Ben's Reports

Ben has worked on human rights and social justice issues for several years. He worked as a Union organizer for Janitors in Denver before moving to Boston in 2002 where he helped found BostontoPalestine, a group that sends local people to work in solidarity with the Palestinian people in their non-violent struggle to resist and end the occupation of Palestine.

READ BEN'S BLOG ON HIS CURRENT VISIT TO PALESTINE

http://they-are-still-here.blogspot.com/

 

August 13, 2006 "The Barber's Grandfather"
Ramallah, West Bank

August 4, 2006 "Abu Shusha 1948, a living memory"
Ramallah, West Bank

July 28, 2006 Selection at the Border: An American, Not a Palestinian, Can Visit Palestine...
Jerusalem

2004

August 23, 2004 Kids & solidarity in Qalqilya by Ben, in Qalqilya, West Bank

August19, 2004- Photo report from Hebron by Ben, in Hebron, West Bank

August18, 2004 The b2p delegation tour has started! by Ben, in Dheisheh camp, West Bank

2003

July 30, 2003 Demonstration against the Apartheid Wall, Qalqilya - WestBank

July 21, 2003 Small Acts of Courage: The People of Jayous Respond to the Apartheid Wall

July 23, 2003 "Arafat's compound"
Ben, with John in Ramallah

July 17, 2003 "As Jayous Struggles to Live, Jawal Wants to Die"
Jayous, West Bank

July 6, 2003 We've Arrived!
Jerusalem

July 1, 2003 Yanoun, 1948
Yanoun West Bank

June 28, 2003 Pictures from a celebration in Qarawat Beni Zeid.

June 25, 2003 Challenging the Closures in Nablus (part 2 of 2)
Balata Refugee Camp, near Nablus, in Palestine

June 25, 2003 Challenging the Closures in Nablus (part 1 of 2)
Balata Refugee Camp, near Nablus, in Palestine

(click on images to enlarge)

August 21 st , 2006 "Yanoun's New Crisis: Keeping the lights on"

by Ben in Yanoun

Yanoun is a very small village that has been under attack from settlers for several years. For the basic story, see my 2003 report : Yanoun 1948

Yanoun village is divided into two sections, upper and lower. This is Lower Yanoun.

The road from Lower to Upper Yanoun is newly paved, and the Belgian government recently put in these power lines. For the first time, Lower and Upper Yanoun have electricity 24hrs a day! For years, they relied on a diesel generator that supplied power from 7pm-11pm each evening...and then all went dark.

LEFT - Upper Yanoun and the Israeli Settlement. A small collection of houses on the hillside form Upper Yanoun. The buildings at the top of the hill belong to an Israeli settler named Avri Ran, who has terrorized the villagers with his gang (more on this later). The total population of Upper and Lower Yanoun is about 100 people, half of them kids.

Yanoun electrified.

Photo: Looking down from the houses in upper Yanoun at the new road entering the village.

Upper Yanoun's #1 problem, along with all the other problems faced by Palestinians, has been with the violent settlers who have taken nearly all the villages land and captured all the hilltops surrounding Yanoun. When the villagers first got their electric generator some years back, the settlers came in and burned it, saying "You don't have permission to have electricity."

Today there is a new crisis: The Israeli military has said they will tear up the road and cut the electricity? Why? The Israeli military occupation authorities work hand in hand with the settlers. Today, it is the Israeli military who is saying "you don't have permission to get electricity." So Yanoun now faces a legal struggle to keep the road and the power lines.

August 18 th , 2006 "Around Jerusalem to Ramallah" by Ben in Ramallah

Palestinains from the West Bank can't go to Jerusalem (at least 99.9% of them). You have to have a permit from Israel. So, what if Jerusalem is on the way to where you need to go? You have to go AROUND...

(CLICK IMAGE FOR MAP)

What I labeled on this map as "Normal Route" would probably take 30 minutes with traffic maximum. The "Apartheid Route" takes 1.5 hours on a good day. It all depends on the checkpoints. There is no "typical wait at these checkpoints." A taxi driver who makes the run 2-3 times a day said "every day is different."

