The 11th hour

One day i will write about what happened when i reached Ben Gurion on Thursday 2nd August 2007. I'm not trying to be melodramatic but sometimes it's just quite hard to know where to begin when putting your experiences down into words. Until i do, thank you to all of you who supported me during this time and continued to send me messages of solidarity despite the fact that i couldn't receive them. On arriving back in the UK after 7 days of interrogation, imprisonment and immense paranoia (my new best friend), these were the lifelines that enabled me to rejoin the world without feeling like i could never talk to another human being who hadn't experienced Palestine again. I couldn't have done it without you and i hope no one else ever has to.
Saying that, i'd do it all again if i had to. I'd do it all again if it gave, even for one minute, the state of israel an insight into how fundamentally, politically and morally opposed to their occupation, policies and state-terrorism some of the international community actually are. And how far activists from both sides of the conflict and beyond are willing to go in order to show the world that some people, despite every effort, will not be silenced.
For all those i left behind and everyone i didn't have the time or opportunity to meet, you have my undying respect. And despite being told that for me, it's over. I'm nowhere near finished.

Cutting where they least expect it

Last Wednesday, myself, Palestinian, Israeli and other International activists cut a section out of the Annexation Fence near the village of Surif in the Hebron District.

This action was dominated by Internationals and Israelis because there is a shoot-to-kill policy on all Palestinians who approach the Fence. The few Palestinians who did join us are so hardcore they deserve a new word in the dictionary to merit them as such. We wore reflective vests because without wanting to sound melodramatic, Fence cutting is the most dangerous action to participate in. But it's more than important. By sabotaging their efforts to further oppress the Palestinian people, we demonstrate the illegitimacy of the Annexation Wall and the determination of the Palestinian people to not be ghettoized in their own land.

With bolt cutters, clippers and a sledge hammer, our three teams - one to cut the initial razor wire set a few metres back from the Fence, and two others to cut either side of the metal poles (i was cutting along the bottom) were able to cut a significant hole in the Fence; coming and going without being detected.

When completed in this area, the Annexation Fence will cut the nearby village of Al-Jab'a off from Surif and the rest of the West Bank, leaving it in 'no man's land' and surrounded by settlements. There is no room for justice through the usual channels of the israeli Supreme Court of Justice. Without Palestinians coordinating actions like this and utilising the privilege we have as Internationals and Israelis, there would be no outcry. Without actions like this, the Palestinian people would be quietly boxed into their square mile of land, held captive under the guise of free movement, and the rest of the world would be none the wiser. It might be just a symbolic gesture but right now, that means more than you can imagine.

Speeding away, sat cramped up against each other in the van, none of us spoke, but the joy and exhilaration each of us felt passed between us like a secret code. Pulling our scarfs down from around our faces, we smiled at one another and continued in silence, watching the sun set against the hills and their patrol cars race towards the message we'd left behind.

Watch it at: http://www.awalls.org/

The land that time forgot

This place, this occupation, this paradise, has me full of abject despair one minute and euphoria the next. I'd think i was pregnant or menopausal were i quite obviously neither one of those things.
I spent last week living in the heart of the Tel Rumeida settlement in Hebron. I think it's quite safe to say that it's not my favourite place in the world. It might even be more accurate to say i'd rather be savaged by a bear whilst listening to bobby womack than live one more minute in that nightmare disguised as reality.

In 1997, post Oslo Accords (1993), Hebron was divided into two parts. H1 - the Palestinian area and H2 - the israeli settlement. Although no israelis live in H1, there are still Palestinian families in H2, living side by side with the settlers. As you can imagine, the atmosphere is anything but amicable and the situation incredibly tense. In fact, it's more oppressive than i can even begin to articulate.

I arrived early last week and was greeted by Issa, one of the Palestinian ISM coordinators. We walked through the crowded and vibrant H1 to the small, rather make-shift looking checkpoint which divides the two areas. Passing through the metal detector the alarm went off and i stood waiting whilst three soldiers stepped out of their hut to search my bags. I was asked to go through a second time and once more, the alarm sounds. I take my keys, wallet and phone from my pockets and try again. No luck. At this point i wonder how well it'd go down if i asked them to check if their equipment is faulty but on catching sight of their hands, casually resting on the trigger of their guns, i remain silent. Short of stripping, there's nothing more i could take off or out. The soldiers pat me down, ask me to lift my top slightly and on seeing my belt, allow me to pass. This was but a fraction of what was to come.

