Occupation 101 - Borders

A major question of sovereignty is the control over one’s own borders. The Palestinians have none whatsoever.

To travel abroad from the oPt (Occupied Palestinian Territories), one can theoretically speaking either fly out of Tel Aviv, cross into Jordan from one of the three border crossings, or into Egypt.

The Palestinians, however, don’t get to choose: their only way out is through Jordan, whether going to Jordan or otherwise. The only airport they can fly out of is Amman.

And to get to Amman, they are only allowed to go through one unique border crossing, the King Hussein Bridge (or Allenby Bridge).

So one has to travel to Jericho by bus or car, then get into a special (Palestinian) bus, where a Palestinian soldier will check your passport. Palestinian officers will actually get on the bus to check your paperwork, you don’t have to get out. Then, onward to the first Israeli check - essentially get off go through a metal detector and show the passports to a soldier who will just look at them (no data entry or recording of any sort) so this one is essentially needless. Then, onwards to the Israeli customs. Yes, we are still in the West Bank; but it’s Israeli customs nevertheless.

Imagine if Russia was to record every person that travels into or out of the US; and actually decides who would or would not be allowed. Absurd, no?

So, Israeli customs will take as long as they will. You pay an exit tax of 105 shekels - a hefty 30 dollars. Which goes to Israel, of course. Then, onwards to another bus to go pick up your luggage, which would meanwhile have been piled up on a side of the highway. Literally. Piled up, and not so neatly either.

So you get off and start looking for your stuff in the mess, which is very, very disrespectful.

Then, you cross the King Hussein bridge, and you’re in Jordan, where you go through your fourth passport check (one Palestinian, two Israelis, and now a Jordanian) of the trip.

THEN you’re in Jordan; and from there you take a car or bus to your destination, or to the airport to fly from there abroad.

The trip took me 6 hours. 6 hours for 180 km tops.

In the summer, though, with delays and with the pressure on this single entry and exit point, it can take up to...

40 hours. 40 hours, sitting in buses or on uncomfortable benches to cross a stupid border.

The opening hours of the border don’t help, either. The traveller in me finds ludicrous that a border would close in the first place. Now, since the Israelis, whimsical as they are, control the King Hussein bridge on the Palestinian side, everyone follows their timing this it is the most constraining... 5 days a week, the Bridge is open from 8 to 4pm (officially to 6pm, but that’s a lie); and on Friday and Saturday, it’s open from 8 to 11:30 AM (officially to 2pm).

I was trying to travel back to the West Bank from Jordan last weekend, and I arrived to the bridge at 12:00 noon on Saturday, and was meanly sent back. I took a car for roughly 100 km north, crossed from the Jordan River / Sheikh Hussein bridge, which is reserved for Israelis and foreigners, then 100 km south to get to Jerusalem from which I took a bus to Ramallah. The trip took me 8 hours. EIGHT hours for what should’ve been a stupid 2 hours max trip, because we need to obey Israeli restrictions even if we’re not going anywhere near Israel.

I kept wondering how travelling would’ve been - if I were 70 years old, or if I were a mother with her three children. If I were sick. If I had an emergency.

Gaza’s border with Egypt - well, that’s easy: they’re closed for everything but a small number of medical emergencies. Roughly 10% of those who apply (2 weeks in advance) for an exit permit from the Israelis are allowed out. Then the Egyptians need to approve them in, and they’re a little nicer about it but are still a long way from where they should be. Nothing is allowed in or out, save for some humanitarian supplies, and some fuel (roughly 15% of the needs of the Strip). More on Gaza some other day, though.

10 Random things...

I never do tags but I have been tagged by Injis so I’m doing this one because, well, it’s Inji. :)

Sooo... 10 random things about me... Let’s try.

1) I hit snooze on my alarm clock on average 6 times every morning (I know. I’m the roommate from hell.) and I still wake up at 8:05. Screwed up biological clock...

2) I have discovered, just last week (thank you, dad), that I also have Sudanese blood. Which I think is mighty cool. Add that to various already acknowledged origins, I should claim the throne of the Middle East.

3) I used to bike when I lived in the US and before leaving I forgot to unlock my bike from the stairs railing of my building. According to latest news, it’s still there.

