Ibrahimi Mosque - an important holy site to both Jews and Muslims.

The serveece took just under an hour to reach Hebron and I felt fairly apprehensive. This said however,  I found the city to be modern and full of thriving businesses. Our wonderful guide, a student called Karma, took us to an advertising agency where we ate some local shawarma and listened in to a meeting for a university event for a Palestinian mobile phone company (my Arabic being non-existent, this was a challenge and no information was gleaned).

As the meeting progressed, we decided to go for a wander around the Old City, leaving our guide . The streets leading down to the Old Souk were bustling with life as market traders tried to flog their wares; children rushing by with old shopping trolleys; and three out-of-place Westerners.

As we approached the Old City the life began to fade. The guard towers overlooking a compound were the first indicator of what we were about experience, their menacing presence and constant gaze over the local Palestinian population made me feel queasy. Some red-shirted observers - a Christian organisation, I think - were stood to one side, monitoring IDF soldiers standing guard outside the compound. Talking to one of the observers we discovered that the settlers took a walk around the Old City every Saturday, which of course provokes the Palestinians, many of whom have been affected by the displacement.

Moving past at least a dozen heavily armed troops, we made our way in the Old Souk. Many of the market stalls were closed and there was an intense atmosphere, as though everyone was on edge. Looking up, wiring covered all of the areas open to the sun and the missiles regularly thrown at the Palestinians by the settlers. Large chunks of masonry had collected in the wiring as well as nappies, cans and other types of trash.

As we moved along, we met a young man, Sa'ed, who was around my age and took us on to the roof of a family who were being constantly harassed, attacked and firebombed by the settlers after they had refused to move. One of the firebombing attacks had killed two small children and the family lived in constant fear.

I've never had a loaded gun pointed at me before and I can't claim that I am particularly au fait with the correct procedure in such situations. However, one of the rooftop-based IDF soldiers decided to keep the barrel of his gun firmly pointed at me and my companions. Sa'ed pointed out all of the observation towers and explained what had been happening in the area, which I found incredibly difficult to come to terms with.

We left the roof shaken and with a lot on our minds. Why would Israel pay for 3000 troops to defend 500 fanatics? Is the US funding this, and if so why?

Meeting up with Karma and a local friend of hers, Hazem, we proceeded to look around the Ibrahimi Mosque. We passed through a check-point and had our bags searched, one of the female soldiers shouted, "welcome to Israel," which provoked some Palestinians near by to shout "Palestine!" and my friend, Fredi to respond, "I don't think so".

The mosque was beautiful, adorned with intricate patterns and designs. It is said to be the burial place of Abraham, Isaac, Rebecca, Jacob, Sarah and Leah - my eyebrow is thoroughly raised at this idea - and for this reason contended between both Muslims and Jews. Religion poisons everything. Over half of the mosque has been annexed by the settlers, who, as Sa'ed explained, tore down the roof. There are separate entrances for both groups who are divided by a wall, after a massacre of muslims by Baruch Goldstein in 1994.

Leaving the mosque, we moved on to the actual settlement, watched on all sides by Israeli soldiers. The settlement itself reminded me of a ghost town, save for a few children playing. The eerie silence and the number of watching eyes made for a heavy atmosphere. After about five minutes we turned back and moved to leave.

Walking down the street I encountered an Orthodox Jewish man, around his mid-twenties, who asked me where I was from. "Leeds," I responded. "I'm from Manchester, but I've sort of lost the accent." It's a small World, but I was shocked to discover a fellow-Englishman living in a settlement. He asked me about what I thought about the Israel / Palestine situation, but I didn't answer fully, my Palestinian guides were beckoning me over. I was probably more curious about him, than he was of me. At what point did this guy decide to move here? Did he approve of throwing things at Palestinians? Why would he be happy to live in such a troubled area?

My guides led me out of the settlement, still bewildered by the Mancunian settler, and we returned to the serveece station, with a lot of food for thought.

These Days to Come: The Other Side Of The Sun

I often ponder the notion that in a previous life I may have been a house cat. This thought returned to me when, being spectacularly unprepared, I went for a hike near to Jericho.

We arrived at the start point just before midday overlooking a valley. I find it difficult to contemplate how many eyes must have gazed with wonder at the sight: it truly is epic.

