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Published: March 2nd 2005
Elections in Iraq
Don't forget the Iraqi elections were going on, and Iraqis living abroad were eligible to vote. Here's an "election bus" which seemed to simply advocate voting for anyone at all..."Yellow man" is (as described to me by an Israeli soldier guarding settlements in the Gaza strip) is a desultory term applied to those incapale of going beyond official doctrine and/or direct orders. He used the term in relation to paratrooper units (of the IDF), but I think Yellow Men lie at the root of the current problems in the region formerly known as Palestine.
Since my last blog I've spent about 10 days in Eastern (now Jordan), and 3 weeks in Western Palestine. As the majority of the population of Jordan is comprised of refugees, I have had occassion to speak to many "Palestinians" who have never seen their homeland. They have been honest and kind to a fault -- even when they thought I was Israeli. I've spent time in Amman, the ancient capital of the Ammonites, historically speaking cousins of the Jews. The "city" apparently had a population of 2000 when it was chosen as the capital of Trans-Jordan -- a state created by the whims of Britain and to give the sons of the Sharif of Mecca a country to govern (nevermind the fact that no-one is living there or that there is nothing apart from
Falafel in Ramallah
Nothing too interesting -- just a scene from the bazaar area in Ramallah. desert). The city sprawls across 19 hills -- each with its own name -- and proudly hosts Safeway (the brand of the future), as well as Hardee's, KFC and McDonalds to name a few. There is precious little that is appealing about Amman apart from the politeness of its inhabitants which enable me to walk the streets without stares and or jeers (which can be a problem).
The northern tip of the country is the only densely populated region, the remainder being largely uninhabited desert. In particular, however, the region bordering the Jordan Valley is gorgeous as the hills have already sprung to life with myriad flowers and lush green grass. After having seen both sides, I think the eastern eanks of the river are more beautiful.
I took a day trip out to the oasis town of Al-Azraq, on the way to the Saudi border, and where the black basalt pebbles of the desert give one the illusion of being ploughed farmlands, and the low hills remind me of Eastern Thrace.
I got caught in a sandstorm as I tried to hitchhike down to the Dead Sea, and visibility literally dropped to a couple of feet.
The Day After in Hebron
My 2nd trip to Hebron was a day after a teenager was shot dead. They had placed stones around there area where his blood was still visible in the sand, and these kids had gathered around and were talking. The second they saw me with the camera they began chanting and making victory signs, eventually charging the camera, which is what you see here. I don't know if it's nature or nurture. I was once again glad to have a keffiyeh and sun glasses to protect me from the elements. I picnicked by the banks of a small stream of naturally hot water watering fields before emptying into the Dead Sea -- further downstream the local men (only men) bathed in a natural pool of hot water. The Dead Sea really does have amazing buoyancy, and the tiniest drop of water in your eyes will cause great and enduring pain. So wear sunglasses. While it rained cats and dogs in Amman, I sat in a natural tub 3 feet from the sea, while hot water gushed from the rock and I read my book.
After much deliberation and anxiety over getting a stamp in my passport and/or being turned back at the border, I flipped a coin and decided to go anyhow. The view on the way down to the Jordan Valley was amazing as the clouds coming from the sea were only on the Jordanian side and the sun shone down on the West Bank. The fun was cut short by the civilian toting an enormous machine gun and fixing his attentive gaze on me as I alighted from the
Balata Camp in Nablus
What you see behind the kids is the Balata Camp, where I was advised not to go alone. As long as you say hello to *everyone you see*, it's perfectly safe. This was the first place (since Lebanon) where I saw bullet marks on walls. "foreigners' bus" at the Israeli border. We're not in Kansas anymore: the Palestinians get special treatment in their own bus. I also had the worst headache I've had in ages.