The most frustrating thing about the checkpoints , by the way, is the way the soldiers flaunt their arbitrary use of power. They let two or three taxis full of people go through without a check, then stop traffic, mill around for a while, take some ID's from the next taxi, wait 30 minutes, hand back the ID's, halfheartedly search bags in the trunk, let traffic go again, etc... all in the hot August sun. If the checkpoints were halfway serious, it might be easier to bear. But who am I to talk about frustration? I'm just a visitor here, I don't have appointments and a life to try to maintain in spite of the occupation. Mind you, I'm talking about the checkpoints within the West Bank, not between the West Bank and "Israel."

If you ask "why do Palestinians need to go to Jerusalem? That's in Israel!" Then you've unfortunately fallen victim to one of the many myths Israel has created through their conquest of historic Palestine. Jerusalem is full of Palestinians, and is the economic and political heart of the society.

Stop the Wall: Click here for a brief and pointed analysis of the ethnic cleansing of East Jerusalem

Btselem: Click here for a more academic analysis

August 18 th ,2006

"Wall in Bethlehem", by Ben in Beit Jalla (West Bank)

(click on image to enlarge)

(photo1): The "entrance" to the Bethlehem checkpoint, from Bethlehem. Jerusalem is a couple of miles down the road on the other side.

(photo2): Note the ID's in hand, ready to present to soldiers (sorry no pictures of the soldiers, they don't like being photographed. they probably don't like mirrors either).

(photo3) sniper tower in the wall around Bethlehem

(photo4)The long road around Jerusalem that Palestinians must take descends into the desert of the Jordan valley. Temperature soar, vegetation dissapears and is replaced by white dust and rock that continues for miles toward the border with Jordan. Eventually the valley drops far below sea level. And did I mention that it's HOT?

Both Bethlehem and Ramallah are adjacent to Jerusalem (Bethlehem to the South, Ramallah to the North). Normally a 15 minute drive, it now takes an hour for Palestinians from either city to enter Jerusalem.

But that's if you have a permit. As you can see, there is very little pedestrian traffic in these photos (and private Palestinian vehicles are, of course, not allowed to pass at all). Only a handful of Palestinians currently have permits to travel to or work in Jerusalem. Many Palestinians had jobs there before, but have now lost them.

And as far as getting from Bethlehem, past Jerusalem to Ramallah... well, that's allowed for many Palestinians, but you have to go AROUND Jerusalem - so rather than 1/2 hour it takes 1.5 hours and a crazy drive through the desert mountains and narrow neighborhood streets.

Remember, of course, that Jerusalem, or at least East Jerusalem, is a Palestinian city. Why?

1 - Palestinian Muslims and Christians lived throughout East and West Jerusalem and surrounding villages before the ethnic cleansing of 1948.

2 - Palestinians constitute nearly half of East Jerusalem residents today, in spite of Israel's best efforts. Israel seldom gives Jerusalem Palestinians permission to build houses and buy land, and meanwhile constructs huge Jewish-only settlements to tip the population balance unnaturally toward the settlers. Hebrew University is in East Jerusalem (see the earlier post, "Settler Stoplight" below) and continues to expand on Palestinian property.

3 - Jerusalem is the heart of the Palestinian economy, and Jerusalem, Ramallah and Bethlehem are all one metropolitan area. The wall has effectively ripped that heart from the body of Palestine... sorry for the unpleasant metaphor.

4- Even the US does not recognize Israel's illegal annexation of East Jerusalem (it was annexed after Israel conquered it in 1967). Thus the US only keeps a consulate in East Jerusalem; the embassy remains in Tel Aviv, even though Israel claims Jerusalem as its Capital.

"Jayyous Village"

by Ben in Ramallah, West Bank

I spent a week in the Village of Jayyous - or more correctly, I spent a couple of days in Jayyous and four days on the farm of Sherif and Siham.

