A Futile Protest?

A Futile Protest?

In a small town just outside of Ramallah, international tourists, protesters and several local Palestinians gather for a weekly engagement with the IDF soldiers who guard the road leading into Israel. Following afternoon prayers, the Palestinians gather, along with the visitors and press and walk towards the checkpoint to engage in this dance, complete with tear gas, rubber bullets and rock throwing. International protesters place themselves between the soldiers and the Palestinians, with the belief that the IDF would not fire upon them due to the passports they possess.

Over the past several years, Israel has been consuming the rural landscape which is the livelihood of many of the Palestinians living in Bil’in. While the legitimacy of any protest can be questioned on many levels, the core reasons for engaging in this protest seem justifiable, if one faced the prospect of losing their livelihood due to occupation. (I apologize for the lack of research on this point, but here’s a link to more information about Bil’in: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bil%27in)

Curious to see this event and its role within the broader context of this conflict, my colleague and I decided to witness firsthand the protests and the interaction between the IDF, international demonstrators and Palestinian protesters.

What lies beneath the surface of this weekly event reflects the banality and absurdity that civil disobedience and peaceful protests can produce when the message is muddled by outside ‘revolutionaries,’ the media and some thrill seeking tourists. Sadly, this revelation is not surprising but to actually see the events unfold and the media’s role in the process is appalling and somewhat deplorable.

After our cab dropped us at the guest house which was the temporary home to these Friday protesters, I and my colleague walked to the protest site and waited quietly under a tree for the crowd to approach. A group of photographers arrived first, complete with helmets, vests and gas masks. Their helmets had the letters AP taped to them (Associated Press) and they had the word PRESS on the back of their vests. I couldn’t help but think that such an outfit might come in handy in about ten minutes.

As the protesters approached, I began to shoot from one side of this small group, trying to get a feel for the amount of people and identify the heart of the scene. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw several people dressed in pink clown suits complete with costume makeup. I paused for a moment to process the presence of clowns.

The press hovered about the group and once they reached the barbed wire, I crossed the line onto the Israeli side to shoot with the other photographers. I slowly began to distance myself from the group, knowing that at any minute canisters of tear gas would be shot towards the crowd. As I walked towards the filmmakers and the soldiers, I noticed that the main “director” of the film crew was sending his cameraman towards the soldiers when they were clearly yelling at them not to come any further. The “director” continued to yell at the soldiers and checked to make sure his crew was in position.

As I tried to digest this reality and still create distance, the sounds of canisters being shot into the air drowned the yelling protesters. I found a nice little rock wall blocked from the wind and the soldiers and watched this dance from a close vantage point. The clowns kept walking up the street and the soldiers kept shooting canisters at them. Laughter rang out from the IDF positions, and I can not say that I blame the soldiers. One clown received a canister to the rear end, which created quite a bit of laughter from the soldiers, some of whom documented the event with their camcorders and cell phones . Several of the international protesters, with point and shoot cameras in hand, continued approaching the post where the soldiers were standing and shouted silly phrases of peace and cursed the soldiers, only to have a tear gassed response.

Beyond the ridiculous nature of clowns and “tourists” shouting at soldiers with teargas; what I found quite amazing during this time was the behavior of the press. I use the term press loosely; several AP photographers, some local shooters, some filmmakers, bloggers and the brother of a famous writer with a digital point and shoot. Several of the Palestinians remained close to the barbed wire and the photographers would stand next to them and wait for the gas to be shot. Often times, some of the photographers provoked the soldiers to shoot the gas canisters and approached the point where clearly they would be fired upon and waved for the protesters to approach as well.

While waiting for a gas cloud to pass, I heard a cell phone ringing nearby; and the protester actually answered it. In a calm voice, amidst a cloud of tear gas, the protester told the caller that he was at a demonstration, now was not a good time to talk and that he would have to call them back soon.

Afterwards, several protesters gathered the canisters and more photo opportunities were available for the press. Off to the side of the protest, just below the heart of the village, several young kids began throwing stones at the soldiers and the IDF engaged with more tear canisters and rubber bullets. The international protesters ran to the hills to participate in this engagement while the remaining participants made their way back to the guest house.

At this point, the real tragedy of this dance presented itself. After witnessing the behavior of the adults, these young children with slingshots began to aim for the soldiers. In theory, international protesters are supposed to provide a physical barrier between the Palestinians and the IDF, yet as soon as the rubber bullets began to fly, the international protesters cowered behind a wall as the young children continued to throw stones and receive rubber bullets. A Palestinian man yelled “welcome” to the international protesters and they ran over the hills to watch this part of the demonstration. Having seen enough, I walked back to find my colleague and digest the events I witnessed.

