Watch a new short film that transposes Israel's movement restrictions on Palestinians in the occupied territories to London.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Border Perspectives
Just quickly putting into perspective my "troubles" at the King Hussein border crossing, I ran across an article about two African-American activists who were attempting to participate in the Fatah-promoted International Conference on Palestinian Prisoners in Israeli Jails. It gives a good idea about what the Israelis look for in suspected "terrorists". Since the article is short, I'll copy it below:
The NLG NYC Condemns the Israeli Government for the Detention of African American Political Activists
25 November 2009
"The New York City Chapter of the National Lawyers Guild condemns the actions of the Israeli government for its unlawful and racially motivated detention of two African-American political activists.
"On November 23, 2009, Dhoruba Bin Wahad, a former U.S. political prisoner and leader of the Black Panther Party, and Naji Mujahid, a student-activist from Washington D.C., were on a tourist bus en route from Amman, Jordan to the West Bank of occupied Palestine. Both had been invited to attend a conference on political detention in Jericho that was sponsored by the Palestinian Authority. As the bus crossed the King Hussein Bridge that connects Jordan with the Israeli-occupied West Bank, it stopped for a border inspection by Israeli officers. Of the numerous individuals on the bus, only Dhoruba and Naji were ordered to disembark. Significantly, both were the only Black people on the bus. Within a short time, the border officials searched under Dhoruba's name on the Internet. They discovered that he is Muslim, a former Black Panther leader, and someone who spent 19 years in prison for a crime he did not commit. (Dhoruba, a target of COINTELPRO, was arrested in 1971 and sentenced to life in prison. His conviction was overturned in 1990). Both Dhoruba and Naji were interrogated, strip-searched, and their property confiscated and searched. Despite their cooperation and offer to return into Jordan, their detention continued for over 12 hours. They were ultimately released but denied permission to enter occupied Palestine and returned to Jordan.
"The treatment accorded Dhoruba and Naji would be outrageous if it occurred to anyone. And as Naji Mujahid himself stated shortly after returning to Amman, "the humiliation and frustration that we endured was a small taste of what we can be sure the Palestinians go through on a daily basis." But the incident is rendered even more shameful because its genesis appears to have been racial profiling. Dhoruba and Naji were ordered off the bus before Israeli border officials had any idea of their country of origin or personal histories. They only knew that they were Black. Moreover, the incident occurred only days after it was reported that the South African government deported an Israeli official following allegations that a member of Shin Bet, the Israeli secret police, had infiltrated the airport in Johannesburg in an effort to get information on South African citizens, particularly Black and Muslim travelers (Reuters, November 22, 2009).
"The New York City Chapter of the National Lawyers Guild calls upon the United States State Department to lodge a formal protest over the treatment of Dhoruba Bin Wahad and Naji Mujahid. We further call upon the Israeli government to end its racist and unjust detention and interrogation policies."
P.S.: news flash! for all of us who like to wear the Palestinian kuffiyehs in solidarity with our brothers and sisters here, I learned some useful information today. Apparently, the black and white (the one we usually see everywhere) represents Fatah; the red one represents the PFLP; and the green represents Hamas. So be careful which colors you decide to wave...
The NLG NYC Condemns the Israeli Government for the Detention of African American Political Activists
25 November 2009
"The New York City Chapter of the National Lawyers Guild condemns the actions of the Israeli government for its unlawful and racially motivated detention of two African-American political activists.
"On November 23, 2009, Dhoruba Bin Wahad, a former U.S. political prisoner and leader of the Black Panther Party, and Naji Mujahid, a student-activist from Washington D.C., were on a tourist bus en route from Amman, Jordan to the West Bank of occupied Palestine. Both had been invited to attend a conference on political detention in Jericho that was sponsored by the Palestinian Authority. As the bus crossed the King Hussein Bridge that connects Jordan with the Israeli-occupied West Bank, it stopped for a border inspection by Israeli officers. Of the numerous individuals on the bus, only Dhoruba and Naji were ordered to disembark. Significantly, both were the only Black people on the bus. Within a short time, the border officials searched under Dhoruba's name on the Internet. They discovered that he is Muslim, a former Black Panther leader, and someone who spent 19 years in prison for a crime he did not commit. (Dhoruba, a target of COINTELPRO, was arrested in 1971 and sentenced to life in prison. His conviction was overturned in 1990). Both Dhoruba and Naji were interrogated, strip-searched, and their property confiscated and searched. Despite their cooperation and offer to return into Jordan, their detention continued for over 12 hours. They were ultimately released but denied permission to enter occupied Palestine and returned to Jordan.