First they take your luggage (as in an airport) to a seperate room for inspection, as you queue up for the metal detector. Al backpacker-types are then singled out and questioned exhaustively as to their intentions in Israel and countries previously visited. While my questioning lasted about 30 minutes, some unlucky souls have been known to have been searched and quizzed for over 5 hours. Then you progress to the incredibly slow-moving line -- I swear I stood in the same exact spot for over an hour -- in front of the "immigration" booth staffed by 6-7 18-year old Israeli girls doing their 2-year military service. I must say that was the one redeeming factor of the whole experience. Once you indiacte that you do
not want your passport stamped you are given a severe look and told to "wait". I finally got my visa (without a stamp in my passport!) 5 1/2 hours after I got there, and well after everyone else had left.
One of the
Chaos
For some reason this guy was riding his horse in downtown Ramallah... as it usually happens, there was only one guy riding a horse, and I took a picture of it, so now everyone will think Ramallah is full of horses. I've also seen guys riding their horses and talking on their cell phones at the same time. most bizarre things about being "there" is you never know what to call the place: Is it all Israel? Or Israel and the 'Palestinian Territories'? Or just Palestine? Depending on where you are, using the wrong name can be suicidal.
The hostel I was staying at was full of activists, so I got to talk to a bunch of people, and stayed indoors a lot, cooking my own food (prices are outrageous), and seeking refuge from the nasty Jerusalem weather. It rained non-stop for my first week. It's a jungle out there, though: in a span of no more than 50 yards you can see the traditional Arab clothing of headscarves for women and tight jeans and moussed curly hair for the young men switch to the long sideburns, enormous hats, and black-and-white clothes of the orthodox jews. Walking around in Jerusalem is a surreal experience (for more than one reason).
After all the talk of "the Wall", I wrapped my kefiyyeh around my neck and head out to Hebron on an Arab "servees". Paranthetically, there are different transportation systems for Jews and Arabs in the West Bank. I've never seen an Arab on an
Egged bus, which
Kid in Hebron
This kid was moving as fast as he could to get away from the camera, but I got him all the same. only go to settlements, while the Arabs tend to take small vans which while both unreliable and infrequent (you wait for it to fill up before it moves), cost more than their Israeli counterparts! We walked through the typically middle-eastern fruit-and-vegetable market and on to the largely deserted Old City (most inhabitants have fled the terror of the crazy settlers who have taken up residence in part of it). One street -- passing right by the houses of the settlement -- is roofed with chickenwire upon which tons of trash is heaped; apparently the settlers would throw their trash on the Palestinians, so the chickenwire is to afford some form of protection. We emerged on the other side through my first real flesh-and-blood Israeli checkpoint, with another just 10 feet away at the entrance to the burial place of Abraham, a structure housing a mosque and a synagogue, one in each half. The soldiers at the entrance vigorously search your bags as you pass through a metal detector and hand over your passport for inspection. They want to know your religion -- Jews are not allowed in the mosque, nor Muslims to the synagogue. We are told we must wait
Qalandia by Day
Watchtowers, concrete cubes, the Wall... people selling fruits and vegetables and redeeming the time as they wait. for the sabbath to end (after sundown) before we can enter the synagogue, and we are stopped and our IDs radioed in by two bored Israeli soldiers as we attempt to go back to the Arab part. There are 1m^3 concrete cubes blocking traffic on roads. You have to walk around them. Right after the checkpoint we were faced with the surreal sight of 6 soldiers - guns drawn and ready - flanking the street and advancing towards us. We acted calm and kept walking, but all it takes is one jumpy soldier and a sudden move and you're finished. Soldiers were walking in formation, taking cover and then advancing down the main street, guns pointed and fingers on the triggers, while Arab kids played marbles and the shopkeepers smoked nargila and played tawla, seemingly oblivious to their existence.
