A Short Account of my Trip

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On Tuesday, Jun 18, 2002, I left our farm near Athabasca in Northern Alberta, Canada, for Palestine by way of Edmonton, Toronto, Frankfurt, Tel Aviv, and East Jerusalem. I arrived at the Knights Palace Hotel inside the walls of the Old City of Jerusalem at about 6:00 pm Wednesday, June 19.

Before leaving home I had been in contact with the ISM (International Solidarity Movement), and had telephone numbers, but due to the curfew and power outages, I was unable to contact anyone until Thursday, June 20. At 8:00 am the morning of Friday, June 21 I reported to the Faisal Youth Hostel opposite the Damascus Gate of the Old City for training in non-violent protest actions. At 77 I was the oldest of the group, in fact three or four times older than some of them.

LeAnne Clausen from the CPT (Christian Peacemaker Teams -- more about this later) in Hebron took us through the Dos and Don'ts of interfacing with Israeli soldiers, Jewish settlers, and Israeli Border Police. We formed into what the ISM calls "affinity groups", to wait for calls to go out to the field. I was put in an affinity group with Eric Levine (Connecticut), Rae Levine (his mother, California), Marissa McLaughlin (Seattle), and Susan Barclay, U.S..

Already that afternoon a call came from Ramallah that the Israeli Army might be planning to attack Yasser Arafat's quarters again, and ISM wanted some Internationals to go there to dissuade the Israelis from killing Arafat. I volunteered, along with several others.

So it was off to Ramallah and my first experience with checkpoints. What should have taken 15 minutes took two hours. I saw Palestinian women loaded down with household supplies simply denied permission to travel -- for what reason I don't know.

I stayed the night in a huge room with many other Internationals, sleeping on the floor on a mattress and blanket. The attack did not come, and in the morning I decided to rejoin the affinity group in Jerusalem for re-assignment.

This was to be to Nablus which was under a long and severe curfew. It was supposedly difficult to get into Nablus, but, as it turned out, we talked our way past the checkpoint at the entrance to the city. Neta Golan sent Rae and Eric up to the checkpoint to negotiate. We coached ourselves with the story that we were going into Nablus to help with the International Red Cross, and, possibly to see the sights of the old city. It worked. We started hiking into the deserted city of Nablus. A small--very small--taxi appeared out of a side street and Neta arranged a ride to the clinic in the Balata Refugee Camp.

I stayed in Balata six days and nights in the house of the Titi family, since it was under threat of being demolished. My companion was Marissa McLoughlin of Seattle. We slept and ate there and learned just how warm and friendly Palestinians can be. There was really only one time that we thought we would have to confront the Israeli Army.

The night of Tuesday to Wednesday, June 25 to June 26, the parade of tank, APC, and bulldozer rumbled into the camp about midnight. They fired a few shots, threw a noise stun grenade just to make sure everyone in the camp was awake, and clanked by the house. We were prepared for the worst, which was to have the bulldozer stop and issue orders to get out of the house. Neta had already contacted the press, but they didn't stop, just roamed up and down the street and then parked outside the camp with engines revving.

The night of Wednesday to Thursday the parade came again, but again did not stop. This time they parked outside the south end of the camp. I could hear the bulldozer working at something. I took to the roof and peeked out to try to get a look at what the dozer was doing, but it was too far away. Good thing I did not get anymore curious, since in the next street over, a 17 year old, unarmed, had stepped out into the street to look at the bulldozer, and was shot dead -- murdered, really.

Thursday night it was quiet in Balata, so we could say to Israel, "Thanks for no Tanks." This evening I lost my voice, and had a sore throat, and did not feel very perky. Hence I missed the curfew-defying march in Nablus that the other ISMer took part in. No confrontations. I decided to join a group going back to Jerusalem for some rest and recuperation. I spent the night of Friday June 28, at the Knights Palace Hotel.