First we walk down Shuhada Street. It used to be a lively Palestinian shopping area but now, it's deserted.


There are but four families left (from an estimated 200) living in the 'non settler' part. The rest have all been forced out. About 200 metres down the road, we reach the point where the Palestinian part ends and the settler's territory begins. We're not allowed to continue down the road but instead, must turn right and climb the steep steps up into the area where Palestinians are allowed to be.

4,000 steps and a slightly dead j later, we reach Issa's house. Or what's left of it after the soldier's occupied it and used it as a military base. From here we continue left through an olive grove, up more steps (am actually nearing death at this point) and onto a hill top road which overlooks the city. Relieved to see we're taking a route which involves going downhill (although i quickly discover that whilst wearing shoes with no grip, steep-downhill is just as death-inducing as steep-uphill) i cotton on to the fact that we've just walked in a huge circle and wonder why this is. The answer is obvious. Even within the Palestinian area within the illegal settlement area, the settlers control the roads that exist. Instead of taking a short cut from Issa's house to the ISM apartment, we have to go round as the settlers won't allow us to pass their homes.
I joke with Issa that on the plus side i'm going to be fitter than i've ever been by the end of the week but the unsaid truth remains and we both know why i'm making light of the situation.

I enter the ISM apartment and meet a whole range of internationals from countries such as Sweden, Denmark, the US and Canada. I sat with them for a while, smoking aguile and generally having the piss taken out of me for my accent (to which they were all told to kiss my cafe au lait arse) before heading up to Issa's house for a meeting.
The next day, we all took up our posts throughout the settlement, patrolling, monitoring and guarding the areas in which tension is greatest. Since the settlement has existed in Hebron there has not only been tension but countless attacks, abuse and harassment campaigns directed at the Palestinians.
We as internationals also receive a fair share of the abuse and on receiving my first 'fukk yoo' from a 13 year settler child, even though i've been here before, i must admit i was a little shocked. By the third day, i was just happy not to be having rocks thrown at my head.

Each day we would maintain a presence and intervene if necessary and each night i would sleep in, or sometimes outside, Issa's house. After his house was occupied by soldiers, he went to court and only very recently regained the right to live in his own home again. Cause for celebration one would think but no, his friendly neighbourhood settlers had plans of their own. They have been trying to take it for themselves and force Issa out of Tel Rumeida altogether. Almost every night we'd receive a visit from them, either throwing stones at the newly replaced windows or hurling all kinds of abuse at us . If we didn't see the settlers, we'd be graced with a visit from the police (on a bonus night we'd get both), hammering at our door and asking to see our id. Why they needed to see our id so desperately at 2 o'clock in the morning i don't know.
Other times they would come to see if 'we were alright'. Again, why they were so concerned with our safety at 4 in the morning after having stood by and watched settlers say all kinds of things about our mothers, i'm not sure.

I may joke about it but it's only because the thought of letting my true feelings flow out of my heart and into this journal scares me. Tel Rumeida is like an occupation within an occupation. I have never felt so oppressed in my life and i was only there for a week. I could barely breathe with the stench of inequality and malevolence.
I want so very badly for this blog entry to be inspiring, in depth and poignant but in all honesty, i'm tired of giving example after example of the way in which the Palestinians are forced to live and coming up with new ways to make the situation read like something out of a movie script. It's not glamorous. Being here is not exciting. It's exhausting. And i don't know what else i can say that will do justice to what these people have to go through every single day, trapped inside a nightmare whilst their dreams and hopes are forced to remain just that.

Dur dum tschhh

A Palestinian, smoking two cigerettes, walks into a bar and bumps into an old friend of his. After exchanging an embrace his friend asks, 'Hey buddy, why you smoking two cigerettes?'
The Palestinian replies, ' i smoke one because i smoke and one for my brother in prison.'
Five years later, the same Palestinian sees his friend again, but this time smoking just the one cigerette.
Delighted to see him the friend says, 'congratulations habibi! you're brother's been released?'
'No,' says the Palestinian, 'i just gave up smoking'.