After that bit of surrealism, we (fully expecting to be turned back) headed up towards the settlement of Qiryat Arba -- apparently the first illegal settlement in the West Bank. The road is lined with wind-torn Israeli flags, reminding me of their Hezbollah and Amal counterparts in Lebanon. At one point the road passes through partially demolished old houses: it's
Qalandia by Night
Of course you can light a bonfire right next to a military establishment... already dark and i exclaim that the ruins would make superb sniper positions -- then I notice that there are soldiers in every corner and behind every shadow. The houses have Hebrew (and Russian) graffiti and stars of David spray-painted on their doors. We ask: apparently this is an Arab neighborhood, and the "added security" is because it's the sabbath. The settlers spray-paint graffiti on Arab houses because they want to intimidate them into leaving. No-one stops us as we enter the settlement, full of excitement and prepared for a fanaticism we do not find. Qiryat Arba is pretty tame: it's the off-limits settlements in the old city that are crazy. There are apartments and tree-lined streets and small parks -- and little else except for two small grocery stores. This could have been a suburb in America if it wasn't a virtual warzone. We chat with some soldiers: one is Russian and hardly speaks Hebrew; another is from Carmel and says it's nicer there: less Arabs. Most soldiers seem to say "this sucks", but we weren't able to figure out if it's the occupation or their particular job that sucks -- I suspect it's the latter.
On the
Lost in Hebron
A kid with his shopping cart and nowhere to go... bus back we chat with 3 American Jews studying in Jerusalem. At first they assume we're jewish and are really friendly; things turn a little sour when they figure out we aren't. One is pretty fanatical, going so far as to say that Arabs "live with animals" which they "feed only maybe once a week". I once watched a Nazi propaganda film which accused the Jews of cruelty to animals. I guess it's pretty standard racism.
Transportation in the West Bank is interesting: directions are given in terms of checkpoints. Here's how to get from Jerusalem to Nablus. First you take a bus to Qalandiya checkpoint -- the main checkpoint seperating Jerusalem from the northern West Bank towns -- passing through what must be the worst road on a major transportation artery. The road isn't paved, and the bus slaloms its way between the ubiquitous concrete cubes. Why? At Qalandiya you see the Wall in all its glory. People seem to be used to it, and there's a full market going on the other side, complete with beggars and gum-selling children. You pass through a revolving door and are now in the West Bank. You will not be let
A taste of Hebron
Here you have it all -- the Mosque/Synagogue that lies at the center of the dispute, the Jews picnicking on the grassy lawn behind the soldiers' checkpoints, and the army buldozer used to demolish the homes of anyone who shoots... yet it's a beautiful day. back in if you are not an international or a resident of Jerusalem: Arabs from the West Bank are not permitted to travel to Jerusalem. From Qalandiya you take a servees to Ramallah, where (should you so desire) you may see the
Muqata where Arafat stayed during his famous siege, where the building is as it was then, complete with destroyed facade and place where the Army tried to force its way in. Arafat's tomb is nearby. From Ramallah you take a bus
headed to Tulkarm, and tell the driver to let you off "near Beit Iba", from where you will take a servees to the Beit Iba checkpoint, and from there another servees will take you to Nablus. The bus doesn't really go to Tulkarm either: it drops you off in the middle of nowhere where concrete cubes block the road, and you have to take a servees into town. The whole thing is chaotic.
I left Jerusalem, ostensibly on a day trip to Nablus, but got there later than I anticipated (the whole thing really takes about 4 hours), and needed to spend the night since the checkpoint closes at 6pm. I then ended up working my way to Jenin, and from there up into Israel proper and the Sea of Galilee. The most memorable parts of Nablus include the coffee shop which closed at 8pm (a new record), with people hurrying back home as to not be out in the streets in case there's an Army incursion. The day I arrived 2 Palestinians had been killed in Nablus. I shuddered every time a little kid said "Shalom!" to me during my visit to the Balata refugee camp: Israeli citizens are not allowed into cities in the West Bank, and I think it's with good reason. Kids were at play with their own mock checkpoints and wooden guns: they let me pass because they said I was "nice". Young men told me they were from Hamas or Islamic Jihad or Al-Aqsa brigades, and that they aren't afraid of the Army. Nablus has a beautiful old city which apparently has suffered much during the intifada. Jenin didn't have much to see, although there was machine gun fire going on at night: it sounded like it was coming from two directions, but someone later said it was probably a wedding. The soldiers at the checkpoint north of Jenin were overjoyed (and stopped pointing their guns at my face) when they saw my American passport, and seemed satisfied with my explanation that the keffiyeh was to keep me from getting shot "in there".