An old Bedouin was sitting under some canvas, sheltering from the sun with his camel - the first one I've seen (very tasty meat) - and a young boy arrived on the back of a worn-out donkey (an animal I haven't had the pleasure of eating). Further up a ridge, some traders were hawking their wares, mostly jewellery and bric-a-brac; all I could think about was their curious (perhaps questionable) choice of location, the majority of people visiting the site being Israelis.

Waiting for our guide, a group of (I assume) Israeli civilians showed up. "Nothing unusual there," I thought, until one casually produced an assault rifle. Is this usual? Perhaps I'm too British to understand why an automatic weapon would be appropriate for a day out. Needless to say, I was taken aback by this. I was tempted to ask why they had brought it with them, however this seemed unwise. This said, they approached us to ask about our wellbeing, so it would be disingenuous to characterise them as threatening or aggressive. Another Israeli family showed up, the father (once again, I assume) had what appeared to be a large caliber pistol tucked in the back of his jeans. Speaking to a Palestinian friend later, I discovered that it was not uncommon for Israeli civilians to carry guns.  Ostensibly this is for 'protection', yet I fear that carrying weapons simply increases tension between all civilians.

Once our guide arrived we made a move into the valley. The ancient ruins of barracks provided an almost fantastic scenery, the stonework remembering hundreds of years of conflict. We passed houses belonging to families that had been in the area for many generations, making our way down to the river.

And that's when I found out I was going to get wet: my inner-house cat screamed. The trek took us up river through some rough terrain. I managed to surprise myself through my ability to stay on two feet (despite some wobbles). The hike took us over three hours (I think) and covered around 10 miles (or so it seemed).

Along the way we encountered both Palestinian and Israeli civilians, both seemingly comfortable to share the same watercourse in pursuit of outdoor activities. As we approached the end of our trek, we also came across Palestinian Authority soldiers, a grim reminder of the reality of the power struggle in the region.

Finally we reached the end and at least 10 Palestinians came over to get photos with the intruding Europeans that formed our group. Many kept referring to me as 'Arafat', perhaps mockingly, perhaps as a sign of affection (cynically, I would think it was the former), however, their welcoming smiles were enough to disarm my usual skepticism.

Once the photos were done with, we moved back to the serveece vans and set off the the ancient city of Jericho, which claims to be the oldest city in the World. The streets were dusty and hot, but it reminded me more of Blackpool than anything else; children's beach floats, rubber inflatables, balls and the faded seaside glamour of the Lancastrian town were hard to escape. We had a late lunch and wandered around the town - there had been a football match and many were in good spirits - but our adventure around the ancient town was cut short by our need to return to Ramallah.

These Days to Come: The Golden Dome Behind the Tears

After Qalandiya, the group and I caught the second bus to the the UK FCO Consulate-General in Eastern Jerusalem. 

The compound was large and full of armoured cars (that is, cars plated with armour, as opposed to military vehicles). We were greeted by a political officer and the Vice Consul who explained the work of the UK FCO in Palestine and East Jerusalem, trying to prevent the worst abuses from both sides.

Many questioned the value of the UK trying to intervene in the region and the efficacy of its attempts to bring peace. While I understood their frustration, it seems much worst to simply 'give up'; I maintain the opinion that both the majority of Israelis and Palestinians want for peace and a viable two state solution and foreign intervention and the effects of increasing globalisation, commerce and internationalism are the only way that will bring peace to the region. Simply providing hand-outs, while clearly necessary for day-to-day survival for many Palestinians is not a solution to the underlying issues in the region; the need for viable economic solutions is clear.

After our talk with the FCO, we felt as though we had missed out on visiting East Jerusalem and the Old City and so we decided to visit again the next day. Once again we traveled through Qalandiya, this time by cab and bus on the other side.

Once off the bus we headed straight for the Old City and entered through the Damascus Gate. I was taken aback by the bazaar that filled the city; the sights, sounds and smells overloaded the senses. It was a curious experience to be in this city, the birthplace of the three major monotheistic religions

Damascus Gate

The most conservative elements of the religious groups made an effort to wear their faith on their sleeves, mostly donning totally inappropriate attire for the climate. That is not to say I didn't appreciate the clothing of various sects and denominations, much of it was ornate and beautiful.