What are these young children learning from this event? Each week they watch the process unfold and they participate in ways that could cause them serious harm. There have to be better methods of protest, better means of conveying a message, better ways to conduct an effective act of civil disobedience that does not end in harmful fumes and rubber bullets.

Outside the falafel stand, people swapped stories of near misses, shared photos and laughed about their involvement while eating ice cream and having refreshments. The ‘documentary filmmaker’ bragged about their footage, gloated about starting the revolution in Kashmir and then asked who was heading back to Tel Aviv for drinks?

While driving back to Ramallah with several very kind and informed protesters, I raised the perspective that the presence of clowns (members of an NGO who uses clowns in demonstrations to show the soldiers that the violence is comical or unnecessary) degrades and demeans the movement of the Palestinian people. While this weekly protest, in my opinion, seems to have little positive effect and influence on the conflict, the fact that people are dressed as clowns gives the impression that the cause itself is something for amusement. The people in the car had never viewed their presence in that manner before.

Left behind was a town filled with Palestinians who have to live the side effects of occupation every day. Every Friday, their children have to breathe the gas fumes from these interactions and they watch tourists and demonstrators fulfill some personal need to feel engaged in the Palestinian movement. The press arrives and provokes an escalation- either through their presence alone, or deliberately as the filmmaker demonstrated- the mass media picks up a few photos of angry protesters and people watching the news gain incorrect perceptions of the reality that exists in the West Bank.

Most journalists wage a constant struggle with the ethical ramifications of their presence in the situations they document. At what point does my presence effect the situation and at what point does my presence introduce an element of falsity? Would this child be throwing stones and provoking soldiers to respond with bullets if my camera was not documenting the process? Am I misleading the news consumer by selecting the ‘intense emotional’ moments of a weekly protest and placing them into the mass media for consumption; while leaving out the clown with the point and shoot camera and the Japanese teenager eating ice cream after he’s gathered the gas canisters for the Palestinians to place in front of the camera for a perfectly emotional photo opportunity?

At what point do the peace protests and demonstrations become completely futile? The ease of showing up every Friday, getting gassed, taking some snapshots, yelling slogans of peace and provoking IDF soldiers seems to be a simple escape from becoming engaged in a diplomatic peace process. Seeking an education and work experience in conflict resolution; working on diplomatic levels to enact a broader level of change for a country or for individual people; documenting the actual issues in a manner that has a purpose and is framed in the context of reality are all methods for those seeking solutions to truly be engaged with the peace process. Some people at these protests have genuine intentions and are engaged in the process on a level that will promote a viable outcome on some level; but I must question the motivations from most, not all, of the people I interacted with on that day.

If you’re interested, you can see this demonstration on you tube, clowns and all! Mom, it is not as bad as it looks.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=dwRu9YOBe28

A Different Perspective

This series of photos were taken at a demonstration in Bil'in, Palestine on Friday, August 17, 2007. This entry is tied to the previous post, Filtering the News and I will present the event to you using two different filters.

The Black and White series is my edit for the event if I were a staff photographer or freelancer sent to cover the event with the premise that my editor needs emotional images of a demonstration in the West Bank. The color series shows a more rounded perspective, my actual interpretation of the events that unfolded. My point is obvious, and the pictures are nothing to write home about, but it will give you a perspective not normally seen in a 'news event.'

While the need to voice their opposition against Israeli occupation is justified, the purpose of this weekly planned demonstration has accomplished little documented progress towards a peaceful resolution of the conflict in this region.

I have written more regarding the actual event in the post a 'Futile Protest?'


A protester from Bil'in, Palestine walks towards an Israeli roadblock to voice his dissent on the occupation of the land surrounding Bil'in.



Protesters reach the roadblock preventing them from entering the Israeli portion of the land. International protesters will place themselves between Palestinian demonstrators and IDF soldiers to prevent the harm of the locals.

Once the barrier is breached, IDF soldiers will begin to disperse the unarmed protesters using rubber bullets, tear gas and sound grenades.


A local Bil'in resident holds empty teargas canisters and shouts at the cameras in Arabic regarding his beliefs of the Israeli occupation of his homeland.




Now for a more rounded view of the events.

Filtering the News

Filtering the News

While walking back from a day of sightseeing in the Old City of Jerusalem, I bumped into a friend on the street and he asked if I had heard about the shooting in the Old City today.

My first callous thought- I missed the news again! And I spent all afternoon in the Old City, how did I miss something of such significance! My mind immediately jumped to a scenario repeated often on the nightly news; a scene of protests, clashes between soldiers and rebels with waves flying high and angry shouts filling the air; and my inadequacies as a budding news professional began to sink in.

