Weekend #3: Welcome to Ramallah

And now, something completely but not altogether different.

Two Fridays ago, my roommate and I took a jaunt across the green line, beyond the wall, past the abandoned Arab villages that are filled with trash and only have municipal services once a month, past the Jews and Muslims bustling to their religious services, past Jerusalem municipal walls (yet still very close to the light rail line)...

to the locus of the Palestinian government (in exile, according to Palestinians): Ramallah, Area A, West Bank.

Digest:

I.  Intro to Ramallah: Clean, Beautiful, and 'Dangerous'
II. Wen Muqata'aa? Arafat's Tomb and the PA Government Complex
III. The Old City and the Ramallah Hills
IV. An Evening of Coffee, Food, Expats and Politics, featuring a call for Hasan to start making judgments in the land of Israel
V. Through the "most crazy checkpoint around Jerusalem": Qalandiya

I. Intro to Ramallah: Clean, Beautiful, and 'Dangerous'

As I said before, Area A is completely controlled by the Palestinian Authority. There is no IDF authority officially placed in these areas, making them "insecure" places for Israelis by the government's telling. We saw this first hand as we crossed the Qalandiya checkpoint into the southern tip of the city, where this sign stood quite loudly in its lovely sheet of red metal.

This is of course not the whole truth. There are Israelis and Jews that pass into Area A all the time and have no problem. There are other Israelis that pass into Area A that are not so fine.

Again, the g'vulot here are all relative and dubious, and I, the US citizen and a person with slightly Arabic tints in my physiology, can't begin to understand the pluses and minuses of a simple sign.

This was actually my first thought after we got off the Arab bus (which, for all of you that may be thinking this was a bad idea: it is just as unsafe as an Israeli bus with its jerks and reckless speeding, is just as dirty, and has just as lovely and friendly people on it): I do not have the problem of appearing Israeli or Jewish here because I do not wear a yarmulke (a cap) or tzitzit (a prayer shawl, two public markers of being Jewish). It is this fact that makes me appreciate yet also hate the existence of the sign I saw above. Who knows how people would have reacted if a kippah/yarmulke sat on my head as I went down a street I had been on for the first time or with people I probably had never seen before.

And lord knows that the last thing a Palestinian might think me to be Jewish just by looking at me.

But I'll get back to Qalandiya, the checkpoint known for often times being an absolute mess.

So we got off the bus and we walked into town. I registered a whole lot of things at first glance.

1) The streets were deserted. This is because we arrived at 11:00 AM, an hour before the weekly Juma prayer for Muslims (most holy prayer time)
2) The streets were well kept and clean
3) The businesses here resembled the random assortment of German Colony malls
4) There was a coffee shop named Stars and Bucks. And it had better coffee than the Seattle-based organization.
5) Sh'warma with unlimited sides for 13 shekhels? Uh. Yeah. Get in my belly.

Here's a vid of the first couple of moments off the bus.

So, we promptly annihilated our hunger with marinated chicken, curried cauliflower, and as many fixins as we could fit into our pitas.

And then, we went to go find Arafat's tomb (Muqata'aa) and the central PA government building.

II. Wen Muqata'aa?

"Wen Muqata'aa?"

"aldkfjpoiuopqwervndspoiqweuroqw."

Yeah, that's essentially what would happen when I'd converse with people in Arabic.

Our Arabic lessons hadn't started so we were running on Lonely Planet-phrases-that-you-probably-would-never-actually-say-unless-you-really-really-wanted-to-seem-like-a-tourist.

One of these phrases was 'wen,' the Arabic word for where. Yes, English speakers, it's confusing. Then again, who are we to judge their languages for being confusing when it's a DIFFERENT language from ours, and ours has no business meaning anything in this language unless this language says so.

I'm also lying a bit. This was my first interaction. My second went like this:

"Wen Muqata'a?"

"Ho... skdjfppisaf. hon aafdioupqwerj sa?" (oh, it's there, gestures down and around, get it?"

"Sa7." (yes I get it)

No I didn't.

The third:

"Wen Muqata'a?"

"Down this road, to the right, and it'll be at the end of the road."

If there was one major lesson I took from this trip, it was that I had a lot of Arabic translation and pronunciation to work on.

So we found Arafat's tomb. As we went inside, this is how it looked, and this was on the way into the tomb.

The room we entered was surrounded by glass with floors and walls completely white. A bodyguard dressed in army clothes stood off to the left and another one with a lieutenant's uniform stood behind the tombstone. I wanted to ask him questions. So I did.