Jayyous is an agricultural village with a population of 6000. Over the years at least half have left and live abroad. The situation in Jayyous is similar to that of the rest of Palestine:

Closure

Villagers spend hours traveling even to nearby cities and villages due to the constantly evolving system of Israeli checkpoints and barriers. Produce trucks from farms, cement trucks, everything has to go through and often is turned back. For instance, the way to Jayyous is through the village of Azzun. When I arrived, soldiers had blocked the road into Azzun with concrete barriers. So you have to take a taxi to the barriers, get out, walk 5 feet to the other side, and get in another taxi. That's fine, though two taxis are more expensive than one. But what if you are trying to move water, diesel or food in? Or farm products out to market in the cities? It becomes an expensive proposition. One of my hosts in Jayyous needed to bring in a cement truck to work on a house. He had to pay an extra 500NIS (about $110) to route the truck through some circuitous route around the blockade. Meanwhile, cheap Israeli farm products flood the markets via Israeli vehicles, which are free to travel on the settler roads. The closure allows Israeli goods to out-compete local Palestinian goods, further depressing the farms. It's part of the "economic warfare" against the population.

Sanctions

Essentially, the US has led a sanctions regime against Palestine since the election of the Hamas government. People tell me that it is now very hard to even bring in money for business or personal use - they say that the international banks, out of fear of US and European reprisals, won't transfer money into local accounts from abroad. And of course there is a total suspension of aid to the Palestinian National Authority (PNA). Israel won't even give the PNA the taxes it collected from Palestinians - so Palestinians are being taxed but are not receiving services. Virtually all municipal and government employees, including hospital and school workers, are receiving only token amounts of pay. I met an English teacher in Jayyous who has received about $200 in pay since February.

The Wall

Aka the "Separation Barrier" or "Apartheid Wall." Jayyous is severely affected, and has lost 70% of it's agricultural land behind Israel's wall. Supposedly for security, another function, if not the main function of the wall is to annex land for Israel around its settlements. Of course, this is all illegal under international law, and sometimes even under Israeli law. There are two outstanding websites that are a MUST SEE for information on the separation barriers:

B'tselem: http://btselem.org/index.asp

  Internationally recognized as providing objective and fact-based reports on the separation barrier and many other human rights issues. It's published reports always publish a response from the Israeli government for "balance." It is often quoted in newspapers and is the leading human rights organization in Israel. So I'm trying to say: they are highly credible by any standard.

Stop the Wall Campaign: http://www.stopthewall.org/

This is an overtly activist group, but I know them and their information is very accurate and fact-based. However, due to their overt political positions, it's probably not as acceptable as an "academic" source of information, though again I feel that they are 100% credible. They are unparrallelled in day to day reporting of the situation "on the ground" and are the leading voice today in the campaign against the Wall.

Sunday, August 13, 2006

"The Barber's Grandfather"

by Ben in Ramallah

"The Barber" is a young man I met in 2003 in Jayyous. Here he is in August 2006 cutting hair in his brand new "salon." It's one of seven barbershops in this small village (population about 3,000), so none of them get much business. Why open a new barbershop with such stiff competition? Two reasons:

1 - He had to drop out of college (studying business) because his family can no longer pay tuition (about $2000 a year plus living expenses at An Najah univ. in Nablus), because his father is a schoolteacher and school teachers haven't been paid for 6 months (since the world started punishing Palestinians for electing the Hamas government).

2 - He can't work on his family's land because it is on the other side of the separation barrier, and he has no permit to go through the agricultural gate. His brother and father have permits. He says, "I don't know why; I never made any problem for Israel."

So, he's a barber. Better than his friends sitting there on the couch. One of them, "N," also had to leave school, and has had absolutely nothing to do for a year now. So he sits in the barbershop. I visited two other friends that I knew since 2003. Both are young men. One took a job doing construction for the settlers. It was explained to me that this used to be considered collaboration with Israel, and "guys wearing balaclavas would come for you." But now given the economic situation, it's overlooked. The other friend sneaks into Israel to work. He carries four different forged identity cards, one for each area he works in. Others are doing the same, sneaking through holes in the separation barrier to find work.

