I consider myself to be of the moderate-Left in Israeli politics.
To my consternation, my roommates asked me before hanging up an Israeli flag in the living room if it was all right. The Palestinian flag graces my desktop partly because it just looks so cool.
And I never understood how people could get so worked up over politics.
So much has happened today. This morning Israel attacked Gaza with air strikes killing more than 200 people and counting. As I read the paper, some part of my brain wondered what kind of retaliation this first attack would bring.
This afternoon, as I set out on my post-Shabbat dinner mandatory jog, I noticed plumes of black smoke near the Hebrew U campus. As it is on my usual route anyway, I figured I would run into the source sooner or later. I didn't think it was anything serious as cars zoomed past in their normal fashion and the usual few people strolled along the streets.
I didn't end up running into the source as it was further away than I had expected, but instead along the course of my jog, I kept hearing mini-explosion sounds coming from the east. Then I noticed through my headphones several sirens as police cars and ambulances rushed toward the Arab villages in East Jerusalem. I thought I was crazy as I looked around to gauge other people's reactions, but no one else seemed to be phased by it. Israelis. Then I saw another great plume of smoke coming from the Shuafat RC area as helicopters droned overhead. Something was definitely wrong.
My roommates and I frantically tried to get any news on what was going on as we realized this was Palestinians in the West Bank and East Jerusalem rioting in response to what had occurred in Gaza this morning. Unfortunately we don't have a t.v., and for some reason, there was and as I write this post, continues to be no news on what happened earlier tonight in Jerusalem.
As we all congregated in one of my roommate's rooms with our laptops propped open furiously checking all the news websites, I wondered aloud if most of the people killed in the Israeli attack were civilians or security personnel. One of my roommates matter-of-factly said "They were all security personnel." To which, I retorted, "That is most definitely not true. Civilians are dead."
-"Well, they [Palestinians] put their weapons in libraries, hospitals, schools, etc."
-"And Israel still struck them."
My other roommates looked a little shocked by my response as one explained that the majority of the dead were Hamas security while there were also civilian deaths. Then one by one, everyone filed out of the room, and soon I was left in an awkward silence with only the room's inhabitant. I got up and left too. As soon as I left, they all went back in and closed the door behind them.
Perhaps I was a little too abrupt-too aggressive. Maybe I could have been more diplomatic and tried to be funny about it. No, I couldn't have. People are dead-and these people include innocent men, women, and children. There's no use in playing the blame game I realize, and I'm not sure what exactly makes me so upset.
But this is not the point of the post.
My roommate and I don't even live here; we don't suffer the way Israelis and Palestinians suffer here on a daily basis from the occupation and from terrorism. Yet, we get so impassioned by the politics that embroil this city, this country, this region. I couldn't understand how Israelis and Palestinians in Jerusalem could live side-by-side everyday without really talking to each other. And now, I understand, sometimes it's just easier to walk away and ignore the other side than get into the politics.
Showing posts with label Shuafat Refugee camp. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Shuafat Refugee camp. Show all posts
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Shuafat Refugee Camp
Yesterday I visited Shuafat Refugee Camp, which is just right next to the Student Village, where most of the guys of G-Town live. I'm not sure what I expected a refugee camp to look like, but I was both surprised and not surprised by what I saw.
First, we drove through the area of Shuafat, which is on the way to Ramallah, and then coasted past the checkpoint into the refugee camp. I find it interesting that there's no problem and no wait to get into the camp. It doesn't matter what you carry in there or who you have in the car with you. The Israeli guards really don't care. If you are under the Palestinian Authority, meaning you don't carry a blue identity card with you proving you are an Israeli citizen or a permanent resident of Israel, you can go in to the camp, but you can't leave. It makes me wonder how one got out in the first place.
Anyway, as soon as we drove into the camp, a little kid started banging the car with his fist as we tried to maneuver through the most narrow streets. There were three women in the car who were clearly foreigners. At first we thought maybe he was hitting the car because a woman was driving, but no, there are many women drivers in the camp. Then we were told he hit the car because he is "of the camp". I can't remember exactly what the term is, but basically, children "of the camp" are portrayed to be violent and impulsive. Probably, he was just trying to make a point that we didn't belong in the camp.
If there is a tension between Palestinians of the camp and Palestinians in the West Bank and Arab-Israelis and Palestinians as permanent residents of Israel, of course it makes sense that there would be some animosity towards anybody more different.
The camp itself was marked by a certain gloom. The streets were more like alleys, and they were dim and narrow. There was trash everywhere. There was colorful graffitti everywhere from Ramadan, from little children just drawing all over the walls, from G-Town and their supporters, from people who had returned from the Hajj, etc. The buildings from the outside looked dirty and run-down. The whole place seemed cramped and overcrowded.
However, when we went into two of the houses of two members in G-Town, the houses were large family complexes. They were beautiful inside with spacious courtyard areas, and multiple apartments. One of the members even had a tropical parrot gracing the foyer and what one might even consider a "boom boom room" for the band.
Another house had a balcony covered with grape vines overlooking the camp, and from the top, the camp seemed like any other city. It reminded me a lot of the Islamic tradition of private vs. public space where the outside of buildings and homes most often deceive the viewer to its true hidden treasures inside.
I was not surprised to see how dirty and cramped the camp seemed. But, maybe this is ignorant of me, but I was surprised to see how nice individual houses were inside the camp. Of course, just like Ramallah, the five-star prison, there is always a nagging feeling due to the lack of complete freedom because of the knowledge of the checkpoints just a few hundred meters away.