"The treatment accorded Dhoruba and Naji would be outrageous if it occurred to anyone. And as Naji Mujahid himself stated shortly after returning to Amman, "the humiliation and frustration that we endured was a small taste of what we can be sure the Palestinians go through on a daily basis." But the incident is rendered even more shameful because its genesis appears to have been racial profiling. Dhoruba and Naji were ordered off the bus before Israeli border officials had any idea of their country of origin or personal histories. They only knew that they were Black. Moreover, the incident occurred only days after it was reported that the South African government deported an Israeli official following allegations that a member of Shin Bet, the Israeli secret police, had infiltrated the airport in Johannesburg in an effort to get information on South African citizens, particularly Black and Muslim travelers (Reuters, November 22, 2009).
"The New York City Chapter of the National Lawyers Guild calls upon the United States State Department to lodge a formal protest over the treatment of Dhoruba Bin Wahad and Naji Mujahid. We further call upon the Israeli government to end its racist and unjust detention and interrogation policies."
P.S.: news flash! for all of us who like to wear the Palestinian kuffiyehs in solidarity with our brothers and sisters here, I learned some useful information today. Apparently, the black and white (the one we usually see everywhere) represents Fatah; the red one represents the PFLP; and the green represents Hamas. So be careful which colors you decide to wave...
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Kurdish Dancing
Finally, after many lies and attempted uploads, I have these videos of Kurdish dancers for you all. Recorded in the village of Eruh, in Southeastern Turkey on August 15th, 2009, the 25th anniversary of the PKK uprising.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Entering Occupied Palestine
They are on your head, in your mouth, nervously hopping on your arms. There are so many of them that when you wave your hand around in the air, you feel them hitting your skin. Dozens of them. Flies. It's as if, when approaching the Jordanian-Israeli border, you are nearing a decaying corpse, or at least something putrid, something rotten. Symbolic.
The Jordanian-owned JETT bus crossed the King Hussein/Allenby Bridge at 9am, one hour after having our passports stamped at the Jordanian border crossing, located just 2 kilometers away. The Israeli-customs center (remember that Israel controls the border crossing, even though it is in Palestinian Authority "controlled" West Bank) resembles more of an airport terminal than the simple border crossings I have gotten used to. A huge sign in Arabic by the Born to Freedom Foundation offers $10,000,000 (yes, that is ten million dollars) for information about Israeli's MIAs. Stern-faced youth in white polo shirts, khaki cargo pants, Ray-Ban sunglasses and watch over the crowd of travelers, armed with impressive-looking M-16s. We meet the first round of friendly customs agents/robots, leave our baggage, and are sent to another room. Nothing serious, just the X-ray machine. A French kid who was on the bus with me and is hoping to get involved in anti-occupation activities as well, is pulled aside by a mean looking agent with a gun strapped to his thigh. I proceed. Maybe it won't be as bad as everyone told me it would.
I was told on numerous occasions about how beautiful the Israeli female customs agents are, and the next customs agent I meet is exactly that. She is so nice to me that I begin to wonder if it was all a joke about the Israelis being nasty. Or maybe it was the new, striped, blue and white (excellent touch, Nico!) collared shirt I was wearing. "Where are you going in Israel?" Everyone had told me - "Don't say Ramallah!" - but I didn't have another story and I didn't want to lie, so I told them "Ramallah, Bethlehem, maybe the Red Sea, of course Tel Aviv... " My question: "Why are there so many flies?" She groans in solidarity. Then:
"Please have a seat."
Damn. The majority of people were being passed through, except for me, the French guy and a few other Palestinians. I fill out a form about my recent country visits (though they already know it, they make you say and write everything twice just to see if your story - or memory - holds up), and wait. Fifteen minutes later, I am taken to another hall (I can see the exit!) and told to wait. Sometime later, one of the secret service goons rolls up and asks to sit next to me. I would rather punch her in her metallic braces, but I accept.
Thus begin the questions. What did you do in Syria? Why did you study Arabic? What is your work? Why did you help tenants? How much was your apartment in Syria? Do you have receipts for your classes? How are you able to pay for your trip? She writes down everything I say, while swatting at the flies. Where are you going in Israel? Ok, where are you going in the West Bank? I ask, provocatively: Is Jerusalem part of the West Bank? To which she enigmatically replies, Not yet. Forty minutes later, she's done, I'm parched and she tells me to wait.
Some time later, I'm asked by another agent to retrieve my bag, which he then asks me to set aside on an inspection table. I'm again told to wait. The crowds pass by towards the exit. The flies are swarming, not allowing me to sleep. Exhausted. I'm the only one still waiting, though new "detainees" (as I am calling myself now) come and go frequently.