Saturday morning I called Heather who told me to get to Ramallah as soon as possible. The curfew had been lifted that morning but was being re-imposed at 2:00 PM. Three shuttle busses and two checkpoints later I arrived. On the last shuttle bus, I sat next to a gentleman from Ramallah, an accountant. I told him I was from Edmonton, and lo and behold, his daughter, Vivian K. Mushahwar, Ph.D., is on the faculty at the University of Alberta. I promised to call her when I get back. We had to walk the last way to the hospital. He remarked as he hurried along with his sack of food trying to get home before the curfew came back on, "We aren't allowed to live like humans. This life is for animals." He has been to Edmonton, and hopes to visit his daughter again in October of this year, if the Israelis will let him go.

Not much happened Saturday evening, but I met some fascinating people who are on their way to Gaza.

Sunday, June 30, in Ramallah was much more dramatic. About 20 of us Internationals marched over to the Al Amaari Refugee Camp where the Army had rounded up all men from 15 to 50 early in the morning and had them in a field at the edge of the camp. Our mission was to monitor the detainees for human rights abuses (rounding up all men from a city isn't a human rights abuse?), and also to see what we could do to mitigate the effects of the house-to-house search on families, especially children. Heavily armed soldiers breaking in to your house isn't a human rights abuse? We had some success and some failure. When we got back to the hospital where we were sleeping (on the floor!), this is what we saw.

Child knocked down a flight of stairs by Israeli soldiers

The full story is in the diary entry for June 30.

The group of about ten ISMers who were going to Gaza wanted me to go with them, but I had planned to go to Hebron to stay with the CPT there; so on Monday, July 1 I went through the checkpoints to Jerusalem again, and on to Hebron, getting there about noon. Heidi Higgemann and I went to stay in the Old City where the CPT has had a presence since 1995. Greg Rollins of Vancouver, B.C. took Heidi and me to a house where the Army had commandeered the upper floor, and the family wanted help to get in and out -- they were confined to a single room. But the curfew had been lifted for the first time in days, and one of the family members did get out to buy some food and water.

Tuesday, July 2, was an eye opener. Early morning we hiked in to the center of Hebron and caught a ride to the barricaded bridge. We had been asked by a group of farmers to help them get onto their fields. The armed settlers and the soldiers had prevented them from doing any work on their land for several weeks. The farmers grow grapes and plums for sale in the West Bank and for export. They had written permission from the Israeli police captain of the district to go work their land -- land that had been in their families for hundreds of years, and to which they had valid deeds. It was not to be. An APC chased us all off, and we retreated to the house of Ahmed, one of the farmers. Ahmed is also an accountant who has worked for 20 years in Saudi Arabia.

Wednesday, July 3, was almost a replay of Tuesday, except that this time the farmers had the solemn word of an Israeli Army officer that on the next day, they would be allowed to go onto their land. This was also not to be. Kathy Kamphoefner of the CPT, and our leader in the attempt to help the farmers, told me that the word of an Israeli officer is only as good as the paper on which it is not written -- worthless that is. I heard by email on July 13 that these farmers still had not been permitted to go onto their land.

July 4 was my last day in Hebron and my last day as an activist in Palestine, but it wasn't especially active. We were on guard duty on the Al Mezan Hospital in Hebron, since the director feared an invasion by Israeli soldiers looking for "suspected militants" among the patients. I can verify that there were no militants since the only patient was a woman recovering from a difficult birth. But the Israeli Army had invaded before and he thought we as Internationals might keep them out, or at least keep them from trashing the place. Nothing happened.

Back to Jerusalem. It is 47 km (29 mi) from Hebron to Jerusalem, There is a good road, but Palestinians are not allowed to be on it, so we had to get a taxi from Jerusalem driven by a Palestinian Israeli citizen. A Jewish Israeli citizen is not allowed into the Palestinian territories, except to travel on the Jewish only roads to the Jewish colonies (called settlements). We finally got through all the checkpoints two and a half hours after we started in Hebron, and I checked into the Knights Palace Hotel for my last night in Palestine.

Early Sunday morning at 5:00 AM I boarded the Lufthansa plane for Frankfurt. I felt like I was leaving a madhouse. Israel is a failed experiment in building a country, but it exists, and must be accepted, but not in it's present state. Israel should be boycotted in all possible ways. There should be a program of divestment, that is, investments in Israel should be pulled out. Again I refer you to Desmond Tutu