My friend stated that someone shot an IDF soldier and there was a gun battle and the soldiers killed the gunman after injuring lots of tourists. According to my source, Jerusalem remained free of shooting deaths for the past three years. The details at this point are vague and the scope of the incident was unclear. After hearing additional word of mouth versions, I went to the internet to seek some facts.

The BBC was running the story on the front page, stating that an Arab gunman had shot an IDF soldier and several tourists were injured in the crossfire as the soldiers shot the gunman. Eye-witness accounts stated that the soldiers continued to shoot the gunman after he was on the ground and they did not see any weapons. I then went to Al-Jazeera English to read the version with the Middle Eastern filter and the story was quite similar. The site stated that the gunman was likely Palestinian and the Old City was currently shut down as soldiers went door to door trying to identify the gunman. Finally, I searched the New York Times to check the American filter on the story. Buried within the World section was the headline, “Terrorist attacks soldier in Jerusalem,” or something similar. Terrorist? What caused the Times to make such a conclusion? The article stated the same assertion that the ‘terrorist’ was Arab and lacked identification. They also stated that the IDF placed the body in a bag and spray painted the word ‘terrorist’ in Hebrew.

My fellow travelers, young and full of curiosity, decided it would be a great idea to head to the Old City and see if we could find the story. So, we headed out into the night to seek some version of the truth.

The first group of young Palestinian men knew a scant amount of details but stated that the gunman was not local. We headed towards the Holy Church of the Sepulchre, and my colleague spotted one lonely store with a sliver of light leaking from the door. She asked the man if he knew anything about the shooting or where it happened.

“Yes, it happened right there,” he pointed to just outside his door. The man’s children were playing in front of the store when it happened. He described how the gunman grabbed the gun from the soldier’s belt and then shot the soldier in the shoulder. He explained how he and his son helped some of the wounded and stated that he had seen the gunman walking around the Old City in the past month looking for work. When asked if he was Arab, the eye witness said no, and claimed he was Russian.

Well, we were late for the story, again, but we did find an interesting interpretation of the event that was not available in the mainstream media. So, the question that must be asked is how do we know what’s the truth and what is one person’s questionable interpretation? Why are there three different interpretations of this event and why is the identity assumed to be Arab? Was the eye witness wrong or was the media wrong? Did the media get their information from Israeli sources only? Or were people afraid or unwilling to offer eye-witness accounts?
Caption: A toy gun rests on the steps of a shop, close to the sight of an attack on an Israeli soldier in the Old City of Jerusalem.

What is even more fascinating is to see how the story entered the media cycle. I often follow stories throughout the media circus trying to guess who will spin the story in what manner and to achieve what agenda. I am unsure why I do this; curiosity, dismay with the media system, an attempt at understanding the system a little better, who knows? So, I was not shocked to see the New York Times emphasize the terrorist aspect and see the more balanced coverage of the BBC and Al Jazeera. What was somewhat surprising was to see the headlined changed from terrorist to gunman in the NYT the next day, after the initial misinterpretation had been presented to the news consumer.

The fact remains that the truth was not conveyed and the story is free for interpretation or manipulation. The next morning, my friend who first spoke of the story stated that both Hammas and Fathah are claiming that the act was carried out by their soldiers.

What do we believe? Should we not demand that our news sources do the public and the story justice through accurate reporting free from predetermined filters of interpretation from the journalist or the editor? Or is that simply too much to ask of today’s media rushing to fulfill a 24 hour news cycle? Staying informed in our society takes a multitude of time and effort; every story must be traced through several outlets, its sources questioned and its outlet analyzed for its corporate and political affiliations. And even then, the truth must be questioned. We base policies and our perceptions of the world we live in according to the information that our media presents us, and unfortunately, as a whole, we expend minute amounts of energy and commit little diligence to this news that we consume. Should we not devote more diligence to following the events of our world (on any level-local, state, national and international) and demand better of the people presenting the world to us?

Al Gore recently wrote about such issues in his book, Assault on Reason. He makes a very valid point that I often return to when I analyze the content of the media and its presentation to the public. A democracy needs an informed electorate to function properly. And if our outside perception of the world is framed and presented to us after circulating through the current filtration system of the mass media, how can we make informed assessment of the issues our politicians are basing policy upon? How can we make a balanced and educated decision to further our democracy if our sources of information and reflections of the outside world are false or misleading interpretations of events?

And as journalists, we must always remember that the way present the news can affect the way individuals in society perceive the world and the role within the world. So we had better be careful in how we cover the news and in how we present the news. And we must strive to get the story right!

Two Days Late...

Two Days Late…

The flow of information in Jerusalem is somewhat slow and censored, generated mostly from word of mouth. At times, I feel as though I’m staying in a small bubble, and engaging in the outside world is an effort. So when news of Jewish settlers being forcibly removed from the homes they were illegally occupying in Hebron hit the Times and the BBC, I figured we should make an effort to seek some breaking news. One note, western media is seven hours behind my current reality- a point that seems obvious, but not so for this ‘journalist.’