Bili'n forever

It's been a year since i last protested in Bili'n, a small but notorious village north west of Ramallah. Sadly, not much has changed. And what has changed is for the worse.

Israel has begun construction of the Wall but for the most part, the 'barrier' remains double layered fencing topped by barbed wire. They've now placed large wraps of more barbed wire 200 metres from the fence so instead of walking down and confronting the soldiers face-to-face, we now run down and wait a matter of seconds before getting tear gassed within an inch of our lives.
Reassuringly, some things stay the same and there is still a sporadic yet effective flow of rubber bullets.

Last Friday, International, Palestinian and Israeli activists ran down the hill together, side by side. We ran to show the Israeli Occupation Forces that they've not yet quashed Palestinian resistance, despite every attempt to and their superior weaponry.
This protest in particluar is against the illegal annexation of Palestinian land which will then be use to build them their very own prison. The Wall.

This Friday, we returned to the very same thing. But whereas we may attend three or four such protests during our stay here, the Palestinians have been doing this for over two years. Week in, week out.

Wearing a cap to protect my head from the relentless midday sun, shaded goggles to protect my eyes from the countless tear gas canisters that come flying over the fence, a scarf to shield my face from the soldier's ever ready cameras and half an onion to help me breathe once being gassed, i may not have looked my most attractive but i was ready.

We set out from the top of hill, down the winding path towards the barbed wire set back from the fence. As we walked, chanting Palestine solidarity songs, my friend and i looked left and right to check the positions of the IOF snipers. We saw and made a mental note of the 9 to our left and 15 to our right, hiding in the bushes on our side of the fence.

As we neared the last leg of our journey, the frontline - myself, 7 other ISM'ers, 2 israeli anarchists and the Palestinian coordinators broke out into a sprint and were greeted with approximately 10 shots of tear gas, one straight after the other. Checking for the direction of the wind we pulled back to the left and retrieved the onions from our back pockets, holding them to our noses as a reminder to breathe. Tear gas, for the most part, is a psychological weapon. It makes you feel like you can't breathe which then initiates a rising panic inside of you as you struggle for breath thus inhaling more of the gas and filling your lungs with what feels like small jagged pieces of glass.

In reality, you can breathe, but you really have to keep telling yourself this and use the ammonia from the onion to kick start your mind. It's a difficult mental battle to undergo when your eyes are streaming, your skin is burning and you're still being shot at from all directions.


Pausing to compose ourselves, we regrouped and headed back to the path towards the soldiers, chanting louder than before. Not a minute later, more gas came our way. This time it was shot through the barrel of a gun and directed at us, not above us. Our first casualty was Jonathon Pollack, a recent acquaintance of mine and part of Israeli Anarchists Against the Wall. Although anarchists don't have leaders, if they were to have a front man and spokesperson, Jonathon would be theirs. He's been arrested more times than i can count and shot, beaten up and abused just as much. His face is known to all the authorities and despite being a target at most protests, he's at nearly every single one.

We were walking together when i heard him cry out with pain. Jumping over the many rocks that exist in the area - making quick getaways fairly difficult, i ran to his side and saw his forearm swelling to three times its size. I ripped my scarf off and tied it tight around his upper arm as the blood was starting to pour from his lower arm. Not a rubber bullet this time but a tear gas canister, so not only would the impact have been hard but it was incredibly hot as well. The Palestinian Red Cross were unable to get their ambulance down the hill and i could see him losing consciousness and struggling to sit upright. His arm was hanging limply at his side and were it not for a slight movement in his fingers i would have said they had broke it clean in half. At this point we were fast getting trapped in a small walled area about 100 metres squared. No sooner had i tied his arm did the soldiers shoot again, forcing us to move to the other side of the enclosed area. On reaching that side, more gas and several sound bombs were fired once again in our direction. Seeing the hopelessness of the situation we were in, we called over to the ground medic and two ISM'ers to help lift him to path.

Once he was being walked back up the hill, i rejoined the others further down. More gas was coming at us, this time hand thrown. The Palestinian coordinators were wearing heat resistant gloves and began throwing the canisters away from the group. It was at this point i shocked myself with my own reflexes because no sooner had some of the gas been thrown aside i saw more being shot, straight at the heart of the group. I ducked to the left and literally felt the canister fly past my right side. Having done it once, i gained confidence and focused on watching the soldiers to see where they would shoot the gas next. Only they didn't shoot gas next, they shot rubber bullets.