"Can you tell me about Arafat?"

"As you can see from the grave, he lived from 24 August, 1929 to 11 November 2004."

He didn't answer my question. Maybe he didn't understand. Let's try again.

"Oh! Yes, I see that. Can you tell me about Arafat?"

"About Arafat?"

"Yes." Yeah he just didn't understand the first time. Or he was on autopilot to present some information to tourists.

"He was our leader for a very long time. We all loved him."

"Ah. What was he to you?"

"He was like a father to me. Like a father to our people."

"Mm. How so?"

"What?"

"How was he a father to you? What did he do that made you think this way about him?"

A combination of behaviors occur at the same time in his face. He is at once confused, nervous, domineering, and unsure. The buffed up body guard inches closer and says something to him in Arabic. I'm unsure what he said because, again, I'm not that good, but I do know it was probably in reference to my question.

"He provided everything for our people. He was a great leader."

If you do your research on Arafat, you'll learn that his style of leadership included sending millions of dollars that was given to the PA in aid to his wife in France so that she could live the high life while the Palestinian Authority withered. You'll also learn he encouraged his people through all violent struggles yet also sat at many peace tables. You'll also see his immense public political career, decorated in several accomplishments, several failures, and several things in between.

So while it was nice to hear this man's account, I knew it might have been forced. I decided to let it lie because I think I might have struck a personal tension that I didn't care to stretch.

III. The Old City and the Ramallah Hills

So we left with our unanswered answers and went to explore the Old City where many Christian families from Ramallah resided. Some videos of this can be found here and here.

As we walked back to our program director's friends' house where we were staying for the night, we also happened on a lookout of the hills surrounding Ramallah. Really beautiful. Take a look.

Despite the fact that I joked in the video with David, it is in moments like that when I look at a land so beautiful or important for people in the context of the conflict that I feel the most elated.

And the most crushed.

IV. An Evening of Western Coffee, Expats and Politics

A) Coffee, Al-Quds University, and Abu Dis

We continued our trek up and down the winding streets of the Old City, out to Batan Ahwa Street, where I took a couple of snapchats of the hills cont'd (or, in Sandy's case, the sun). We took a right on Dar Ibrahim/Rukab and took a right just past the only gas station we saw in the city (the street right next to blue P that leads down to Al Ram and Jaffa). On the way, we found Osama's Side Business, some random colors chilling on a balcony, and a memorial to a child who had been killed. You can track our path here (start from right next to "Ramallah School" leading to Batan Ahwa).

After a couple more turns and some help from the Lonely Planet, we laid our bottoms to rest at a coffee shop called Cafe De La Paix. A local Ramallan man came up, quite Frenchly (... late, slowly, slurred his Arabic.... love you Johan and Francois ;0)) and asked us to sit, Frenchly, so we did. Here is a video from me while we were there, talking about other impressions of Ramallah in the moment.

After a latte, a cappuccino, and a walk through the Ramallah market, we got in touch with our host for the night Casey, an English teacher at Al-Quds University as part of a Bard College fellowship. The university is located in Abu Dis, a town that is often covered in both controversy and tension.

Take a look at the Jerusalem municipal map once again. If you'll notice, Abu Dis is half inside and half outside of the Jerusalem municipal area. However, all of Abu Dis is blocked from Jerusalem because of the separation barrier, no one in Abu Dis has Jerusalem citizenship cards, and because it is beyond the wall, the Jerusalem municipal services rarely come.

But... this is the tip of the iceberg.

As we sat with Casey, he talked about the university and his job as well. Al Quds University is right next to the separation barrier, and the campus has had people who throw rocks and other objects over the wall/into the nearby IDF guard post. Earlier in the week, this happened, and the response was a squadron of fully armed IDF soldiers who responded by shooting tear gas and rubber bullets over the wall. They also pulled over students indiscriminately and started to question them harshly and brutally. On the day that we arrived at Casey's, he had just finished writing a letter to the IDF on behalf of all the staff from Al-Quds, stating that the action was not committed by a student and that the behavior breached fundamental rights of students at the university.

I asked him how often the IDF comes into Abu Dis for the same purpose. Casey told us that this happens almost every day, and not always because of perceived violent activity. "Such is life in the occupation."

As an Israeli woman said with Ir Amim, a group that takes people on a tour of the contentious areas of Jerusalem's neighborhoods, "I now feel safer with the wall in place. But with it comes a very vital question that I ask myself: how much must my safety cost? The wall to me both secures and haunts me."