Another 45 minutes later, bag inspection. They go through everything, in detail, and throw it on the table. A USB drive? Red light. In a separate box. Robert Fisk's "The Great War for Civilization"? Red light. Funnily, Edward Said's "The Question of Palestine" gets a green light. I expected more problems about that. Why do you have a flashlight? Oh, so when I meet Hizbollah in the mountains, I can see who I am talking to, I think sarcastically. "No reason, just in case of emergencies." A birthday card written in Arabic? Red light. I had secretly stuffed my kuffiyeh in the leg of a pair of pants, and held my breath as the officer groped the pants. He didn't catch it. I exhaled heavily and rested a hand on the pair of pants, as if to defend it from further groping. A voice recorder?! Red light. A Macbook? Green light. Flies? Many.
We take the red light items into a back room, after I take my cool time in packing my bags. We enter a room. The secret service agent, much friendlier now in the company of two male couterparts, takes leave. A curtain closes. What the hell? Am I to be bodily searched? Yes. Check his shoes. Socks. Drop your pants. Anything hidden under the scrotum, no. Between the butt cheeks, no. They say something in Hebrew and laugh. It was a lesson in humiliation. The occupation must show its power and your powerlessness. You are nothing, we are power. I wished I could have at least farted on him.
They finish, and I am shaking, maybe out of anger, or humiliation, or both. Even during my arrests in the US, I was never strip searched. But I told myself that this is just a fraction of what Palestinians experience everyday, so I shouldn't try to talk about false pride or something like that.
The secret service woman returns and I mention the laughing. She embarrasedly replies, "some boys never grow up." They make me sign a paper, all written in Hebrew, which I demand to be read in English. I could have demanded it written in English, but I am took tired. Am I under arrest?
"No, but you have been arrested before, correct?"
Oh, you saw the GW Hatchet on-line article which mentions my arrest at a Critical Mass Bike Ride. (Note: to be an Israeli secret service agent, you have to know how to use Google). "Yes, I was arrested." For what? "I believe for biking in the opposite direction of traffic and generally blocking traffic." Who else was arrested with you? "Lots of people." Including anyone you know? "Oh yes, my friend Miles who I will be staying with in Ramallah." What were you protesting? "The War". Which one? "The Invasion of Iraq." You were against that war? "Yes, I was, and I still am." My tone is finally defiant. You weren't protesting Israel? "No." (We all know my memory is sometimes shady, so here's the article.)
They return me to the entrance and tell me to wait. Will I be turned back? I prepare myself for denial of entry. It's hot now, and the flies are still here.
I'm called to another window, and my passport is returned to me. I suppose as a reward for not losing my patience with the robots, I have been given 3 months and no stamp in my passport (which comes in handy if I want to go to Muslim countries other than Jordan, Egypt or Turkey). I did it. I'm in Palestine. Eleven months later after starting my trip, I am in Palestine.
I exit the processing center and catch a bus to Jericho to wait for Miles. Along the way, PA police stop us and check our passports. They seem very relaxed, as they should, since there is nothing for them to police, the Israelis are the ones in control. They seem to be checking for contraband in one youth's bag as they joke with me. I'm sort of a novelty, it seems, and they are very friendly to me. We discuss the occupation, and some people tell me about how useless the PA police really is. At the Jericho bus station, a PA sign talks about the "liberated zone of Jericho".
The flies are still there. Miles picks me up and we drive to Ramallah. Welcome to occupied Palestine.
The Jordanian-owned JETT bus crossed the King Hussein/Allenby Bridge at 9am, one hour after having our passports stamped at the Jordanian border crossing, located just 2 kilometers away. The Israeli-customs center (remember that Israel controls the border crossing, even though it is in Palestinian Authority "controlled" West Bank) resembles more of an airport terminal than the simple border crossings I have gotten used to. A huge sign in Arabic by the Born to Freedom Foundation offers $10,000,000 (yes, that is ten million dollars) for information about Israeli's MIAs. Stern-faced youth in white polo shirts, khaki cargo pants, Ray-Ban sunglasses and watch over the crowd of travelers, armed with impressive-looking M-16s. We meet the first round of friendly customs agents/robots, leave our baggage, and are sent to another room. Nothing serious, just the X-ray machine. A French kid who was on the bus with me and is hoping to get involved in anti-occupation activities as well, is pulled aside by a mean looking agent with a gun strapped to his thigh. I proceed. Maybe it won't be as bad as everyone told me it would.
I was told on numerous occasions about how beautiful the Israeli female customs agents are, and the next customs agent I meet is exactly that. She is so nice to me that I begin to wonder if it was all a joke about the Israelis being nasty. Or maybe it was the new, striped, blue and white (excellent touch, Nico!) collared shirt I was wearing. "Where are you going in Israel?" Everyone had told me - "Don't say Ramallah!" - but I didn't have another story and I didn't want to lie, so I told them "Ramallah, Bethlehem, maybe the Red Sea, of course Tel Aviv... " My question: "Why are there so many flies?" She groans in solidarity. Then:
"Please have a seat."