While sitting on a packed local bus with people smoking and yelling into cell phones, I think to myself there is a reason that journalists have expense accounts, translators and drivers. Oh, what luxuries! After an hour long trip, we hop off the bus while stuck in traffic and head off to the market to find our news. We meet a local Arab shop owner who graciously volunteers to act as our guide. Weaving our way through the bustling old Arab market of Hebron, we enter yet another Israeli check point. After passing the first checkpoint, we make our way to another gate with an armed guard and our gracious guide says he can go no farther. Arabs are not allowed entry into certain streets and neighborhoods, despite the fact that Arabs have lived in Hebron for hundreds, even thousands of years.

We walk the empty streets and ask people where the house is located; some look at us as though we have three heads, others tell us to be careful because of the IDF guards and the large number of journalists. Arabs were forced to abandon the buildings and homes they owned in this area when the IDF blocked the streets; yet the Jewish settlers have no legal right to be in these dwellings. Blocks of homes and shops sit empty and abandoned, giving Hebron the feel of a modern day ghost town.

A Quiet Anger

An IDF soldier is standing watch outside the homes which two days ago were plastered about the news as though a major pullout of the West Banks had begun. Two small, two story homes adjoined by one wall look as though their guts have been ripped out in haste just moments before we arrived. Inside the first home, bottles of shampoo sit open on the sink, the windows are missing, a child’s drawing decorates the hallway and two holes speckle the wall in the room adjacent to the other home. Peering through the holes I can see the damage done to the other home where soldiers knocked down the door to reach the settlers. The holes were created to reach the settlers who had built a pillbox to barricade themselves within on the other side of the wall.

The soldier then takes us to the other home and we see the pillbox. He explains how the squatters built the box, filled much of it with cement and fashioned a large metal pipe to receive oxygen. The box is quite small, and off to the side there is a tiny entry hole. The soldier then states that the squatters had taken a baby into the box with them to participate in their protest. Such a statement takes a moment to digest. Who in there right mind would build a tiny wooden box, fill it with cement, use a 10 inch diameter metal pipe for air in order to hide from heavily armed soldiers and then bring an infant into the box as well? What would possess someone to do such a thing? Particularly in a home which is not owned by them and which an Israeli court ordered the Jewish settlers to vacate.

I notice a number of settlers stopping by the site of the extraction to view the carnage of the home. I wonder what is going through their minds. I can see the dismay and the anger on their faces. To them the IDF committed a crime against their own people and the squatters had a right to the home and the land because of some divine reasoning and due to various creative assertions of property rights. As I look through the holes from the other home, I notice a young Jewish boy looking at the pillbox and I can see the look of curiosity turn to a quiet anger as his elders talk about the situation. The boy can not be much older than ten and his impression of the Jewish right to this Arab land is being cemented in his mind. Misunderstandings and misinterpretations are being formulated as he stares at a box where his neighbors barricaded themselves to make a stand against the IDF and the property rights of these buildings.

Stoned Soldiers

After lunch we decide to visit Abraham’s tomb. Christians, Jews and Muslims all refer to Abraham as a major part of their religious beliefs and the relevance is not lost on the security measures. There is an extensive check point to enter; passports or Palestinian papers, statements of religious affiliation and the justification of camera equipment. In 1994, a Jewish man opened fire on the Arab side of the tomb, killing 29 Arabs and wounding over one hundred. The tomb is now separated by bullet-proof glass and the extensive security is understandable, to a point.

My entry to the mosque and tomb is denied due to my cameras, so I wait for my friends just outside the guard stand. Every five minutes or so, some young boy with a large AK-47 asks why I am standing there and I point to the other soldiers and say ask him. My patience for these soldiers is at a low-point and watching American tax money being pissed away so a cocky 21 year-old soldier can harass me about my cameras and flirt with me as he denies my entry into a tomb is just beyond my threshold of tolerance. As I wait, I notice the fumes of marijuana coming from nearby, a point my friend made repeatedly every time we passed this spot. Confirmation that these soldiers were getting stoned came a few minutes later as my friend talked with one of the soldiers and he could tell the soldier was wasted. (College students have an astute ability to make such assertions).

Our guide takes us around the city pointing out the locations where Arab families recently left and Jewish settlers moved into empty homes. The streets are empty except for the IDF trucks and police cars, stores are locked and kids wave at us from barred windows over the empty stores. Our guide takes us close to a major Jewish settlement but states he can go no further. He warns of guards and electric fences that can kill you when touched. We thank him and tell him we hope to see him soon.