THE BARBER'S GRANDFATHER

The Barber's family owns land on the other side of the separation barrier, near the settlement of Zufim. In fact, their grandfather had his home there. In the mid eighties, "brokers" came to the grandfather wanting to buy his land. According to the story, they disguised themselves as police, and said they had come to search his home for weapons. He allowed this, and when they found none, they said, "you must sign this paper as a proof that you have no weapons." Unable to read or write Hebrew but sensing a trap, he refused. In fact, it's now known that the men were indeed land buyers for the settlement, and the paper, had he signed, was an agreement to sell. Refusing wasn't enough, however. The "brokers" handcuffed him and pushed him to the ground down a hillside, and broke both of his thumbs trying to force him to sign. Finally, a dog from a neighboring Beduin community came to the rescue, alerting community members, and the brokers fled. Still handcuffed, his brothers brought him to all the Israel police stations in the area; it took two days to get the handcuffs removed. Evidently, during that time, these photos were taken (it wasn't clear to me whether these were "reenactment photos" where the injuries are makeup or the real photos from when he was injured. I tend to think they are real, however.)

Today the land still belongs to the Barber's family, but is in constant threat of confiscation since it is now on the "Israeli" side of the barrier. Settlers, however, have destroyed the grandfather's home. So in place of his grandfather's dream of a new village lie ruins of a Palestinian house, and a growing Israeli settlement next door.

Meanwhile, the family lives in a small, tidy home, with dilapidated furniture covered with sheets, and walls that have not been painted in so long that the bare concrete shows in many places. When one sees this poverty it is easy to think of it as somehow natural as part of the situation of a "developing country"; but in fact, this poverty is artificially caused by the occupation. The combination of the separation barrier and the cut-off of funding for schoolteachers make them poor.

August 4 th , 2006

"Abu Shusha 1948, a living memory"

by Ben, in Ramallah

This photo is of Ahmed, whom family hosted me in Ramallah, and of his mother, a survivor of the 1948 ethnic cleansing that created Israel.

Ahmed translated as we interviewed his mother today about this horrific period. She is normally an amazingly cheerful person, and greets me with energetic smiles and lots of happy welcomes ("Ahlan wa sahlan!") whenever I enter the room. But as she described 1948, her expression changed to the one you see in this photo, and stayed that way. Ahmed, for his part, is one of the most positive, hard working, cheerful and sweet people I have met. He is now the city director of Ramallah, the acting capitol of the West Bank. I would never have guessed that such a person spent two and a half years in an Israeli prison as a young adult, never accused of any crime except "being active." I asked Ahmed what he meant by "active."  He explained, "for the Israelis, even speaking against the occupation means being 'active'." But that's another story...

Ahmed's mother is from a village called Abu Shusha , which was attacked by the Haganah on, I think May 14th 1948, just before Israel announced itself as a country. The Haganah was the Zionist colonists "army" that later became the Israeli army. She described how the Haganah tried to enter the village three times but was repelled by armed resistance from the village. Finally, the village was occupied. Seventy-two men were killed in a massacre, including three of her brothers, who were dragged through the streets. The village was cleared of all men, and those who were not killed fled or escaped. For a time, it was only women and children there, living under the Haganah's control. Then, the Haganah gathered everyone together and told them to leave - they were to go to the next village on foot. As the villagers left, the Haganah fired shots in the air to frighten them and make sure that they understood they could not return. When they arrived in the next village, it was already empty... the residents had fled fearing a massacre like what happened in Abu Shusha.

They continued up into the hills toward Ramallah, sleeping under the trees. Finally, her family arrived in Ramallah, where the Jordanians were in control. The family started their lives over, having lost three sons and one wounded. Since then, they have endured another 39 years of Israeli military occupation after the West Bank was conquered. Today, she lives in a nice house with her son, who is Ramallah's city director (Ramallah was given some very limited autonomy in the mid-90s, but continues to be raided and occupied by Israel). But in spite of her relatively comfortable situation, especially compared to the refugees who still live in camps, she wants to return to her land. She says in conclusion, " I don't want this big house. I want to live in my home, where it's green and there are trees. This is my wish for my children and grandchildren."

Ahmed told me that his mother often cries when watching the news about Lebanon. I asked her what she thought of the situation, and she said that seeing the refugees reminded her of 1948, and she felt so sorry for them.

Abu Shusha is one of about 400 Palestinian villages destroyed to make way for Israel in 1948 (Palestinians Muslims and Christians were a 2/3rds majority before the war). Just as most cities in the United States are built over the ruins of Native American settlements (which were permanent, not nomadic, by the way), most Israeli cities are built over Palestinian villages. Many of the former residents are still living in refugee camps to which they fled on foot. Many of them still have the keys to their homes and deeds to their land: they thought they would be back in days, but it's been almost 60 years.