4) I have an insane habit of fiddling non-stop with my hair. You’ve noticed, I know.

5) I stepped into a minefield in South Lebanon after the war. And you know you’re supposed to stand still, wait for help, retrace your steps, etc? Bullshit. Your first reaction, when you realise where you are, is to run... Allah sallem, though, thankfully.

6) I get bored way, way too quickly - particularly when it’s about long term projects (did I hear someone say PhD?) or long term relationships. And I'm not even sorry about it anymore - sorry about that.

7) I won't judge you by your thoughts, opinions, or behaviour; but I will judge you by your outfit. I can’t stand lousy colour coordination.

8) I have financially contributed (albeit a little) to the presidential campaign of a guy who’s running in a country that isn’t mine. Which is, let’s face it, the only time I’ll ever get to have a say in a presidential campaign.

9) I have eaten shark. And deer. And frog. And camel. Shark and camel didn’t taste particularly good, deer did. I blocked out the frog experience.

10) I purposefully don’t shave for two weeks before I take a plane in the US or London - I love watching custom officers freak out.

Hmm, I did manage to find 10 things to write after all. Surprising.

Occupation 101 - Checkpoints

Inside the Qalandia checkpoint

Movement of people and vehicles in the West Bank “will be free and normal, and shall not need to be effected through checkpoints or roadblocks.” Oslo Agreement, Annex I.

The quintessential nonsensical expression of the Israeli occupation. A checkpoint is generally located between a Palestinian town and the next Palestinian town, where cars and buses are stopped. People are generally asked to step out of the car/bus, line up, show their IDs to a pre-pubescent soldier with a machine-gun and an Ipod. Then back in the bus.

Besides the checkpoints, there are numerous roadblocks: mounts of rocks, or sand, that the army uses to block a road, forcing people to do all sorts of monkeying around to find alternative routes. Pointless.

There are, as of Feb 2008, 580 checkpoints and roadblocks in the West Bank alone. I took the Ramallah-Jenin road and was appalled to have seen 3 checkpoints on a silly 60km road - and I was told that I was lucky but there can be 6 checkpoints easily on this road.

A checkpoint every 10 km. that’s ridiculous.

Checkpoint on the Bethlehem/Jerusalem road. The ambulance was there for the 45 minutes my bus was waiting, with the paramedic frantically trying to talk the soldier into letting him through.

The security purpose of these controls is frankly incoherent. Their real purpose, however, is control: Israel can decide that, for instance, all males under the age of 40 will not be allowed out of the city. For two months.They really do this. No young men will be allowed out of their village. And still do all over the country when there’s an occasion - an Israeli holiday, for instance - or not.

The biggest, baddest checkpoints are, I think, the ones that go from the West Bank into Israel, or into East Jerusalem (which Israel considers not only occupied but also annexed).

Take the Qalandiya checkpoint, for instance, which is the one between East Jerusalem and Ramallah.

We have to get out of the bus, walk to the checkpoint, get through a very tight metal turning door, then another one, then a metal detector, then show our IDs to the kids-with-machine-guns hiding behind bulletproof glass, then another two turning metal gates. Average time: 30 minutes.

And this is actually one of the easy ones. Other checkpoints essentially put people into a series of cages - literally, cages - separated by metal gates, then more cages.

I mean, WHAT THE FUCK???

The immense majority of the checkpoints serve no security purpose WHATSOEVER, I can assure you. They are just there to piss off the Palestinians. They are insanely damaging to the economy - perishable goods can easily go bad if they’re stuck at a series of checkpoints for 15 hours each, which is not uncommon at all - and I’m not even talk to export/import of finished and intermediary goods from Palestine to Israel or other; to people, who take 2 hours to get through 30 km (ask my officemate, who commutes from Bethlehem to Ramallah everyday) and can’t get to their jobs on time if a soldier decides to physically search everyone in the bus (which they can do); to morale, because it’s frankly, really, really humiliating to be treated as a criminal or a suspect at best every single day, and seriously irritating to see your elderly mother have to get off the bus to show her ID to a barking soldier who has no right over her whatsoever; and to peace prospects, because when Israel decides that the only Israelis it will show Palestinians are the trigger-happy teenagers with machine-guns, talk about building positive relations.