You Want a Rose from Me?

As we are walking up the street towards the settlement, a man working outside his home asks if we would like to join him for coffee. Another man walks up at the same time, and invites himself in as well. We tell them we are journalism students and want to ask some questions about living in Hebron as a Palestinian. Our host’s home is beautiful, large spacious rooms filled with marble and ornate furniture and the rooms echo with the sounds of kids running throughout the halls. We enter a living room and our host’s son serves the best Arabic coffee I have tasted on this journey. One of the men is eager to practice his English and answers our questions with passion and emotion.

(His story deserves its own entry, so I will elaborate soon about this conversation, but some of his words are relevant to the present topic of discussion.)

“I have many Jewish friends, is good people, when alone. But when dressed as Army, is not person, is without feeling, is without respect,” our visitor emphasizes his words by pressing his finger on the table and lighting his cigarette. He chain smokes as his emotions intensify. “IDF closed the road and take which places they wanted, said [Arabs] killed 4-5 people. Said to the press, they killed our children. Both Arab and Jewish people have children, why destroy the world when one person dies. When Arabs die, they are dogs, is no problem. Why I give you respect? They close everything, say Arabs are terrorists. They kill my wife, kill my father, take my land- and you want rose from me?”

Our friend goes on to explain that only IDF vehicles are allowed on the streets, Arabs have to use donkeys if they want to haul goods. His eyes begin to water and his voice waivers as he speaks of his wife and two children- ages 5 and 7. They live in Haifa, an hour and a half away, and the three of them have Israeli papers, meaning they can travel freely throughout Israel. Our visitor does not have such papers. He is confined to the borders of Hebron and claims the IDF has turned Hebron into a prison. He has not seen his family in three months and each time he goes to the IDF to get permission to visit Haifa, they deny him the proper paperwork. I feel a pang of guilt when I realize that Haifa is one of the locations I hoped to visit before leaving Israel and I am free to visit when I please.

We eventually make our way to the bus station, which is located inside a large and beautiful Jewish settlement. The guard asks us our religion and looks at our passports and asks if we know any Arabic. He then pulls aside my colleague; she was born in Pakistan but has an American passport. After five minutes of notifying everyone within range of his radio that a Muslim was stepping through the gates, he allowed us to enter. A car filled with soldiers slowly followed us to the bus stop, making several loops around the block to see that we were not straying from our declared path of travel.

Adopt a Soldier

Later that evening, our fellow travelers that separated for lunch show us some literature they gathered at the pizza shop in the Jewish section of Hebron. An “adopt-a-soldier” placemat asks patrons to offer their support of the soldiers who keep them safe by donating $15 to buy them lunch. I can not help but think that a stoned soldier came up with a method to cure his case of the munchies and asked the store owner to create the program. Several fliers state the justification to the property rights of Hebron for the Jewish stem from the fact that Abraham purchased this land over 3400 years ago at “fair market value.” What exactly is the fair market value during that time period; two chickens, a goat and several camels?

The flier also complains that the separation of the tomb after 1994 is unfair because it gives the Arab side more space and better scenery, yet fails to mention the reason for the division in the first place. A multitude of mis-staments and falsities were stated throughout the fliers and I can not help but think of all the people who have read this literature and believed it. For if words are printed and if the paper has the guise of professionalism, people tend to believe the words are true.

A Distant Hope

I can only hope that people actually seek to verify what they read. I can only hope that visitors to Hebron and Israel can see the disparity between the two populations living here and the strain that living with such a separation causes for both populations. I can only hope that the mass media will stop playing with peoples lives and manipulating reality to create a perception of terrorists lurking in the shadows waiting to kill you while you are safe within the walls of your home. I can only hope that the media will begin to tell all sides of a story, to tell the side that people don’t want to hear, and stop using these people to promote the political agendas of our leaders.

When I see the human cost of our political agendas in the face of a man separated from his family or in the hunched shoulders of a young man who can not cross the road because he is Arab or I see the look of quiet anger on the face of young Jewish boy who is formulating an ingrained perception of his neighbor; I harbor little hope for the current paths of society. I do hold hope that one day, the powers that control the media and our leadership will be discarded by people who will demand better for their world. People who will demand that citizens of countries in distant lands will cease to be used as pawns for someone else’s agenda; people who will demand that their tax dollars be used to fund American inner city schools and health care for every US citizen and not have their money fund the oppression and destruction of citizens in other countries. People who will demand that their leadership use their power to benefit the greater good, not the minority of corporate leadership using politics to reap society of its natural resources and strip people of their dignity and identity. I harbor a hope that one day people will seek to control their destiny once again, as the founders of America once did, but the more I witness throughout the world, the more distant that hope becomes.