But... this is also just another tip of an iceberg that runs deeper than I can encapsulate with just one conversation. I hope I'll be able to spend some time there at some point during my visit.

B) Danish Birthdays, the Freedom of Having No Connection to Israel, and A Call for Hasan to Start Making Judgments

We then met up with a Danish friend that had crashed on our couch for the night to celebrate her birthday at a local Arabic barbecue place called Zarour. There we met a couple of her friends as well over marinated chicken, hummus, turkish salad, and bottomless baskets of khubz (bread).

There was even a Danish birthday song which... was amazing. You choose three instruments, and then in the breakdown between verses, you play this instrument. For a taste, go here. You will not be disappointed.

We got to talking about what we were doing in the area, us with our Hebrew/Arabic learning volunteer program with the Arab/Israeli school Yad B'Yad, and them with their work with refugees in Bethlehem and Ramallah. We asked each other questions about what we were doing and listened politely, but it was apparent that both of us just lived in completely different worlds. Some of the people at the table were very interested in the concept of a dialogue/relationship-building program through a school, while others said that this was all well and good but did not address the current situation on the ground.

And I had to agree with him. Yad B'Yad is a program that embraces long-range change, not one that will address the current issues like the separation barrier/security fence, or water issues, or contiguous states, or Jerusalem as a binational capitol in the here and now.

But what was most interesting to me about this conversation was that it showed how easy it was for these people our age who were not Jewish, nor had any real affiliation to Judaism, to not be associated with Israel, whose importance at this current time relies on it being a place for Jews to feel at home. To them, the issue was humanitarian, not about a Jewish state. In a way, it's a privilege of not having to grapple with the reality of being Jewish and how this intersects with the state of Israel.

It was then that I decided that I needed to start making some clear judgments about my relationship to this land, and in that conversation, I let them know the dilemma I felt as a Jew who saw the occupation as extremely problematic for the overall safety and security for everyone in the area. What Israel is doing in with the Palestinian people in the West Bank, with its multicultural citizens within its borders, and all of those that do not conform to any of these labels disturbs me to my very core; but I cannot turn my back on this land or the people who love it, and this includes those in Israel that make legislation that continues these situations. In fact, I know I now have to fight for what I believe in, or I'll get caught listening to other people, and in turn, validating their opinion.

People here tend to let others know exactly where they stand; it is a blunt culture. So, I'm going to try my hand at it and start to converse in bluntness about me, an American by default, a Pakistani Jew by religion/lineage, a Muslim solely by lineage, a believer in relationships as a method of changing life.

Recap of my thoughts can be found here.

C) Putting What I Discovered into Practice with Other Expats

In fact, I even got to put this into practice a few hours later.

After our delicious dinner and political discussion, we met back up with Casey's friends at a giant expat party... which actually became more like a less sloppy Friday evening  at Colby college with much better beer and much worse hard alcohol.

There we met Anna, another writing teacher from Bard who had been working at Al-Quds for the past half a year. We continued our conversations with her about our respective actions in the area.

"Where are you coming from?"

"We're living in W. Jerusalem doing a volunteer program."

Every time I speak this sentence, I am acutely aware of how judged I feel just for where I live and for what I do.

Aval, bas/tayib.

"Oh. What do you both do?"

"We work with organizations in the Jerusalem area that do peace work between all the different populations in the area, and social justice work with underserved populations as well."

"Oh yeah? Where do you do that?"

"At Yad B'yad, a school for Arabs and Israelis, and at an afterschool program in Al-Azeriya."

"And how effective do you think they are?"

"Well, we haven't started there yet. Our first day is on Monday for the first and Wednesday for the second."

"Ah."

"Why?"

"Well. I think dialogue and relationship building is good for helping building relationships. But it doesn't help anything with regard to this conflict."

"Oh yeah?," I asked. I was actually genuinely interested in this perspective. After all, I am pretty confident in relationships being the first building block for any true actions regarding justice or peace in the area, and anyone who has a different perspective obviously has it for a different reason. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I think it normalizes the conflict and doesn't address its roots."

Wow. Expats certainly have the judgment gene come out when here too.

"Well. I don't necessarily agree. I think dialogue and an exchange of perspectives between people normalizes relationships, not the conflict, and it does so over a much longer period of time. I see dialogue as the first step in a longer process."

"Well that's the problem, though. The dialogue will take too long for anything to change."

"That's true, but how will you also know how to act cleanly and together in this situation when dialogue is not a part of this process?"

"Fight for what you believe in now and worry about cohesion later."