For more info on refugees, see:

Palestine Remembered

http://www.palestineremembered.com/index.html

And the Right of Return Coalition:

http://www.al-awda.org/

July 28, 2006 - Selection at the Border: an American, Not a Palestinian, Can Visit Palestine...

Hi all!

I'm writing you from Jerusalem on my fifth trip to Palestine.  I will be here until early September, meeting with old friends, learning some Arabic, and trying to find new ways to challenge the occupation both here and in the Us, as it seems that, in general, things are getting worse rather than better.

I was surprised and elated today when I was allowed by Israeli authorities to enter the Palestinian West Bank through Jordan.  However, as you know, the situation here mixes bitterness into even pleasant surprises.

 As I entered Palestine, I saw for myself how Palestinians with American, British, and even Brazilian passports are being turned away from the West Bank and back into Jordan by the Israelis.  These are Palestinians with family in the West Bank, or who were even born here, and they are not being allowed a simple visit with their loved ones.  And don't forget the parentheses: under Israel’s "law of return," any Jewish person from anywhere, with no connection whatsoever to the land outside ancient and biblical claims, can "make aliya" and start the process of becoming an Israeli citizen simply by showing up at one of these border crossings or the airport.

But enough context; even without the bigger picture, the concrete abuses occurring daily under this system are disturbing enough.

Picture this scene:  Inside a huge adapted warehouse on the Israeli border with Jordan, air-conditioners blast noisily against the below-sea-level heat of the desert valley.  The sound barely suppresses shouts of raucous children and the buzz of nervous chatter and conversation from a crowd of a hundred or so gathered inside the building.  A family of seven, two sons of about 12 and 14, three daughters of about 8, 10, and 16, and their forty-something parents, try to maintain their ground in this disorganized mass of would-be visitors to the West Bank.  Rows of metal seats face sets of passport control booths staffed entirely by young uniformed, apparently Ashkenazi Jewish Israeli females who, from behind glass, roll their eyes, shout, point and grab at documents presented by submissive and hapless Palestinians.  Between the seats and the booths is a no man land into which, at lengthy intervals, uniformed and armed Jewish Israeli males burst into the crowd from a side door (exposing a large Israeli flag in the room behind) carrying sets of stamped passports, and calling names at escalating decibel levels, until their voices crack with irritation.  With all the others, I and the family of seven spend more than three hours in a sort of nervous aerobics, jumping up from chairs when passports appear, diving into the crowd, milling about when the passports aren't ours, bumping into fidgeting children who disperse, gather, and shriek.  After two hours I can recognize American, Jordanian and West Bank passports from a distance by their color and engraving, though I continually think that the one marching across the room in this or that official's hand is mine, or that I’ve heard my name shouted in some other corner of the room to which I must tumble over people to reach.

Also with us is a 70-year-old Brazilian, whose yellow passport I noticed since we met on the Jordanian side at 9 am this morning.  I've helped him with his bags when possible.  He's blind in one eye and frail, but determined to visit the village of Azzun in the West Bank to see his extended family.  At passport control, he complains that he can't fill out the visa, that he can’t read it and doesn't know what to write.  The official rolls her eyes and puts her head down on the desk when he asks for her help.  He is fortunate, however, to get the help (and the loan of a working pen) from a Palestinian-American in her mid-fifties who is waiting to the side of our “line.”  This woman, who I learn is from Milwaukee, fills out the form for him.  When he returns it to the chaotic counter, the questioning begins: how long are you going to stay in Israel?  "How long?  How long will you let me?"  A kind of old-man smile and a heavy brazilian/arabic accent succeed in gaining a rare, sympathetic expression from the officials, "I would stay a month, a year, my whole life if you let me!"  A smile crosses the face of two of the young officials... but is it just me or do I detect a smirk within the smile?

Around 2pm the building has closed to new applicants for visas. The crowd begins to thin, but the family of seven, the woman from Milwaukee, the Brazilian, two German tourists (who dress alike and, bizarrely, say they have walked here from Germany), and two young couples remain, as do I.  Aside from the Germans and myself, all of the other people's passports have made tantalizing appearances only to be spirited away again with some rationalization.  Finally, a lanky border policemen with a shaved head, who we have all taken note of for his commanding and pushy behavior, appears with a stack of passports and begins shouting out our names.  We gather around him, waiting the verdict.  Everyone is denied entry.  Everyone, except for the Germans and me. Our passports are not in the stack and remain unmentioned.