The Love of a Mother

The Love of a Mother

Tucked away on the Mount of Olives lives Ibrahim. His home is open to anyone, for any reason. He embraces travelers, spiritual pilgrims, volunteers, students (and a multitude of stray cats) regardless of their race, religion or nationality. This is my home for the next two weeks.

My housemates vary each day but their stories are nothing short of fascinating. Currently, this dwelling is home to a French gardener, a nun, two French travelers, one British peacemaker, a Belgian volunteer and ten college students from the United States (5 of whom are fellow Tar heels). Ibrahim believes that no one should want for food or shelter and spends many hours cooking for all his house guests. Large batches of rice and lentils, hummus and pita, pasta and potatoes decorate the large table which occupies much of the kitchen and the guests eat in small packs. We gather around to share stories, debate politics and listen to Ibrahim tell stories of traveling the world to spread his message of peace.

He works with religious and spiritual leaders from all religions and they gather often to work towards mending the divide that grows each day within the borders of Israel/Palestine.

His approach is simple.

‘If the money used to make walls and wars were given to the people in need, there would be no more fighting. If I have food and I don’t have to make work, I’m happy, I won’t fight you; what would we fight about? Why should one man make one million in a day when another man makes less than a dollar?’

Some may argue the economics and simplicity of this approach towards world peace, but at its roots, the theory makes a good deal of sense. If a man can provide for his family and has the ability to do so without interference from an occupying force or his own government, there remains little reason to fight. When young men are given a chance at a hopeful future and are allowed to engage in productive activities and are given a purpose and a means to support themselves, they have little reason to bear arms and engage in violence to achieve what they believe is a viable future.

Starve the youth of their future, force a man to watch his family face famine, separate a community with walls and check points, dehumanize the identity of a citizen in their homeland, withhold the ability to seek knowledge, deny the freedom of speech and dialogue and you will see violence, you will see conflict and you will see bloodshed.

Mother’s will see their children die for the glimmer of hope that a revolution may provide. Families will watch their loved ones die violently because a community is filled with hatred and misunderstanding. Children will be orphaned because the leaders of another country want to possess and control a resource within their lands. Wives will bury their husbands because their government wants to gain a profit from the military machine.

Ibrahim points to the younger listeners at the dinner table, ‘So it is up to you, the young people, to change these things. To stop this war, to stop the violence. It is up to the mothers to stand up to their leaders and say ‘don’t send my child so far away from me. Don’t send my son to a distant land to die.’ Soldiers should protect borders of countries; they should not go far away to a land where they do not know the language or the people and fight. It’s up to you, the young people, the mothers.’

And yes, it is up to us. We will carry the burden of correcting the faults of our leadership. The dangerous foreign policies that our governments implement will be ours to repair and we will have to answer for the pain and suffering our governments are causing throughout the world. And maybe it is time for the women of the world to stand up and say stop killing our children. Maybe the women of the world do bear the burden of repairing the damage done by the powerful men of leadership. For, as my host pointed out, every man has a connection to a women, they see them as their mother, as the nurturer as the one that provided both life and love.

Is it possible that the strong men of power can be reached through the gentle yet reinforcing hand of the mother?

From the Church of the Holy Sepulchre

The Dome

The Dome of the Rock as seen from the top of the Mount of Olives.

A nun conducts her prayers at the site of Jesus' Tomb at the church of the Holy Sepulchre on Sunday evening. Her ritual was interrupted by a tourist who stopped to ask her a question.

Prayer at the Tomb

A Saturday evening service at the church of the Holy Sepulchre the old city of Jerusalem.

Crossing

Crossings

Leaving Jordan by land takes a large amount of creativity and luck. Our cab driver arrived at 7:30 am in a friend’s personal car because cabs are not allowed to approach the border of Jordan and Israel.

“Please don’t let the police see you handing money to me. That would not be good,” our cad driver says with a smile. He is wearing a Yankees cap and speaks fondly of Kansas, having spent several years in the state.

In order to cross into Israel from Jordan, we have to exit Jordan with stamps and x-ray checks of our baggage. We then board a charter bus which takes us across the Jordan River into Israel, about a mile altogether. The difference is stark and intense. Large amounts of barbed wire decorate any fence or wall. Young soldiers with large weapons and a maze of check points and barriers force the bus to weave a path towards the border station. Our driver leans out his window at every stop and yells to his fellow drivers in search of tea or Pepsi.

At the Border

A mass of people swarm in front of the first obstacle to enter Israel, handing passports and bags to Israeli soldiers. All luggage must be checked and enters the border crossing separate from its owner. People are then herded into a building through a system quite similar to airport security in the United States; X-ray machines, metal detectors and passport checks. Following the scans, we push our way into a “booth” which shoots jets of air all over your body to create a sort of image that searches for hidden weaponry, as if anything explosive would make it this far. Our photo is also taken at this point for posterity or merely to sit in a database on a hard drive for many years to come. An hour later, the true experience of crossing into Israel begins.