I went to Jordan twice this past month - and when were driving around, I found it fascinating that we hadn’t been stopped by any checkpoints. I am turning into a real local...

(all photos are mine - and free to distribute with citation. Let the world know!! I'll try to upload some more soon...)

Occupation 101 - Intro

Occupation 101 is the name of an excellent documentary, but that’s not what I am referring to.

Palestine, as we come to forget, is an occupied country. Think Africa for most of the past two centuries; think India under British rule, think of every historical example you can. Occupation. Foreign rule, exploitation, movement limitations, abusive taxation, the whole thing. It sounds to me that we forget that this is exactly what we’re dealing with.

Now there are also more reasons for me to forget this - I don’t have to stand in line through four metal gates to get to the next city; I don’t have to do the 6 hours trek to the Amman airport, which is the only international hub for Palestinians; and I don’t get (too many) dirty looks when I walk in the streets of a Jewish neighbourhood or city (I somehow look more Indian than Arab, I am told).

Oh, and I also get to yell back at mean soldiers at the border crossings because, well, I’m a foreigner, with a shiny ID, and I can afford to do this.

However, you can try to live in a bubble but reality catches up with you anyway; plus, I’m doing my best to live as regularly as possible, not take a UN car to go do my grocery shopping... (which, I’m ashamed to admit, I did do when I was in another country. There was no public transportation/buses/cabs/nothing whatsoever there, though, if it’s any excuse).

So this little entry should be the first of many I hope, which will relate to you the daily little bit of nonsense that come with living in an occupied country. And as you read, think of what it must be like to live like this for every single day of your life.

Africa’s Serbia: Ethiopia’s fantasies of grandeur

A country with a once glorious history, which has for centuries been the cradle of civilisation in Eastern Africa, and has played host to various exiled communities, today’s Ethiopia is struggling with its internal economic and political issues, and seemingly engaging its neighbours in endless conflicts in a bid to maintain its internal cohesion vis-à-vis external enemies.

Known as Punt to ancient Egyptians who established trade lines with the country 3500 years ago, Ethiopia’s weight in history is heavy and its influence on the destiny of the region, whether as an Empire, a trading partner, or as the keeper of the sources of the Nile, is wide - good or bad.

Fast forward to modern day Ethiopia, which has gone, in 50 years, from an Empire, to a communist mono-party state, to a “federal parliamentary republic with a dominant-party system” to quote the Economist.

The communist era, which ushered the beginning of the Ethiopian Civil war in 1974, was also characterised by the government-led Red Terror campaign which may have killed up to 500,000 persons (according to Amnesty International) also saw famines, forced deportations, and the use of hunger as a weapon.

The civil war only ended in 1991, amidst widespread famine (remember the 1985 Live Aid concert? It was raising funds for Ethiopia...) unleashing the dormant national conflicts that seemed to have been bubbling under the surface - and sometimes taking part in - the civil war.

Rather far away, another country’s communist regime was also falling apart, leading to civil strife. 1991 was the beginning of the Yugoslav wars, with the secession of the Slovenia and Croatia, followed shortly thereafter by Macedonia and Bosnia-i-Herzegovina.

Without entertaining the same dreams of grandeur that Milošević did, Ethiopia was nothing less of a wannabe regional power trying to cash in on a long expired strength.

Take Eritrea, for instance. Under Ethiopian rule, Eritreans were mistreated and were the target of all sorts of discrimination. Education in all local languages was banned. The war of Independence began in 1961, and the military victory that brought the Eritrean People’s Liberation Front to control the whole territory in 1991 was followed by a self-determination referendum in 1993. Atrocities committed by the Ethiopian forces - which included mass murders of whole villages, destructions of places of worship (mainly in the Muslim areas), and even the use of anti-personnel gas and napalm - do not fail to remind us of Bosnia.

A wounded Ethiopia, embarrassed by the loss of the war and of its access to the sea, provoked the Ethiopian-Eritrean War in 1998. Two years later, little had changed on the ground - besides each country losing tens of thousands persons and hundreds of millions of dollars.