The traders were polite yet pushy, trying to hawk their wares. The prices were comparable with any capital city, much of the stuff for sale was tat aimed at gullible tourists - if the shops were anything to go by, the city is populated mostly by camels - as well as the delicious local food. 

We attempted to visit the Dome of the Rock, however entrance to the mosque was only available to muslims, which was a shame. We moved on to the Western Wall of the Second Temple. Witnessing the different groups of Jews was quite an experience. Touching the wall, they stood praying, even as an atheist it was a beautiful sight. 

The best views of the old city were found on the rooftops. The golden dome of the mosque shone brightly amongst the dusty old buildings. Eastern Jerusalem is huge and one could easily get lost among the alleyways and labyrinthine passages. 

We made our way through the streets towards the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, the church was not particularly grand; huddled masses crammed into the church. Inside the ancient architecture and art was amazing, elderly orthodox priests vigilantly protected the most sacred artefacts. Most people crowded around the a large box-like structure where allegedly the Christ had been crucified buried [edit] (I have my reservations).

Moving on we walked through the Armenien quarter towards Zion gate. The impressive walls of the Old City providing shade and a wonderful sight. By this point we had been in the city for around 4 hours and the blazing sun had scorched many faces. We walked by the walls towards Damascus gate in search of food, which we found in the shape of a delicious grill.

By this point it was evening and we had to head back to Ramallah, this time only on one bus - the Israelis don't check traffic leaving towards the West Bank - and finally home. 

These Days to Come: The Shackles of Yesterday

The group caught the number 18 bus from Ramallah bus station towards Jerusalem. Driving through the more affluent areas of the city, the stark contrast between the rich and poor of the city became much more apparent. Citroen showrooms displaying shiny new cars sat next to street vendors and beggars.

Traveling to Jerusalem by bus is a curious process. You have to pay just under half the fare to reach the nearest crossing point, Qalandiya - Israel's division of the oPt (occupied Palestinian territory) is nothing if not a master stroke of divide and rule policy - and then the rest (on a different bus) once you have been through.

Reaching Qalandiya, the signs of occupation become more and more obvious. The monstrous barrier dividing Israel, the West Bank and Jerusalem blots the landscape, yet is not without joy; art and graffiti adorn the wall: perhaps futile resistance, perhaps a grim memorial, perhaps even a sign of unity and hope.

The murals and graffiti prettify the most overt elements of the occupation, but they cannot take away the fact that it is always there.

At Qalandiya we left the bus and made our way to the check point. The cold grey towers and CCTV cameras motoring our moves. A group of white Europeans makes for a conspicuous site at the check point. Moving through into the shade of a concrete building, the daily grind of a Palestinian getting into East Jerusalem and the Old City was obvious. Lines of people herded into long cage-like passages, young and old, especially the old, having to wait in what reminded me of a cramped cell, slowly moving in jerks on the whim of the border guards.

Not being a Hebrew speaker - all instruction is in Hebrew rather than Arabic, I'm sure much to the frustration of the Palestinian people going through - the shouting over the loudhailer meant nothing to me, but as the huddled group moved through the cramped walkway, it was clear what the voice was coming from the woman behind the bulletproof glass. Announcing to everyone in the concrete building her questions towards the people who were presenting their papers.

The symbolism of the checkpoint seems to be more important than its role in the security of Israel. The atmosphere is one of oppression: unfriendly, claustrophobic, you are not wanted.

After five minutes or so, it was my turn (with two others: the system works in threes) to present my passport and visa. The guard glanced at the two documents and waved me through towards the exit gate, passing by a room marked "Further Inspection" and through a turnstile into the outskirts of East Jerusalem.

Once again, I felt as though I hadn't even begun to experience the realities of Palestinian life. The overwhelming atmosphere of Qalandiya had moved and shocked me, but I gained the impression that my pasty-white skin had saved me from the indignations reserved for the Palestinian people.

On the other side, we caught another 18 and paid the rest of the fare, reflecting on these days to come.

These Days to Come: Bright Lights Through The Haze

Having spent the first night in a flat in Ramallah, the next morning I prepared for my volunteer training only to receive a text informing me that the programme manager was ill and the training would have to be postponed until the next day. The group would however would be meeting the programme director and be informed of the general situation. 