Crossing at the King Hussein Bridge is illegal for Israelis, forcing the Palestinians and Arab nationals to cross at this point. Around ten percent of the people entering are foreign visitors, leaving one to think that this part of the process shall be quick and painless. Not so, as we stand for almost 2 hours waiting to speak with the border agent, who might be 18 but looks as though she should be scooping ice cream on a boardwalk in New Jersey and not wearing a uniform that barely fits her tiny frame. We each rehearse our stories so as not to raise suspicion, forcing us to think we are committing a crime and lying to cover our tracks. We are merely going to see Jerusalem and try to conduct a photojournalism project that will show what living within Jerusalem is really like, yet any mention of a Palestinian territory, Ramallah, Bethlehem, East Jerusalem or anyone with the name Ibrahim or Mohammed would be an intstant red flag causing interrogation by a twenty-something soldier bearing multiple arms and holding the power of entry in his hands. An amazing way to utilize my American tax dollars.

My travel partner’s have recently visited Syria, causing the guard to flag their passports and keep the sacred documents in a tiny office for another 2-3 hours. For what purpose is not known, my assumption after observing the process for 7 hours, is to merely create a sense of power over people and further inflame tensions of those living and visiting Israel. The more difficult the entry, the less likely people are to return. Many of those crossing are visiting Palestinian family members living as refugees in Jordan. The right of return is not granted to thousands of these refugees, so their family must suffer through such humiliation and difficulties in order to visit.

Security or Dehumanization?

What does this process mean, what are its ramifications for the people living through this on a daily basis? It provides security, you may say. The Israelis are keeping their people safe, you might argue. What I witnessed was not security. An 18-year old asking me to fill out a form she hand wrote minutes before stating where I am traveling to and to whom I am visiting is not security. Asking my grandfather’s name is not security. Asking for my cell phone number in the United States and email address is not security. Making a man who just underwent open heart surgery stand in line for 5 hours is not security. Separating families and loved ones for hours of humiliating interrogation is not security. Watching people leave the interrogation room in tears, bewildered and lost, searching for their loved ones waiting on the other side of the checkpoint is not security.

It’s a means of creating a second class citizen. It is one more method of dehumanizing a population whose homeland is occupied and whose presence is no longer desired. When an elderly Palestinian woman has to argue with a teenager sucking on a lollipop and cursing her with immense disrespect in order to enter her homeland something is not right, something is profoundly incorrect. That woman is old enough to have witnessed the creation of Israel, the death of thousands and numerous wars over the land she calls home.

I look at the office where the soldiers take a break from their duties. The young girls flirt with their older superiors, gossiping and carrying on in ways that are universal to their age. It’s a scene played out in every fast food restaurant and retail shop around the world; young adults flirting with their peers and experiencing the first tastes of adulthood. The only difference is that they are soldiers. Their uniforms bear the flags of their country, not the golden arches of their employers. They carry automatic weapons, not spatulas. These young adults make decisions that effect peoples lives and the perceptions of their identity; they do not decide if you get packets of ketchup or mustard in your order. These soldiers have no choice; they must serve their country for a certain period of time when they reach adulthood. What effect does this service have upon their outlook on life, on the role of their country in the Middle East and in the world? What does this service do to their identity and their view of the role they play in the world?

These soldiers learn power and elitism at a young age. For some, their positions give them a power that is intoxicating, a position that gives them a sense of purpose to their country and an immediate distaste and distrust of people who are of another race and religion. Such a process instills the belief that, as an Israeli they are superior to the people they are allowing to enter the country. While not every soldier embodies this assessment, you can see the implications in their interactions with the people around them, in how they treat people with a disregard and indifference.

I’ve entered several Middle Eastern countries and developing countries that also bear the burden of securing their people in an unstable environment with violent tendencies. Yet I have never witnessed such a process. Such an attack on identity made be an entire demographic of young people who should be experiencing adulthood, not further inflaming tensions in a country slowly drowning in conflict and hatred.

Sorry to end on a cliché but, I guess we are not in Kansas anymore.

A Little Housekeeping...

Hello from Jerusalem,

I apologize for the gap in entries, but finding an accessible internet connection has been a little challenge.

My intention was to keep the postings short, but I'm finding that these issues can not be addressed or even briefly touched upon without words, so I will try to use subheadings throughout the larger columns to make them easier to digest. And please feel free to leave comments!

Thanks for the patience and enjoy!