Another confirmation of Ethiopia’s regional claims is in Ogaden. This Somali-inhabited Eregion, also known as “Western Somalia”, was awarded to Ethiopia by the victorious Allies in 1948. The 1977-78 Ogaden war, where the secessionist ‘Western Somali Liberation Front’ was joined by Somalia and where Ethiopia was joined by Cuba, South Yemen, and the Soviet Union failed to solve the problem and Ethiopia maintained control of the province.

The Ogaden conflict picked up last year, and is still raging. Referred to as “Ethiopia’s Dirty War” by Human Rights Watch, it has seen various human rights violations, including gang rapes, public ‘demonstration killings’, and burned villages; and saw the Red Cross and Medecins Sans Frontières expelled from the region by Ethiopia.

Ethiopia’s full-fledged intervention in the Somali civil-war in 2006 is the next level in Addis Ababa’s hegemonic scheme in East Africa.

The motives are complex, and start from American pressure (or the sight of American brownie points) to expanding regional influence, to maintaining an external national unified target to divert attention from local problems (you know, extreme poverty and hunger and stuff?). Too long a debate to expose here, but the result of it is that Ethiopia has had combat troops engaged in a neighbouring country for 2 years, has helped topple a proto-government which seemed to be capable to restore order in Somalia after almost two decades of chaos (thereby negating its own claims that it was going in ‘to secure itself’ - try to do that with a dozen militias fighting next door rather than a strong government).

While the parallels with Serbia are unavoidable, there are nevertheless many differences. The nationalistic rhetoric, for instance, has never been a particularly big thing. There is an underlying religious aspect of the conflict(s), particularly with the Ogaden and Somalia being populated by Muslims, but it is only implicit and generally quite secondary.

The series of civil wars aimed at ensuring the territorial integrity of a larger Ethiopia, with control of minerals and access to the sea, seems like an ingrained national policy than the wet dreams of a Milošević. And that’s scarier, because it means that peace doesn’t depend on the removal of the Madman in power but on the change of the national foreign policy fundamentals.

Ethiopia's threat must be contained. It's quite about time we started realising that.

(photo picked up on a random website, not mine. I'm yet to go to Eastern Africa...)

Still Zionist but no longer Muslim: Magdi Allam

Pope Benedict XVI has decided to baptise a former Muslim, Magdi Allam, in an über-publicised ceremony on Easter, a few days ago. A move criticised by various voices, including Muslim scholars engaged in high-level interfaith dialogue, such as Aref Ali Nayed (interviewed here, in Islamica Magazine).

The Vatican’s lame response was that “the gesture aimed to promote religious freedom”.

Pffffffffwhahahahaha!! Bullshit!!

I think this gesture goes beyond simple provocation. Pope Benedict is indeed quite anti-Muslim, but he was making here a big, big statement - amusingly enough the best explanation I can find is on a conservative evangelist blog, “Per Christum”. A statement to Muslims, to Christians, to Evangelists as well as to their targets. Smart move, Pope.

Of course we have to see who the convert in question is, and why his conversion is so noisy.

So the bloke was born and raised in Egypt, moved to Italy in 1972, and is a journalist - currently deputy editor of the Corriere Della Sera - known to be staunchly anti-Muslim, pro-Zionist, etc. The man wrote a number of (sometimes quite inflammatory) books, including his autobiography in 2007, strangely titled “Long live Israel” (Viva Israele) in which he wrote that "Israel - along with Pope Benedict XVI - represents the residual hope for Western civilization, which, more than other civilizations, embodies the sacredness of life and personal freedom." Yep, he’s that extremist. Quite an interesting case of Ayaan-Hirsi-Ali-ism, with a little less brain.

In 2006 he received the Dan David prize from Tel Aviv Uni, for “his ceaseless work in fostering understanding and tolerance between cultures”. I guess insulting one culture and pledging allegiance to another is the TAU definition for ‘understanding and tolerance’?

For him, “Europe is already a bastion of Islamic extremism. (...)This bastion exists thanks to a widespread network of mosques, Koran schools, financial bodies and charitable institutions linked to the Muslim Brotherhood”. And he sees that moderates voices aren’t heard “Because they're afraid. They're a minority and they're afraid.”