Damn. The majority of people were being passed through, except for me, the French guy and a few other Palestinians. I fill out a form about my recent country visits (though they already know it, they make you say and write everything twice just to see if your story - or memory - holds up), and wait. Fifteen minutes later, I am taken to another hall (I can see the exit!) and told to wait. Sometime later, one of the secret service goons rolls up and asks to sit next to me. I would rather punch her in her metallic braces, but I accept.
Thus begin the questions. What did you do in Syria? Why did you study Arabic? What is your work? Why did you help tenants? How much was your apartment in Syria? Do you have receipts for your classes? How are you able to pay for your trip? She writes down everything I say, while swatting at the flies. Where are you going in Israel? Ok, where are you going in the West Bank? I ask, provocatively: Is Jerusalem part of the West Bank? To which she enigmatically replies, Not yet. Forty minutes later, she's done, I'm parched and she tells me to wait.
Some time later, I'm asked by another agent to retrieve my bag, which he then asks me to set aside on an inspection table. I'm again told to wait. The crowds pass by towards the exit. The flies are swarming, not allowing me to sleep. Exhausted. I'm the only one still waiting, though new "detainees" (as I am calling myself now) come and go frequently.
Another 45 minutes later, bag inspection. They go through everything, in detail, and throw it on the table. A USB drive? Red light. In a separate box. Robert Fisk's "The Great War for Civilization"? Red light. Funnily, Edward Said's "The Question of Palestine" gets a green light. I expected more problems about that. Why do you have a flashlight? Oh, so when I meet Hizbollah in the mountains, I can see who I am talking to, I think sarcastically. "No reason, just in case of emergencies." A birthday card written in Arabic? Red light. I had secretly stuffed my kuffiyeh in the leg of a pair of pants, and held my breath as the officer groped the pants. He didn't catch it. I exhaled heavily and rested a hand on the pair of pants, as if to defend it from further groping. A voice recorder?! Red light. A Macbook? Green light. Flies? Many.
We take the red light items into a back room, after I take my cool time in packing my bags. We enter a room. The secret service agent, much friendlier now in the company of two male couterparts, takes leave. A curtain closes. What the hell? Am I to be bodily searched? Yes. Check his shoes. Socks. Drop your pants. Anything hidden under the scrotum, no. Between the butt cheeks, no. They say something in Hebrew and laugh. It was a lesson in humiliation. The occupation must show its power and your powerlessness. You are nothing, we are power. I wished I could have at least farted on him.
They finish, and I am shaking, maybe out of anger, or humiliation, or both. Even during my arrests in the US, I was never strip searched. But I told myself that this is just a fraction of what Palestinians experience everyday, so I shouldn't try to talk about false pride or something like that.
The secret service woman returns and I mention the laughing. She embarrasedly replies, "some boys never grow up." They make me sign a paper, all written in Hebrew, which I demand to be read in English. I could have demanded it written in English, but I am took tired. Am I under arrest?
"No, but you have been arrested before, correct?"
Oh, you saw the GW Hatchet on-line article which mentions my arrest at a Critical Mass Bike Ride. (Note: to be an Israeli secret service agent, you have to know how to use Google). "Yes, I was arrested." For what? "I believe for biking in the opposite direction of traffic and generally blocking traffic." Who else was arrested with you? "Lots of people." Including anyone you know? "Oh yes, my friend Miles who I will be staying with in Ramallah." What were you protesting? "The War". Which one? "The Invasion of Iraq." You were against that war? "Yes, I was, and I still am." My tone is finally defiant. You weren't protesting Israel? "No." (We all know my memory is sometimes shady, so here's the article.)
They return me to the entrance and tell me to wait. Will I be turned back? I prepare myself for denial of entry. It's hot now, and the flies are still here.
I'm called to another window, and my passport is returned to me. I suppose as a reward for not losing my patience with the robots, I have been given 3 months and no stamp in my passport (which comes in handy if I want to go to Muslim countries other than Jordan, Egypt or Turkey). I did it. I'm in Palestine. Eleven months later after starting my trip, I am in Palestine.
I exit the processing center and catch a bus to Jericho to wait for Miles. Along the way, PA police stop us and check our passports. They seem very relaxed, as they should, since there is nothing for them to police, the Israelis are the ones in control. They seem to be checking for contraband in one youth's bag as they joke with me. I'm sort of a novelty, it seems, and they are very friendly to me. We discuss the occupation, and some people tell me about how useless the PA police really is. At the Jericho bus station, a PA sign talks about the "liberated zone of Jericho".
The flies are still there. Miles picks me up and we drive to Ramallah. Welcome to occupied Palestine.
Friday, November 6, 2009
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