There are two main types of rubber bullets used at protests here. The first sprays approximately 20 bullets in all directions and hopes to randomly hit one of the protesters, or scare them at least. The second comes in ball form and is wrapped in only the thinnest layer of rubber. It's a well known fact that soldiers often shoot this type at the ground in order to disconnect the outer rubber coating from the steel ball beneath, allowing it to ricochet up onto the target and make the hit far more painful.
As we were dodging rubber bullets, further up the hill a Palestinian wasn't as successful. He had been shot in the head. I caught a glimpse of him being carried out to the ambulance and saw blood pouring down his face, drenching his shirt and trousers.


And still the Palestinian coordinators called to the Internationals to keep moving forward, to keep singing. A few feet from the barbed wire they fired again, it was relentless. Vomiting lung fluid and doubled over in pain, i fell down, hit my leg on a rock and sat holding my stomach, waiting for the convulsions to pass. My thighs were sweating, my back soaked and my face felt like acid was being poured onto it. I saw a friend in a similar position who had water so got up and half-ran, half-limped over to her. The worse thing you can do in such situations is drink water or put it on your face so we gargled the water and spat it back out on the side of the road.
Two seconds later we were running again. This time for cover behind a house whilst the bullets reigned down on us like a monsoon shower.

Finally it stopped and we all came out from behind the deserted house with our hands in the air, calling to the soldiers "please stop shooting! We are unarmed and non violent!".
Walking very slowly so as not to provoke them further, we made our way down the path towards them. Our aim was to get close enough to speak to them. We got very close, within a few metres of them by saying "please we need water" and by keeping our hands firmly in the air. I couldn't believe what happened next. They gave us water. We drank and spat to our delight until someone saw that one of the soldiers had started taking pictures of the exchange. They only wanted photos of us accepting their water to use against us as evidence of their willingness to cooperate. Their manipulation of the situation shouldn't astound me but yet i was still surprised. We backed off which was a mistake because as soon as was there more than a few metres distance between us, they threw more gas.
Running to escape it, i fell again over the many rocks and onto a small fire (one of many) which had been started because the land is so dry that the hot tear gas canisters ignite it. Ripping an olive branch from a nearby tree, myself and a few others beat the fire til it was out and headed back to the path.
It was time to call it a day.
Our heads were pounding, our bodies battered and yet, we'd showed them that resistance was still alive and well.

All this running back and forth away from tear gas and bullets may seem pointless but if the Palestinians keep quiet, the situation here would be so much worse. And if Internationals weren't here, they'd use live ammunition on the Palestinians. Because of the attention this protest has gained, last week we were all on CNN and this week, even more cameras were on us. It is only under the spotlight of media attention and international awareness that any change will ever come about.
Sometimes i don't understand the soldiers. If they were to just sit back and let us protest peacefully, there would be no way near as much publicity around this area and i'm sure resistance would dwindle as a result. As ridiculous as it seems, their disproportionate reaction fuels our cause and propels us into realms of awareness we otherwise wouldn't have.
So we'll see them again next Friday. Same time, same place.

Settlements

This week has been spent attending movement meetings, training and going on solidarity visits. Emotions have run riot inside of me and i have felt more highs and lows in the space of week than i thought humanly possible.. Despite regularly campaigning in solidarity with Palestinians back home, it's scary how quickly you can forget just how extreme this country is. I don't know why but this time, i get a much stronger sense of being in what could quite easily be one of the world's largest prisons. Barbed wire tops every wall, barriers flank every road and soldiers sit around casually, holding M16's and drinking coffee.
The feelings these sights evoke goes beyond words.

The day after i arrived, i re-visited Susiya, a Palestinian farming community in the South Hebron Hills. I was one of approximately 120 internationals, Palestinians and Israelis, all present to hear what the farmers had to say and show our solidarity with their particular struggle. Settlers.


