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			BostontoPalestine Boston support group for the International Solidarity Movement

	Home About us News from Palestine Contact Email Subscribe Donate Current Delegation Summer 2005 Past Delegations Olive Harvest 2004 Freedom Summer 2004 Past Campaigns Events Photos Videos (ISM) Rachel Corrie Links Speakers Be a Delegate Press faq Actions!		David Redmon is currently volunteering in Palestine with the International Solidarity Movement(www.palsolidarity.org), with the support of bostontopalestine (www.bcpr.org/b2p). He can be contacted at dwredmon@yahoo.com David's reports: 2) January 10, 2003 Beginning to Understand? by David Redmon Tonight at 9:00 p.m. in Biet Sahour, Palestine, an Israeli soldier aimed and shook his M-16 rifle at me and my Palestinian friends. What did we violate to receive such deviant treatment? We were standing outside, talking to each other in front of our hotel, otherwise known as "breaking curfew." "Get back inside! Get back inside!" the Israeli soldier yelled as he walked towards us with his American funded gun aimed at my body. For an American who walks the streets of Boston with my friends and loved ones, the experience with the Israeli soldier was confusing and scary. For Palestinians who live in the cities where the Israeli military occupy their land with tanks and F-16s, patrol the streets 24 hours a day, kill Palestinian civilians on a daily basis, and terrorize Palestinian families while sleeping in their homes, this abnormal situation is common. I follow the soldier's orders and go inside the empty hotel that caters to the non-existing tourists. Hussein, an eleven year old boy who lives next door to the hotel, looks at me and says, "I speak French, English, and Arabic. What do you speak?" I respond in the singular, "English." Hussein smiles and says, "We cannot be Palestinians in our land. We cannot exist if the Israeli military continues to patrol our streets and enforce curfew."elevenished by his elevent year old intellect, I inquire with a seemingly naive question, "What is curfew?" Hussein ponders for a few seconds and carefully explains curfew to me as if I am an eleven year old. "It is house arrest. It means I can't go to school, I can't go outside to play. I can't go see my friends, buy food with my family, or go for a walk." I continue, "What will happen if you go outside?" Hussein chuckles at my question. In an adult-like manner he shrugs his shoulders, raises his hands in frustration, and says, "If the soldiers catch me, they will arrest me." Two Israeli military jeeps slowly driving through the Palestinian streets immediately interrupt my lesson from eleven year-old Hussein. The men inside the jeep are holding M-16s and repeatedly announce, "It is forbidden to be outside! It is forbidden to move!" Epiphany: I am a prisoner inside this hotel. I cannot leave. I cannot talk with the neighbors, buy a fresh pineapple, or go for a walk with Hussein. For a brief moment, I am Palestinian. Hussein looks at me, projects a frustrated smile, shrugs his shoulders and expresses his frustration, "See what I mean? Do you understand our situation?" Epiphany: I am an American, imprisoned by pro-Israeli propaganda everywhere in the U.S.A. What can I do but respond to him with honest, sincere ignorance? "No, but I'm beginning to understand. I'm trying to understand." In 10 days I will return to the privilege, expensive rent, and gross inequalities in Boston. I will hold the hand of the woman I love as we walk the streets together, passing the homeless who use Starbucks coffee cups to request spare change. During this walk I will wonder, "Do the hundreds of other people in the streets around us understand the situations in Palestine?" If not, I hope they are beginning to understand; I hope they are trying to understand. It's too bad Hussein will not be there to explain it to us like an eleven year old. ------------------------ 1) January 2, 2003: What Sucks More? by David Redmon Today is my first full-day in East Jerusalem. After falling asleep at 3:30 a.m. to the sound of silence, I woke up at 1:30 p.m. this afternoon to the noisy sounds of traffic and the discomfort of a cold, rainy day while experiencing the dizziness of jet lag. Waking up under this condition sucks. The hostel where I am staying is quiet during the day and loud and joyous at night. It has an international presence similar to other hostels where I have slept. People here are from Sweden, Germany, Holland, Japan, Spain, England, Italy, and the U.S. During the evening people affiliated with the International Solidarity Movement, the group for which I am volunteering for nonviolent direct action against the Israeli occupation of Palestine, discuss politics; we also gather around a small electric heater to sing songs in Spanish, English, and Arabic. Together everyone feels the joyful warmth of temporary laughter, togetherness, and merry-making. Outside, the Israeli military walk their usual routes and carry their unusual guns: M-16 rifles. They also smile, though for different reasons. The atmosphere is comfortable and laid back, but the combination of rain and cold weather casts an overtone of lethargy. Just as I am about to nap on the couch in mid-day, someone plays a recording of a young Palestinian boy reciting a poem about his Palestinian friend whom the Israeli military murdered for refusing to cooperate with them. After hearing the story, my laziness immediately transforms into curiosity and rage; I feel unnerved and discontent and am reminded of why I am here. As an person, I find myself perplexed, once again, why American tax dollars fund the Israeli state to murder Palestinians, occupy their territory, and take over their homes, buildings, and land. These unknown buildings, land, and homes once had Palestinian names and families who lived there; local Palestinian children now refer to them as 'buildings and land where our families once lived'. Today Israeli flags proudly drape and covet the buildings and land where Palestinians use to live, and my American friend, Ashley, who is paid $8.00 an hour to work at the Boston FAO Schartz to sell toys made in China by young teenagers for less than twenty cents an hour, has no choice but to help pay for this appropriation every time the U.S. government takes money from her paycheck in the name of taxes. There are a million other American Ashleys who also fund the Israeli military occupation. The Israeli military occupation, the everyday seizure of Palestinian homes, the intense appropriation and stealing of Palestinian land, and the U.S. funding of this occupation is occurring on this rainy, cold day as I write this account and experience jet lag in the comfort and privilege of a hostel. The Palestinians wake up every day under these conditions to struggle and live. It is unclear to me what sucks more: a situation where Palestinians must struggle everyday against the fourth largest military in the world that is taking over their land and killing them at an average rate of two people per day; me temporarily complaining about the cold, wet weather and jet lag; or the millions of American taxpayers, including myself, who knowingly and unknowingly help pay for the clusters of Israeli military men who I see carrying M-16 guns, smiling, and taking over Palestinian land as I glance out the window.