Main street in Madaba

Election posters decorate a wall surrounding the St. George's Church in Madaba, Jordan. Election day was marred by demonstrations and small riots with troops from Amman entering the small town of Madaba to restore order. Many tourists and locals refused to enter the streets during the election.

We are all Citizens

We are all Citizens

After a day of sightseeing, my new Jordanian friend invited me into her home for coffee and a traditional lunch. The den was a welcome change from the hotel and possessed the personal touches which make a dwelling a home. Pictures of family decorate the tabletops, paintings occupy the wall and treasures passed about from generation to generation and carefully placed throughout the home.

While sharing coffee my host’s sister, who lives in the Gulf and her nieces stopped over to say hello. Her husband, a local doctor, also came home for a long lunch break. The young daughters speak perfect English and luckily for me, prefer to communicate in this language. My host’s sister also speaks perfect English, yet she, my host and her brother-in-law communicate in Arabic intertwined with the occasional English phrase. The doctor prefers to speak only in Arabic

The den was alive with various dialects, laughter, sharing of You Tube video clips on cell phones, questions of each other’s homelands and comparisons of fashion trends between countries.

“We are all citizens,” says the doctor with a chuckle. I glance about the room and each person here carries a US passport and has such a diverse and interesting story of living in the States. At that moment, the true value of my American passport hits me. Such a simple document has broadened the lives of every person in the room, including myself. I am often reminded of this as I enter a country and have no problems obtaining a Visa and never receive a second glance.

The next day I visit my friend again and her best friend joins us for coffee. She is a second generation Palestinian refugee whose parents fled the 1947 conflict into Jordan and are not able to return to their homeland. Traveling to Israel for her family is difficult and due to her refugee status, she has no passport of any kind. She has applied for Visas to enter her homeland to visit her sister but the 2 hour journey is not a possibility as Israel will not allow her to return. Nor will the United States permit her to enter for a visit.

She shrugs and smiles, “I’d just like to go see my sister, she lives just over there,” and she points towards Israel. I feel a pang of guilt for leaving tomorrow for Jerusalem. “But she comes to see me, so it is OK.”

Those living in exile face this problem often, no papers, no passport and no country to issue the necessary papers to travel freely. I met many Tibetans living in India last summer who have little opportunity, short of marrying a western tourist to explore the world as they also have no passport.

As Americans we should embrace our abilities to travel, to obtain a passport with some simple paperwork, to step on a plane and land in a foreign country. If only for a few days, we should see the world which so many are denied access to because they were born in a certain country or were forced to flee their homeland. Ours is a luxury that is afforded to few and we should utilize this gift to its fullest.

Mt Nebo, Jordan

A Stone

A Stone…

After visiting some ancient ruins from the dawn of documented history, my friend and I drove throughout the hills surrounding Madaba. The vast openness reminds me of the Badlands in South Dakota, but the signs showing the baptism sight of Jesus and the spot where Moses saw the promise land quickly indicate the history of this landscape.

A boy picks up a stone as our car drives by and acts as though he’s going to throw the rock at his friend. He sees us approaching, turns to us and pulls his arm back. I see the stone; it’s large and would do quite a bit of damage. I hold my breath, curiously wondering if he will actually throw it. As time slowed and I quickly assessed the situation the boy seemed to make eye contact and calculate the same assessment. He pulls back and my heart races as I wonder what would happen if he did it, if he just let that stone fly at our windshield. He stops at the last minute and laughs at his friend. I ask my Jordanian friend with the Chicago accent what would have happened if he had thrown the stone at us.

“I would have kicked his ass.” Though she said it with a quick laugh, I have no doubt that she would have done just that, done a quick 180 degree turn and hunted that boy down.

Where does the violence stem from? At what point does the action of causing destruction become inherent? We have all participated in some degree of violence during our lifetime, even mimicking the larger acts of war. I remember spending hours playing war games in the woods behind my church as a child. At church! At what point does a society embrace violence as a means of problem solving and at what age does a child distinguish between the playful act of throwing a stone at his friend and hurling a rock at the windshield of a speeding vehicle? What elements within that child’s environment cause him to act violently towards the presence of strangers? Is he taught by his elders; does he mimic the images seen on television; is violence emphasized during his religious interactions and education? Are the violent tendencies merely the ramifications of living in a certain type of environment, with little opportunity of advancement for a sustainable future?

I pondered these questions as we drove through the Muslim villages outside Madaba and into the Christian sections of the town. For centuries man has resorted to violent acts in the name of his god. Can religious communities continue to coexist in this era of emerging fundamentalism? Or will nationalism remain a stronger tie than religion to help keep peace between such differing religious communities? I will continue to revisit this theme throughout the project, as I search for a deeper understanding of the elements which make this ability to coexist possible, or not. I do not expect to find answers, merely a better understanding.