Throughout the West Bank there are numerous illegal settlements. Illegal under Article 49 of the Forth Geneva Convention - "The Occupying Power shall not deport or transfer parts of its own civilian population into the territory it occupies" - and additionally because in July 2004, the International Court of Justice (ICJ) ruled that the occupation, Wall and israeli settlements were all in violation of international law and must therefore be ended. The ICJ has since urged the international community to uphold said law and in no way support or condone the existing situation. As it stands today, the Wall's construction continues as does the expansion of settlements.

The building of settlements first came about after the 1967 War because 'conditioned orthodox' israelis felt they weren't a real part of creating the State of Israel. Back then, they considered and called themselves the 'new pioneers', delving into land which they believed to be theirs by the Right of God. Nowadays however quite a few settlers, especially around Jerusalem, live in the settlements for convenience - in order to be close to the city.
But there remain those whose reason for being in the West Bank goes beyond convenience. Those who actively seek out confrontation and are one of the most extreme peoples you can ever come across. I say this from experience and next week, i think my blogs will reflect this. I'm going to work in the Tel Rumeida project in Hebron, H2 - the israeli settler area to be exact.
Physical attacks, stone throwings and house invasions aimed at both Palestinians and Internationals are a day-to-day occurrence. And that's the light end of the abuse. Due to their religious convictions and belief that the land is theirs, the main goal of the settlers is to terrorise the Palestinians to such an extent that they are forced away from their homes and land altogether.

Jerusalem is an interesting case. It has notably changed over the past 59 years, (since israel was founded in 1948). It is commonly known as being made up of three main areas:

• West Jerusalem - part of israel since before the 1967 Six Day War.
• East Jerusalem - taken from Palestinians and annexed during the 1967 War. It's worth noting that nobody, not even the US, recognises israels right to annexe E.Jerusalem.
• Greater Jerusalem - more commonly known as the 'Jerusalem Envelope'.

The largest settlements form the 'Jerusalem Envelope'. The clue's in the title as the four settlements literally 'envelope' or surround all three West Bank sides of Jerusalem.
To the north is Givat Ze'ev. To the east - Ma'ale Adumin (which cuts the W.B in half and runs from E.Jerusalem to the Jordan Valley) and to the south are Gilo and Gush Etzion (literally meaning Zionist Bloc).

The Wall is currently being constructed around the Envelope to form an enclave around the settlements, essentially cutting deeper into the already occupied West Bank and linking the Envelope more strongly and officially with israel.
Not only are Palestinians in Jerusalem politically cut off from their family and friends in the West Bank (and vice versa) but now, due to the construction of Wall, these settlements and the Wall will physically cut 1000's of Palestinians off from their families. As if they need to be reminded of the geographically short but emotionally huge gulf that exists between them.

Further south in Susiya, the settlements are having just as great an impact on the surrounding Palestinian community. Here especially, settlers build 'mobile' homes (on the outskirts of existing settlements) closer and closer to Palestinian homes and land. Once they've taken that area with their mobile homes, they then build permanent ones thus expanding the settlement. A good example of this is Efrata, part of Gush Etzion. Using this method, they have expanded at such a phenomenal rate that is now one of the largest settlement in the West Bank, stretching from the Jerusalem Envelope down to Beit Ommar, near Bethlehem.
Built extra-judicially, these mobile homes are actually illegal under israeli law, yet somehow, they managed to get connected to mains electricity. As provided by the state of israel.

Listening to the farmers speak of the constant attacks, terrorising and grazing of settler goats on their land, i have never felt so simultaneously disempowered and in awe. Their houses have been burnt to the ground, their land torched and their families harassed, humiliated and terrorized. But even in the face of such atrocities, they don't give up. Far from it. On top of their continued non-violent resilience to such attacks, they organise themselves. They network with Christian, Jewish and International groups to raise awareness and support of their situation and continue to fight their case in front of the Israeli Supreme Court of Justice.
When i think of all those people around the world who can't even muster enough energy to go on a demonstration or attend an event in solidarity with these people, i feel tears of anger rising inside of me and am overwhelmed by the sheer size of the task ahead.

But i know my tears won't change their situation. So instead i'll just deal with it and use the privilege i have as someone born on different soil to stand by their side, hoping i can play a part in moving them closer to a life where, heaven forbid, they can farm their land, feed their family and not have to fear for the safety of their loved ones.

Day One.