The chat with the director was brief yet revealing; the annexation of water resources as a tool to displace Palestinians was particularly shocking. Much (I thought) I already knew, however, my ignorance became apparent upon discovering the vast swathes of oPt (occupied Palestinian territory) that Israel intends to appropriate within its security barrier. 

I can understand why so many people are quick to come to the mindset that Israel as a whole is an aggressor, yet one much acknowledge the difference between the Israeli government, its people and the settlers, something people such as George Galloway seemingly find impossible. That is not to say that any of the internationally criminal activity that the state of Israel is currently engaging in is defensible or that I do not condemn it.

After the talk, the group visited Ramallah proper and experienced the bustling metropolis and its fantastic market. I was surprised by the variety and quantity of the fresh fruit and vegetables. The people were generous and friendly (perhaps because they were trying to hawk their wares, but colour me cynical). I could not help but feel that we were attracting looks of suspicion and, perhaps, unease; children especially stared, and without going all 'Robert Fisk' about it, I could not blame them for their mistrust.

Later that evening we visited another cafe, where flavoured smoke was smoked and Teybeh was drunk; language once again proved an issue (I believe the man serving me was particularly irked). 

The next day began our training. The current situation was once again explained to us and the political motives discussed. Much anti-NGO, anti-west and anti-media sentiment was expressed, which I found fairly troubling and patronising in equal measure; by now I would hope I can differentiate between right and wrong. The talk was however informative, despite being akin to an SWP revisionist take on history and politics.

The issue of Zionism - as dangerous as any form of nationalism in my opinion - was discussed and the right of Israel to exist, which always leaves me a little queasy - as though we would discuss whether the UK or India have the 'right to exist' - and (despite its crimes), the fact that Israel remains the only functioning democracy in the Middle East wasn't mentioned.

The next day was spent discussing security issues and the general 'dos and don'ts' of living in the region. The work I would be doing at the University was also explained - helping students to raise cash for projects, PR, advertising and gaining a presence on the World stage. I am looking forward to taking up my placement and hope that I can, in some small way, make a positive change in someone's life.

Later that day, the group enjoyed the delights of Ramallah once again, buying fresh vegetables from the market and visiting a butcher to buy some fresh chicken for dinner later on. The quality of the produce is very high out here, however, one could easily gain a lot of weight given the local cuisine.

There is still much more that I need to learn about the area, I fear I have only just scratched the surface of the 'Ramallah bubble', the 'real' Palestine remains a mystery yet to be uncovered.

These Days to Come: A New Dawn

After what can only be described as a hellish coach journey to Luton international airport and a five hour flight on board a plane full of small children (many whom were not old enough understand the faux pas to be found in emptying their bowls outside of a toilet on a sealed aircraft), I finally arrived in Tel Aviv.

Ben Gurion airport is modern and, like most other airports, is unwelcoming and intimidating. My natural tendency towards feeling guilty was somewhat heightened as I passed through passport control. The conversation with the border control guard was short and I was allowed through with no problems.

As a group we then boarded a minibus and drove towards Ramallah down an Israeli highway; we drove for 30 minutes or so before turning off onto a side-road.

And that's where a I read a sign:

"Along this road lies a Palestinian village: this area may be dangerous for Israeli civilians."

We drove through an unmanned check-point with the words still in mind.

The road leading to Ramallah was in a poor state; the pot holes provided little distraction however, due to the proclivity of the driver (and ever other driver around Ramallah) to drive at tremendous speeds along narrow single carriageways. The drive could not have taken more than an hour before we arrived at our destination.

The area where we discovered we would be staying is both affluent and incomplete. The houses large, but unfinished. Half-built structures litter the road leading into the city.

We enjoyed some falafel and wandered up to a supermarket before enjoying some of the delightful local Taybeh beer and a hookah pipe or two in a local cafe.  The people were welcoming, but the language barrier was somewhat of a problem. Much of what I had learned was utterly useless, the fact I had only learned a few basic phrases and the fact that almost everything sounds ridiculous in a Leeds accent, while amusing, caused some problems in ordering.

The problems of the region and the sign I had read earlier couldn't have been further from my mind.