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Bio: Tin is a researcher with a biomedical software firm in Cambridge, and has been involved in activism around Israel-Palestine for many years since his time as a grad student at MIT. Tin has worked on the BootCAT Campaign to pressure Caterpillar to stop selling bulldozers used to demolish Palestinian homes, and more recently on Tawassul, a nonprofit to support Palestinian arts and culture.

Tomorrow, I’m off to the Jenin camp where I hope to conduct another week long workshop with kids at the Freedom theatre there; I met the center’s founder Juliano, in Boston at his screening for his film, Arna’s Children, in March this year. Seeing Juliano’s work is most likely what inspired me to finally come and volunteer in Palestine this summer, so it’s somewhat appropriate to end my trip in Jenin. I’ll be returning after a brief stay in Ramallah to meet folks at Birzeit to give them an update on progress from my two pilot workshops in different refugee camps; I hope they’ll be able to conduct formal evaluations upon my return and continue to collaborate on expanding theses workshops with kids in other camps in the future.

No matter how the workshops end up, I know I’ve discovered something far more important living and working here with Palestinians – the strong will and courage of youth here who strive to create a fulfilling life under occupation, retaining their sense of humanity despite humiliation, and teaching others who come here to slow down and cherish even the most mundane moments everyday – strolling in the streets greeting neighbors each evening, sharing simple meals together, and taking time to regularly hear and tell stories passed from one generation to the next.

The past 3 weeks I've been fortunate enough to discover a remarkable community here, and hope to be back in the West Bank regularly each year, to this unique place I now feel is my home away from home.

After two weeks traveling in Palestine, on Monday I arrived in Nablus, an old historic city in the upper West Bank nestled in a valley between dry rocky mountains. People say it bears some similarities to Napoli and other small towns in Italy (apparently it was named after an old roman city when Nablus was part of the roman empire). I’ve been working here for the past few days in the Balata Refugee Camp, the largest such camp with over 22,000 refugees whose families were exiled in 1948 from villages around Jaffa (now in Israel). The camp is a winding maze of homes built and re-built on a small patch of land, interconnected with small alleys; the playful sounds of children and aroma of freshly baked bread is always in the air.

I chose to come to Balata to work with youth trainers at the Yafa Cultural Center for what was planned as a 4-day workshop on digital-video storytelling for kids in the camp. Earlier this year some filmmakers from Balata, Ruby and Abu Hakim, had come to Boston to show their films and ended-up staying at my home. While we could barely talk to one another with my lack of Arabic skills, they left a warm impression in me that Balata may well be an inspiring place to work. This became all the more clear to me when I finally arrived in Nablus and met folks at Balata. At the Yafa center this week, we managed to have 23 children (aged 10-17) sign up for the workshop – each with a unique personality, drive and warmth, as I continue to discover.

The kids learned storytelling the first day in the lush gardens of a large Greek orthodox church (housing Jacob’s Well – a biblical place) right by the camp; a great surrounding to have them dream and imagine freely (a key theme for the workshop). The next few days the kids, grouped into 7 teams, worked at the Yafa center to create scripts, storyboards, production plans, and went out with cameras to shoot photos and videos for their short films. I ended-up extending the workshop an extra day to give kids more time to work on their stories, a critical part of the whole process as it emerged. Today we got nearly everyone to start editing video and hopefully they’ll manage to finish their pieces by tomorrow for a final screening and evaluation.

After long days working with children and staff from 8:30 in the morning to about 7 or 9 pm each day, I usually spend the evenings with the volunteer staff at the center, mostly young guys like Ziad, Ahmed, Ibrahim, Rami, Abud and others (already feel like I’ve known them forever) chatting over sumptuous meals sharing stories over fresh hummus, pita and Bavaria (non-alcoholic beer – Nablus happens to be a dry town) in the small indoor garden at the center. After the endless laughing over jokes told in Arabic/English (ironically about ordinary Palestinians under occupation), I suddenly notice the marks on their arms and necks and realize that nearly all the youth trainers at the center (aged 18-23) have been imprisoned or shot at multiple times by Israeli soldiers at some point. The reasons I heard were everything from joining a peaceful protest to mistaken identity, or simply being in the midst of random shelling from a tank or gunfire from the imposing military outpost set high above the camp.