Approaching the passport control booth at Ben Gurion airport in Tel Aviv, i knew what was coming but i'd forgotten what it felt like. They soon jogged my memory. This time, the woman behind the glass didn't even ask me any questions. No sooner had she taken my passport and looked at her computer, i was told to 'please to go with that woman'. Certain i was standing alone two seconds ago and therefore slightly confused, i turned around to find said woman had scarily appeared to the right of me without my even noticing. I turned and followed her to what looked like quite a generic waiting room with an open door way - rubberplant corner as it's refered to by fellow activists - which was situated behind us in the corner of the passport hall. I was told to place my hand luggage bag by the entrance and take a seat inside. Within seconds there were five officials in the room with me (two men, three women) and my passport, tickets and baggage claim label were all taken away to be checked.

Earlier that day, i had sat outside Heathrow airport and re-read the email print outs myself and my israeli friend had been exchanging. The information upon them was (hopefully) going to be my ticket into the country. They outlined our 'story' and my reason for visiting, detailing how and where we met last year, what we did and what our personal details were. Due to the fact the israeli government now works on denial of entry of activists instead of deporting them during their stay, by having someone on the 'inside', ie: a purpose for visiting, i was a lot more likely to get into the country. Having read the emails over and over, i wrote up the key points on my phone and saved them as a draft text message which would enable me to do some last minute revision that could easily be erased/disposed of before i arrived.

Sat in the waiting room in Ben Gurion airport, surrounded by israli security officials, i realised i'd forgotten to delete that text.

I don't think i've ever felt my heart beat harder in my life. It was like something out of a low budget action movie and i wouldn't have been surprised if everything had started to move in slow motion from this point on. Me reaching for the bag - them reaching for their guns - no no am such a drama queen but even so, it was fucking scary. This was the one thing (apart form being small and brown) that would not only deny me entry but also lead to several hours of difficult questioning for both myself and my friend and who knows what else.

Feigning a problem with my contact lens (a fairly regular occurrence at the best of times), i approached the least official/most unsure looking women of those milling around the entrance. I asked her if i could get my saline solution from inside my bag as my eye was starting to hurt. She agreed and then lost interest as someone else was brought into the room. I took my chance and with what appeared to be complete nonchalance (but was really nothing short of utter panic), i rooted around for my phone in my bag. Nearly dying at my own anal battery-saving efficiency, i saw it was switched off so turned it on, praying i'd set it to silent. Luckily i had (not entirely sure my phone's welcome song 'Maniac' from Flash Dance would've been a good look at this point) and still pretending to have left eye contact issues, i waited for what seemed like an eternity before it came on.Finally and inevitably it did and i quickly got into my draft message folder and deleted the stupidest thing i've ever done. Or the most important thing i've ever forgotten to do.

Just as it had disappeared into the world of technology, one of the guys came over and saw that my hand was in my bag and on my phone. I was quite harshly informed that it was not permitted for me to use my mobile, to which i played the innocent and told him sorry, i just thought i'd call my friend to let her know i was running late. He seemed to buy it but took my bag away and placed it well out of reach.

I'd actually only been in the waiting room for about two minutes at this point but waited for a further 25 (all the while being questioned at random intervals by various different officials) before another woman arrived, pushing my luggage on a trolley. I was escorted, flanked by two guards with another behind me, through passport control and into the baggage claim hall where they took me to a room in the far left corner.
Inside the room were a further six people. There was now a total of ten people checking up on me. I know i can be troublesome but even this seems a little excessive. Here my baggage was first x-rayed and then meticulously unpacked and swabbed whilst i was taken to a smaller room and given a full body search.

They brought me back to the larger room and proceeded to question me for approximately half an hour. This feels like a million years when you're lying. Obviously unsatisfied with my answers or something about me, I was asked if i was wearing underwear (?). This is no time for fun i thought but no, i wasn't. (i knew this would get me into trouble one day). I was made to select a pair from my unpacked belongings in front of several men and go put them on under my jeans in the toilet. Slightly wary, as this could only mean one thing, i walked to the small room again. This time i was swabbed from head to toe and given a fully body strip search.

Eventually it was over and i was ushered back into the larger room and supervised by seven people whilst i repacked my bags. It'd been nearly three hours since i'd first approached the passport control booth. They then let me through into Israel. But this time, i don't think i'll be forgetting how it felt in a hurry.