I had heard this perspective before, but it was in that moment that I really came to respect Anna's certainty about leaving who are not with you behind in favor of what is right. It was very Gandhi.

"I agree. Dialogue is a top-down process, and it is dependent on both sides being a part of it. I do think it needs to be a part of the solution, because you won't start to better understand the people's needs here."

"Yeah. Maybe. I still think they're ineffective when applied to this area."

"Well that's what I'm here to see in real time. My focus is on education as a mode of communal development and empowerment for all people in conflict zones, so if it works it works. If it doesn't, well then I guess I need to change tracks."

She shrugged at this comment. Oh well.

David sold his idea to her better than I did. He talked about how theater can be a useful method for establishing relationships over a combined activity. Apparently I need some practice in my delivery, or a better thesis statement.

D) Darwish and Thai Food

Being a poet, I was very excited to go to the PA's Mahmoud Darwish museum that was a mere two blocks from Casey's house. Here is a beautiful poem by him, just as an example.

He wrote a lot about Palestinian life, the conflict, and started many literary projects for Arabs and Palestinians in his lifetime. Respected by everyone in the area, Darwish truly changed people with his words.

Here are a couple of videos and pictures from my time there: Palestinian flag, View from the flag, Description of Darwish, my reactions after the Darwish Museum.

And then, we got the best thai curry I've ever had. Yum.

V. Through the Qalandiya Checkpoint

Aka, the checkpoint that every single person in Israel and Palestine sighs heavily afterward and says. "What a mess."

So here starts my story about the Qalandiya Checkpoint, from the other side.

But first, a quick video of the hauntingly beautiful murals on the Palestinian side of the wall. You can't read many of the messages, but there was everything from "Beware: humans inside," to "Free Palestine." None of the larger messages seemed violent from afar. And here is is one and another within Ramallah just before we got on the bus.

While we waited in the car line, David and I decided to get off the bus and walk through the checkpoint, both to make it quicker, and also to experience it in real time.

Quick aside about this: for most checkpoints, Palestinians with Palestinian cards must get off the bus and show their papers, while internationals and non-Palestinian citizens can stay on the bus while the IDF comes around and checks your papers. There is a movement here that tells internationals to "show solidarity, walk through the checkpoints," instead of sitting on the bus, as the process on the bus is much quicker and less cumbersome.

This last fact didn't really factor into our decision, though throughout the whole process, I did start to feel a fear of not being let in that I probably wouldn't have off the bus, both because of my previous Israeli border experience, and also because of the way the checkpoints were structured (as I'll detail below). Who knows if this is a fraction or anything at all like how other people in the lines around me felt. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't.

I'll attach some photos to give some senses as well.

We approached the line leading into one of the four main gates. Everything had metal bars. There was a turn-style much like the New York subway system in a gate that David remarked was much like the Tijuana border between the US and Mexico in Southern California.

Every person had to go through the turn-style one by one, and at any point it was stopped in time so that the guard could check people's papers, leaving a person completely surrounded by metal bars.

Myself and David went through together, put our things through the metal detector much like airport security. I went through the standing metal detector, and nothing beeped, and began to show the girl my passport.

When I did, she told me over the loudspeaker, which was pumped up to an insanely loud volume: GO BACK.

I asked her what? motioning that I didn't understand her. The microphone was on way too loud for me to be able to understand it.

"GO BACK."

Did I do something wrong?

So I went back through the metal detector and came back through. She asked for my VISA over the loudspeaker again. I showed it to her. She said, "Have a nice day," I think as sweetly as she could, but over the loudspeaker it kind of sounded like an oppressive comment.

Phew.

I realized after the experience how hard my heart was beating, not only because it was a new experience for me to be there, that I didn't know exactly what to do, and because I was worried about my name possibly causing an issue like the first time (though I realized this was ridiculous in retrospect as many many Palestinians with Muslim names pass through those gates easily with the correct papers, and I also had a US passport with an Israeli visa), but because of how intense it all was for a person who didn't have to do that often: the metal, the turn-style, the loud speaker, and the feeling of being completely without your fate for a good couple of minutes.

And this was all at a very low impact time during the day (3:00 PM).

But I shouldn't blow this out of proportion. I imagine those who pass through this checkpoint regularly have gotten used to this feeling and know how to navigate it rationally, and I imagine I'd also feel less shaken as I did this regularly and understood my own privilege in that situation.

A week later in Bethlehem, I felt much more relaxed about passing through. I even cracked jokes with the border guard who had just woken up to pass myself and David through. I spoke English most of the time, and I guess this worked well to my advantage.

But more on that next entry.