I walked from the checkpoint to the nearest town amongst fruit-laden grapefruit trees and trees in full blossom of white and pink. Truly gorgeous. Tiberias itself is a disappointment, but we rented bicycles and cycled around the lake, and that was amazing. We made a couple of stops to raid grapefruit trees and banana groves and to nap in the sun by the lake. Sore and tired, we made it back after dark, 60km later in the same spot.
From Tiberias we spent two nights in the fortified old city of Acre (Akko), gawking at the prices and buying the humus, labneh, halwa, and date spread that would be our food for the remainder of our stay. Old cities look pretty much alike, but Akko was nice. The inhabitants are almost all Arabs who didn't flee in 1948. It was interesting seeing them after the people in the West Bank -- these guys were citizens, and even looked a little more westernized than their West Bank counterparts. They assumed we were Israelis so we didn't talk to anyone.
We spent a day on the beaches of Haifa, then getting lost in the city trying to find the train station. The french guy I was with put on a kipa he had found on the ground, and they didn't search our bags at the entrance to the station (they normally do). The "lax" security as compared to the West Bank and Jerusalem made him exclaim "they why don't they detonate a bomb in Tel Aviv?!" Turned out to be prophetic.
We spent most of our time in Tel Aviv on the beach, trying to readjust our brains to seeing women wearing bikinis or generally deviating from the sweater-and-jeans formula predominant elsewhere in the middle east. I must say there are some
cute girls in Tel Aviv. Also some excellent used bookstores (possibly the best in the middle east) -- I accordingly stocked up. My friend was extremely disappointed that his flight was leaving friday morning -- meaning he would miss the weekly beach parety termed "Shabbat Night Fever". On thursday afternoon we discovered an alternative/anarchist coffee shop where (for the first time in months) I heard people talk about globalization and the G8. It was a pretty cool crowd -- the type of people you wish there were enough of to counterbalance the Apartheid policies of the State.
Friday night, after a very full and fulfilling day, I sat on the beach for a bit but then decided to head back to the hotel since it was getting late and I had kept my friend company until 6am. I was watchin the Titanic (first time) on TV when someone burst into the room and said something about "the bomb on the beach". No-one knew anything so I went out to investigate, following the ambulances and police cars which led me to a pretty central place where I had been maybe 45 minutes before, and was 200m or so from the hotel I was staying at. I don't want to trivialize the trauma by trying to describe it. It was interesting that while some people were sobbing others seemed used to it and were taking the opportunity to be assholes. In a couple of hours some young guys (presumably American) were harassing a homeless woman who was trying to sleep. It seems like the cycle of violence and oppression is now routine.
And this brings me to my point about Yellow Men. I don't see the cycle of violence ending at any point. The Israelis around right after the blast said "Arabs are all animals", while I bet the Arabs were vowing revenge after the deaths in Nablus. There is no dialogue between the two sides, since they're too caught up with being "victims", as someone explained to me: the Israelis say they're victims because of the holocaust; the Palestinians say they're victims because of what they've gone through. And because they're victims (and God is on their side), they'll do anything to the other side, "the oppressor", regardless of the fact that those on the other side are people (much like themselves), which deserve to live a life free from racism, apartheid, oppression, and fear. But there are too many Yellow Men, parrotting official propaganda and refusing to think for themselves -- easier said than done since the two have no way of interacting to begin with. It's late and I must stop writing, but I don't see peace in the near future. There's too much hate.
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Ali
Ali Watters
One of the most moving diaries I've read
It's also incredibly well written and offers true insight into the problems of the region. Thank you for putting together such a thoughful and interesting article.