I notice that faces have drained of their color.  People suddenly look like they’ve been up all night.  The shocked, and rejected, individuals make their cases.  The border policemen entertain no appeals.  With a warning wave of the finger to repel the crowd, he disappears into the room with the Israeli flag.

The woman from Milwaukee tells me, still in shock, that she had just come from Israel a few days before, visiting Jordan briefly for a wedding. Now, Israel won't let her back in to catch her return flight to the US from Tel Aviv next week.  A seemingly highly educated woman with an image to maintain even among a crowd of strangers, she finally loses her resolve and becomes frantic with any passing official, until her bags are gathered up for her and she is exited out of the building.  

The same fate befalls the Brazilian old man, who suddenly seems even older, more helpless and more bewildered than before. As he is led away, he can only mutter "this is a big problem for me... there is no telephone here...this is a big problem for me...how can I return to Jordan?”

The first of the two young couples is more successful. Somehow, they beg for and receive what I think is a week's visa on the special intervention of the bald border policeman.  On learning their changed fortune, their pleas turn to shouts of overwhelming joy and gratitude toward the border policeman. For the first time he smiles, though with what I read as not very well concealed pride over what he feels is a magnanimous gesture of goodwill on his part.

The family of seven, who I've learned from one of the sons is from the UK, soon enter into quiet, polite negotiations with an official in her early 20s.  The negotiations are led by the distinguished looking father in his expensive looking suit, and supported by the longing stares of his young sons and his wife and daughters from behind their hijabs.  The negotiations end negatively.   The official flits away in what seems now a clichéd drop and run maneuver, leaving the family standing silently in the middle of the open floor, not knowing which way to go, not ready to turn back but with no option forward.  One of the young boys tries to "explain” something to his older sister.  The father shows no change in expression, but the children all look like they've lost pints of blood.

Lastly, the second couple is still appealing with official after official in vain.  The bald border policemen will only offer them dismissive gestures as he marches past.  Only they, the Germans, and I remain now, an hour after closing time.  The Germans are asleep; their heads tilted back at identical angles against the sticky wall behind their metal chairs.  They are both wearing green, long sleeved, button up shirts, stained white from sweat and tucked into khaki pants without belts.

Suddenly, my passport appears in the hand of a young male security officer in plainclothes who I haven't seen before.  He calls me into another room.  Gesturing for me to sit in one of yet another row of metal chairs, he eyes my passport while pinching and speaking the transmitter hidden beneath his polo shirt. I am searched thoroughly (inside pants and shirt out).  We locate my luggage, which was taken away in an initial processing that seemed long at the time but now seems inconsequential. As it's closing time the staff all join in searching my bag, wiping it's surfaces with a white fabric that tests for explosives, checking again for explosives, checking yet again for explosives on the bag inside my larger bag.  Unpacking everything and checking the seams, they open my unopened contact lens solution, shake my dental floss, put hands through my dirty underwear (while wearing gloves). When it's over, to my astonishment, they tell me to repack my bag, collect my passport from the booth: I am free to enter.

I can't believe it after seeing everyone else around me denied entry.   Who am I?  Just some euro-American.... These people have family here.

The best reason for people to be admitted entry to the West Bank - being Palestinian - has become the reason why they are being denied entry.  And evidently, as Haaretz recently reported, Palestinian Americans, and presumably Palestinian-British and Brazilian too, are now being denied entry by the Israelis as policy  (see Haaretz, July 10th, 2006).

The closing scene for today was, at 4pm, leaving with my backpack and entry visa in hand, I find the second young couple standing alone by an empty bus.  Tears quietly streak down the young woman's face and the man, probably wanting to "do something," pulls open the cargo bay of the bus to load their luggage, only to be shouted away by Israeli guards.  I tell them " I'm so sorry for your situation," but I regret my words, imagining that my saying anything at all must make matters even worse, somehow.

In solidarity,
Ben