I personally think the guy is a fart and that we shouldn’t give him any attention at all. I almost feel sorry for him, since his conversion - which, I am sure, came from belief at least as much as politics, if not more (and I honestly wish him happiness with his new faith) - was instrumentalised by the Vatican to send a message.

And as a matter of fact, I’m glad he converted - that would stop the ludicrous vouching of his opinions as a critic of Islam as an ‘insider’, and would prevent newspapers from sensationalist titles like “Muslim, Italian and Zionist” as Haaretz did.

I wish he’d renounce his Egyptian citizenship, if he hasn’t done yet, because I frankly don’t even want to have that in common with him.

Brunch in Jenin: cheese pastries and prison memories

Dalia took me for brunch at “Delicate”, home to Jenin’s - and probably the Middle East’s - best pastries.

The pastries were divine, light, crunchy, tasty - just enough to make you want to rush in for the next bite, without overwhelming you with flavour and forcing you to pause. I had to stop eating so that Dalia wouldn’t see me as an ogre, and suggested we take out some pastries (for her mom, I said) - my excuse to take some snacks home.

Yet this is not today’s story.

For the place, however, and its owner were far more interesting.

With a prime and exposed location on the main street of Jenin, ‘Delicate’ usually suffers purposeful or collateral destruction whenever the Israeli army graces the city with its presence.

And it seems that this experience has created a strange, a familial bond between all people working at Delicate, as well as with their regulars. “In it together”, essentially.

And in this family, Alam plays the big brother.

Alam - whose name means ‘tall mountain’, in old Arabic - smiles at his clients from behind his counter and his oval glasses, and his goatee dampens his warm smile into that of a polite clerk. I tend to think this was precisely the effect he was going for.

His eyes laughed at me when I asked him about the cards - but he answered anyway.

The cards? Well, Alam was in Israeli prisons, in Ofer then in Megiddo, for three years. I did not ask him why, and he didn’t say - I knew it would add nothing to the story, for Israeli prisons, as a friend once said, “is like a tax that we all have to pay, sooner or later”.

And during these three years in jail, he painted. And he wrote.

He painted what he wrote, he wrote what he painted. His thoughts flowed on paper, and what he wrote, he sent out - to the pastry shop.

Three of his old cards are now plastic-coated and placed on the counter, for those who care to raise their eyes a few centimetres above the dessert display case.

At times, he wrote to his fellow co-workers, which included his brother, as the rest of the team; he thanked them for the good times, he joked, he reached through from prison for a firm, long handshake.

He wrote to his clients - sometimes even naming them one by one, starting one his letters with “Dear Ashraf, Abboud, Khalaf, Ghassan, Jarrar, Hassan, Amin, Farid, Maher, Bahaa, Shalbek, Farouk..” He reminisced, with fantastic details, he thanked them for being the friends they did not plan to be.

When I asked him why on earth would one write his former workplace from jail, he said that he spent so much time here, with his brother, with his coworkers, that it became his surrogate home, if not the real one. And in the really bad times, one seeks a sense of normalcy, clings onto his memories. And you’re really grateful for it - and if you have the guts, you say it.

Prison makes you thankful.

Here is one of the letters he wrote:

“To the customers whom we got used to seeing at Delicate.

Girls and boys, fathers and mothers. To those faces, to those shadows.

An impromptu salute from the Megiddo prison.

And in the prison, my dears, days are but days, carrying nothing but the rotation of the clock.

Yesterday I reminisced about days at ‘Delicate’, so I write today to reminisce about that door, these doors, the counter, the long chair in the corner, the gateaux fridge, the oven, the kitchen, the wooden floor... and other details, taking shape along the days, eventually becoming part of my life.

Yes, my dear friends... the palm of my hand longs to touching that doorknob.

Greetings,

Alam - 17th of April, 2004. “

I was taken aback by this dream of normalcy, of routine. May I say - of boredom.

Isn’t that the story of the Palestinian people, of all oppressed peoples, for that matter? The quest for normalcy?

(a painting by Alam. It reads “To believe, you must understand”.)