Even most kids in the workshop have witnessed some form of military oppression and lost many siblings, cousins or friends in the past few years. Amal, a 10-year old girl in my workshop, took me on a tour of the Balata camp clutching my hand, and casually showed me graves of cousins and friends buried at the cemetery (graves dug so close that there was hardly any space to walk around them) and identified young boys she knew (some resistance fighters) martyred in glorified posters hanging all over the camp. How do these youth manage to carry on with what appear to be “normal” – but are, in fact, extraordinary – lives, under an unjust occupation and constant threat of brutal violence? Why are their stories not heard by the world – or does no one care?

Last week the Israeli Occupation Force (IOF) barged into Nablus searching for an 18-year old boy (their “most wanted” resistance fighter in the city) and destroyed the entire Palestinian Authority complex, shooting 60 people and killing 7, including a doctor helping the injured. It was hard to believe the military could use such ruthless force on every occasion. The boy managed to escape unharmed despite the best efforts of the IOF, but the scars of the incursion remain for all to witness each day; I saw little boys rummaging through the rubble of complex buildings searching for their family documents or just leftover parts to sell, as others stopped by to pay homage to what used to be the Ministry of Interior. Apparently this complex had been destroyed nearly half a dozen times over the past few years by the IOF.

I continue working with the kids and young staff on my workshop each day, everyone somehow retaining a surreal composure and cheerful spirit despite the tensions many of them must experience each day. This morning one of the girls, the most articulate and well-mannered participant in the workshop, didn’t show up, as she had to accompany her mother on a trip to visit a brother currently imprisoned in an Israeli jail. I didn’t quite know what to say to her when she dutifully came back to attend our chaotic workshop after lunch. At times I wonder what good the workshop could possibly do given the nature of the environment in their camp, but I often find it heartening just to watch the youth working together on creative projects, selflessly teaching the younger ones, and speaking up, through their storyboards, on issues they feel strongly about.

July 16-22, 2006 - Life in Ramallah, Working with Birzeit and ISM

Next week in Ramallah, I decide to spend a few days working with Birzeit University on designing the video workshops (at the Media Institute there) and with faculty in the engineering dept. trying to develop a collaborative project examining the IT needs of medical clinics. I meet up with Lama, a young producer with the Ramattan News Agency, whom I first met on a flight to Paris in May. Lama had since connected me up with many folks at Birzeit University even before I arrived. I stay at the offices of the International Solidarity Movement (ISM), where I attend a training workshop on non-violent peaceful activism and help with media work and press releases. Living at the ISM with other international activists turns out to be an awesome experience, cooking together and sleeping on the floor in a communal home, while monitoring unfolding events everywhere around the West Bank and Gaza – ISM (started by Neta Golan and other Israelis/internationals and led by Palestinians) reports on human rights violations and sends activists to many conflict areas in the West Bank. I have great discussions with Neta over tea in the mornings when she stops by with her little girls to coordinate work at the media office; a compassionate Israeli woman with enviable energy to keep the movement going.

In the evenings I often ended up going to the Kasaba theatre nearby to watch independent films. Here I met several Palestinians who studied in France, including musicians who taught refugee kids to play the violin, and also Maya, a Palestinian artist who now works at an arts foundation in Ramallah. Lama, Maya and I spent many evenings hanging out together having endless conversations on the state of arts, media and local politics in Ramallah, over beers and sheesha. Over a brief discussion on my video workshops, we came up with the title “Bahlam fi Falistine” (dreaming in Palestine) as an appropriate theme for the workshops with kids.