Unfortunately, we didn't get to visit the separation wall because for some reason, the band members didn't feel like walking around the camp. I did manage to get a few photos, but I felt like it wasn't really welcome by the residents of the camp.
Also, while I was bedridden during Yom Kippur, I was unaware of the riots that occurred in Acre just to the north. Apparently, after the riots broke out, East Jerusalem was on high alert, and there were some incidents of young Palestinian/Arab-Israeli children around the French Hill area who threw rocks at some of the dorms in the Student Village.
Everyday, I feel like I'm starting to really understand the seriousness of the conflict as it has become my reality. But at the same time, I can't really say that living in Israel is dangerous. Maybe volatile is a better word to describe the situation?
Like I wrote in a previous post, there is no intermixing in Jerusalem. The Jews and the Muslims around here seem to just ignore that the other exists or that the other is just like them.
There is no overt hostility, but there is no acknowledgement.
It is a tense peace based on a twisted sense of denial for self-preservation which to me just fosters a growing latent danger.
On our way out of the camp, we were stopped at the checkpoint. This checkpoint was different than the Ramallah checkpoint because instead of standing behind a bulletproof glass window, the soldiers are right in your face and so are their guns. I'm not sure which is worse. I guess it would depend on what kind of day you and the guard are each having.
The soldier asked to see our passports, and asked us why [the hell] were we in the refugee camp. We answered that we had friends in the camp. Yes, she heard us right. We have friends in the refugee camp, and no, not everyone whether he/she is Israeli or not is afraid to visit a refugee camp.
Check out this article that was in the New York Times. It talks about the Heartbeat of Jerusalem concert I went to and has a quote from one of the members of G-Town-Muhammad.
First, we drove through the area of Shuafat, which is on the way to Ramallah, and then coasted past the checkpoint into the refugee camp. I find it interesting that there's no problem and no wait to get into the camp. It doesn't matter what you carry in there or who you have in the car with you. The Israeli guards really don't care. If you are under the Palestinian Authority, meaning you don't carry a blue identity card with you proving you are an Israeli citizen or a permanent resident of Israel, you can go in to the camp, but you can't leave. It makes me wonder how one got out in the first place.
Anyway, as soon as we drove into the camp, a little kid started banging the car with his fist as we tried to maneuver through the most narrow streets. There were three women in the car who were clearly foreigners. At first we thought maybe he was hitting the car because a woman was driving, but no, there are many women drivers in the camp. Then we were told he hit the car because he is "of the camp". I can't remember exactly what the term is, but basically, children "of the camp" are portrayed to be violent and impulsive. Probably, he was just trying to make a point that we didn't belong in the camp.
If there is a tension between Palestinians of the camp and Palestinians in the West Bank and Arab-Israelis and Palestinians as permanent residents of Israel, of course it makes sense that there would be some animosity towards anybody more different.
The camp itself was marked by a certain gloom. The streets were more like alleys, and they were dim and narrow. There was trash everywhere. There was colorful graffitti everywhere from Ramadan, from little children just drawing all over the walls, from G-Town and their supporters, from people who had returned from the Hajj, etc. The buildings from the outside looked dirty and run-down. The whole place seemed cramped and overcrowded.
However, when we went into two of the houses of two members in G-Town, the houses were large family complexes. They were beautiful inside with spacious courtyard areas, and multiple apartments. One of the members even had a tropical parrot gracing the foyer and what one might even consider a "boom boom room" for the band.Another house had a balcony covered with grape vines overlooking the camp, and from the top, the camp seemed like any other city. It reminded me a lot of the Islamic tradition of private vs. public space where the outside of buildings and homes most often deceive the viewer to its true hidden treasures inside.
I was not surprised to see how dirty and cramped the camp seemed. But, maybe this is ignorant of me, but I was surprised to see how nice individual houses were inside the camp. Of course, just like Ramallah, the five-star prison, there is always a nagging feeling due to the lack of complete freedom because of the knowledge of the checkpoints just a few hundred meters away.
Unfortunately, we didn't get to visit the separation wall because for some reason, the band members didn't feel like walking around the camp. I did manage to get a few photos, but I felt like it wasn't really welcome by the residents of the camp.
Also, while I was bedridden during Yom Kippur, I was unaware of the riots that occurred in Acre just to the north. Apparently, after the riots broke out, East Jerusalem was on high alert, and there were some incidents of young Palestinian/Arab-Israeli children around the French Hill area who threw rocks at some of the dorms in the Student Village.
Everyday, I feel like I'm starting to really understand the seriousness of the conflict as it has become my reality. But at the same time, I can't really say that living in Israel is dangerous. Maybe volatile is a better word to describe the situation?
Like I wrote in a previous post, there is no intermixing in Jerusalem. The Jews and the Muslims around here seem to just ignore that the other exists or that the other is just like them.
There is no overt hostility, but there is no acknowledgement.
It is a tense peace based on a twisted sense of denial for self-preservation which to me just fosters a growing latent danger.
On our way out of the camp, we were stopped at the checkpoint. This checkpoint was different than the Ramallah checkpoint because instead of standing behind a bulletproof glass window, the soldiers are right in your face and so are their guns. I'm not sure which is worse. I guess it would depend on what kind of day you and the guard are each having.
The soldier asked to see our passports, and asked us why [the hell] were we in the refugee camp. We answered that we had friends in the camp. Yes, she heard us right. We have friends in the refugee camp, and no, not everyone whether he/she is Israeli or not is afraid to visit a refugee camp.
Check out this article that was in the New York Times. It talks about the Heartbeat of Jerusalem concert I went to and has a quote from one of the members of G-Town-Muhammad.
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