That Friday, I decided to attend a peaceful demonstration in Beli’en, a small village in the foothills near Ramallah being surrounded by the Israeli apartheid Wall; nearly 500 Palestinian and international showed up in this remote little village. There I interviewed two young Palestinians who regularly come to the demonstrations and filmed a 2-hour documentary on how the community organizes them each week (for the past 18 months). This time the community decides to hold a silent demonstration in memory of the victims of Israeli bombings in Lebanon and Gaza. They handed out large color posters to activists, that I incidentally helped create while working at ISM, illustrating the senseless deaths among children in the recent conflict.

One young woman I interview before the demonstration is a thin soft-spoken Israeli-Arab student living in Haifa and Jerusalem, who despite being a citizen of Israel is constantly reminded of being a second-class citizen through discrimination she and her family keep facing in everything from traveling to housing and education. Later seeing me working constantly to film the protest under the sun, she gets me a bottle of water and I ask her to tie a small Palestinian wrist-band given to me by a kid in the street, while holding my camera. It feels strangely like the “rakhee” (a tradition of protection for brothers in India) my sister tied on me before I left Boston. After my interview she ends up being a translator for the village community group meeting with internationals, so I keep filming her as the main character in my documentary.

The protest unravels as a silent stream of people holding a long black drape over the heads symbolizing a mass funeral for all the deaths in the past few weeks. The Ramattan News Agency brought their full production team to film the demo as well. At the top of the hill a massive presence of soldiers and armored vehicles is easily visible, all ready for an unrelenting confrontation. This time however the protest ends without any incident and the crowd quickly moves back after a minute of silence in front of the soldiers. After the event I lose sight of the Israeli-Arab girl, the main character of my brief video shoot, amongst the chaos in the crowds. Somehow I’m sure we’ll meet again when I return to Palestine.

Back in Ramallah, hanging out with Lama, Maya and friends feels like I’ve always lived here; Lama even managed to take me along to two different Palestinian weddings in one short week, each no different than Punjabi weddings in terms of the energy, lavish arrangements and all night dancing. It’s been all too easy to mix into Palestinian get-togethers despite my broken Arabic; most people just naturally treat me as their own, some mention they feel like we've known each other for a long time. I must admit I already feel a sense of belonging here, both in the cosmopolitan cities of Ramallah and the strangely tranquil life in refugee camps like Balata.

July 10-15, 2006 - Traveling with the B2P Delegation

For a week the peace delegation travels with Hannah and Dunya, our experienced group leaders, through much of the West Bank, starting with West Jerusalem and then stopping in Bethlehem (visiting Dheisheh camp), Hebron (a historic city known for settler violence towards Palestinians), Ramallah (the most cosmopolitan Palestinian city), Heres (a quaint village in the Salfit region) and Ein Hod (an unrecognized Palestinian village in Israel). Each visit brings with it the joys of traveling through unusual landscape, meeting remarkable individuals, tasting delicious foods, and drinking mint-tea, while confronting the daily Palestinian reality of long waits (and rampant discrimination) at checkpoints, the illegal Israeli settlements encroaching on Palestinian land, large concrete “security” walls surrounding many Palestinian villages dividing their towns, farms and lives into innumerable pieces, and spontaneous roadblocks setup by Israeli armored vehicles rudely treating both school children and mothers trying to pass through as “terrorists”. One can only help but imagine the resentment such treatment continually breeds among Palestinians every day, but you simply wouldn’t notice it from their warm hospitality, patience, and gracious attitude in everyday conversations.

At the Dheisheh camp I meet with Ibdaa, another youth cultural center, and encountered two 16-year old girls Rawan and Baraah, working on a script for their first film. They’re curious about an Indian guy visiting their camp, speaking endlessly about bollywood music, but were too shy to talk about their film script. Later that day I run into them in the media studio, reading their script in Arabic to Paulina, a volunteer filmmaker from France working with the youth center this summer. She asks to translate the girl’s script in English for me – as I hear it unfold I’m astonished to find out it’s a poetic treatment of hidden love experienced among teenage girls (a taboo subject in a traditional society), made analogous to the occupation of their hearts by society. Hearing Baraah and Rawan’s script out aloud left a very strong impression on me, demonstrating not only the raw creativity of teenagers here but also how they strive to express their own hopes and desires for a better life despite both the occupation and societal constraints. I henceforth decided if I were going to do any storytelling workshops, we would try to focus on the dreams and aspirations of youth rather than their (traumatic) experiences under occupation.

Saturday, July 8, 2006 - Arriving in Tel Aviv and Jaffa, Israel

I arrived in Tel Aviv airport on July 8 th with my iPod dangling from my pocket listening to Stan Getz and Serge Gainsberg, relaxed but expecting the worst in terms of interrogations at the airport. To my surprise I passed straight through in minutes, once I mentioned I was a tourist and knew no one in Israel. Nearly every taxi driver I met in Israel and Palestine since has mentioned his love for Bollywood songs and movies. I guess being Indian is an asset on either side of the conflict; if its not Gandhi’s words of peace, it’s Bollywood that somehow unites both.

For the first two days, I chose to stay in old Jaffa city, a largely Arab neighborhood near Tel Aviv. It’s located right by the Mediterranean and still retains much of its historic character, with old flea markets, artist quarters, and late night falafel joints. At the old Jaffa hostel I meet many backpackers and some hippies, living there like it were a co-op, cooking in the kitchen and lounging on the terrace overlooking the whole city.

I have dinner with my Israeli friend Lior, who lived in Boston briefly and organized exhibits of artwork by Palestinian children. We go to a small outdoor café outside the hostel, run by two leftist Israeli woman, with kitschy images of Buddha and Indian gods hanging inside. Lior mentions how she decided to come back to Israel to work with nonprofits and Palestinian activism here, where unlike being in the U.S. as a Jewish woman she isn’t ostracized for her unconventional views on social justice. Meeting Lior, a familiar face, immediately puts me at ease here; her strong will for genuine change from within Israeli society is inspiring.

Over the next two days as I travel in buses in Tel Aviv I can’t help but notice the young 18-year old Israeli soldiers carrying a M-16 in one hand and a shopping bag in the other. As they sit next to me in the bus, I suddenly feel how perhaps both sides have been victimized by this unjust occupation, with most having no choice but to participate in the unfolding drama that affects us all today.

That night I stay up late in the hostel terrace talking to Evegenija, an artist visiting from France for a 2-month archeological internship at a kibbutz near Jerusalem. Evegenija describes three time-frames she would experience while here – the thousands years-old excavations in the Negev desert, the failed 70’s communal life of a kibbutz, and present day Israel, which many now feel has becomes a failed state with its own self-destructive occupation of the Palestinians since 1948.

As we spoke about art and occupation late into the night, we hear sounds of a violin out in the streets; going out to hear it up-close, we are greeted by Sayegh Amin, an Arab-Christian musician who likes to play in the empty streets of old Jaffa late nights for his friends. He often travels with his own band and even performs with Indian musicians whenever he has a chance. Amin is one of the first Palestinians I met here, an Israeli citizen but with far fewer rights and privileges than most Israeli’s of non-Arab descent. Amin spends an hour playing for us and talking about his life (now at 4:00 AM); his affection and generous spirit are a foretelling for the many such kind and remarkable Palestinians I would encounter in coming weeks, beaming with creativity and perseverance despite the apparent apartheid they’ve been subjected to for over 50 years during this unfortunate occupation.

In the next few days I will meet our peace delegation from Boston in Jerusalem and we travel through much of the West Bank visiting cities under occupation, refugee camps, organizations, and interviewing many Palestinians. But somehow the first night meeting Lior, Evegenija, and Amin in Jaffa stays a memorable one – meeting three individuals (a peace activist, artist-archeologist, and musician) through whom I could begin to see the many diverse facets of this place.