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Archives for May 2012

Take Action Against UNICEF? That’s the Wrong Question.

May 31, 2012 by Nora Lester Murad

On March 24, 2012, The Times of Israel reported, “Israeli Companies Win UN Bids to Reconstruct Gaza, Angering Palestinians.”

I was angry too. Furious, in fact.

How could UNICEF, with a mandate to “…help Palestinian children access education, protection, health and safe drinking water” re-direct Palestinian aid money to Israel, the perpetrator of the attacks and siege that caused the damage that UN agencies are suppose to alleviate?

The Times of Israel cited the London-based Al-Quds Al-Arabi as the source. Soon after, WAFA Palestinian News and Info Agency said Palestinian contractors would boycott if Israeli companies were allowed to participate in tenders, and PressTV said Palestinian contractors had already decided to boycott. Gaza.Scoop.ps even reported that UNICEF had responded to criticism by insisting on dealing with Israeli companies in Gaza.

As far as I can figure out, all of these reports are wrong. The truth seems to be both more innocent and, at the same time, more troubling.

To clarify, UNICEF issued a media release on May 28 that said:

“The priority and policy of UNICEF office in the occupied Palestinian territory is to purchase goods and services from qualified Palestinian manufacturers, authorized dealers and companies. We only buy from other providers when goods are not available”, Ms. Gough said.

When purchasing goods or services, UNICEF follows the joint United Nations guidelines and buys goods directly from manufacturers or authorized dealers in a timely, cost effective manner. All purchases are made through a competitive bid process among prequalified suppliers based in the area of operations.”

And a more recent release from the Coastal Municipalities Water Utility says:

“Moreover, a lot of the materials and the equipment that needs to be supplied are of dual use and it is not possible to supply it in through Israeli crossing by the Palestinian suppliers because of the blockade. Hence the donor organizations always conduct the purchase of items from the source and then transport it through the crossings using its own United Nations coordination channels. Based on the above, it was clear that UNICEF has followed the correct procedures according to its regulation and guidelines set for the organization. And also UNICEF has given every possible priority to the local Palestinian product and always worked and still working according the Palestinian strategic needs for water and sanitation, which meets the top Palestinian interest.”

From this, it is apparent that:

1- UNICEF has a policy of preferring Palestinian contractors and vendors. In fact, upon consultation with UNICEF, I found out that all UN agencies have preference for local procurement, primarily because local procurement is more likely to be timely, less costly to transport, and more likely to result in undamaged receipt. I admit that was not able to confirm this in the UN Procurement Manual, because the manual (2010) is 286 pages and I simply didn’t have time to read it all.

2- UNICEF followed all its internal procedures in this case, which includes empowering Palestinian counterparts to make the final decision. (At the same time, following internal procedures isn’t really the point if the internal procedures are flawed.)

And most importantly,

3- No decision in this case has yet been made. Get that? According to UNICEF, the contract for the desalinization units has not yet been awarded!

So why is the UNICEF procurement event such a big scandal? Why was it blown into a major case?

Because questions about Israel profiting from international aid are real. And because questions about the international community’s role in complying with or challenging Israeli policies against Palestinians are legitimate.

Read anything by Shir Hever of Alternative Information Center or Who Profits? and you’ll see that both occupying Palestinians and providing aid to Palestinians under occupation are big, profitable businesses.

Unfortunately, it’s not so easy to simply insist on the purchase of Palestinian goods. What if, as in this case, Palestinians don’t make the product? What if Israeli won’t let the product in? What if refusing to coordinate with Israel means that the desalinization project doesn’t happen, and, as a result,  Palestinian children don’t have clean water to drink?

It’s a complicated problem!

As you may know, international aid in general is under scrutiny, and procurement is an important element. Eurodad, a European advocacy organization, released their policy brief, How to Spend It in advance of the recent Fourth High Level Forum on Aid Effectiveness. They told me that an estimated 60% of aid goes to procurement and an estimated 2/3 of that goes to multinationals in OECD (meaning relatively rich) countries. That certainly gives insight into who is profiting from international aid, doesn’t it?

In my opinion, Eurodad and other aid reform advocates need to look more carefully at the occupied Palestinian territory. They already acknowledge that we need to rethink what “value for money” means in conflict-affected situations. Will they go further and suggest that Israeli companies be excluded from the list of “authorized” vendors for aid-funded tenders? Will the international community take seriously critics’ position that it is unethical for Palestinian aid to reach the coffers of the occupier?

I tried to ask this question directly to the United Nations Ethics Office. They didn’t answer my email, and when I called, I just got this:

+19173679858 on 2012-05-30 at 17.08

What do you think?

Is Jerusalem’s Old City Safe? (part two)

May 29, 2012 by Nora Lester Murad

 

In response to all the excellent comments about my post, “Checkpoint Etiquette,” I am thrilled to share this must-see video “Yala to the Moon” which I saw on Electronic Intifada.

The fact that such a joyful, creative, and hopeful film can be made here, despite the checkpoints (and all they symbolize), is answer to that oft-asked question, “How can you stand it?” Palestinians don’t just “stand it,” they create.

Enjoy! And if you like it, share a comment. (And if you don’t like it, please get some help!)

 

Is Jerusalem’s Old City Safe?

May 21, 2012 by Nora Lester Murad

Last week I got an email from a friend of a friend. He’s coming to Jerusalem. First time. Among other things, he’s heard that the Old City of Jerusalem isn’t safe. Is it? Is the Old City safe?

I’m asked that question by nearly every single visitor I encounter.

The question makes me contort my face as if I’m being offered fried cow organs by someone I really don’t want to offend.

Plaza of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher

I posed the question to a friend of mine who just got her master’s degree in Jerusalem Studies. Her eyes rolled to the right as if she’d told her son four thousand times that his shirt is hanging in the closet but he just asked again where it is.

Is the Old City safe?

What do you think? Is the Old City safe? (I’ll post my answer soon.)

 

Visualizing Occupation: Freedom of Movement

May 16, 2012 by Nora Lester Murad

Whereas West Bank settlers can travel freely between Israel and the West Bank, Palestinian movement is governed by the Israeli security establishment. This illustration is the fourth in a series of infographics on the effect of the occupation on the Palestinian civilian population.

Sincere thanks to Michal Vexler for permission to reprint this artwork freely and without restriction.

 

Checkpoint Etiquette

May 14, 2012 by Nora Lester Murad

My daughter, and the other neighborhood kids who attend Friends School in Ramallah, usually take a public bus in the morning. As long as they leave before traffic builds up, it’s an easy ride from Jerusalem—no checking of identity papers, no searches by soldiers. But the return to Jerusalem can take hours through military checkpoints and sometimes requires the dodging of obstacles and dangers.

Because of these erratic conditions, we mothers take turns bringing the kids back by car, either the long way around through the Beit Il checkpoint (which I can do because I have a United Nations identity card) or on the Jeba’a Road through the Pisgat Ze’ev checkpoint. Sometimes I take a risk and drive through Qalandia checkpoint. Once you’re in though, there’s no turning back. You’re stuck for the duration.

Whether on foot or by car, going through military checkpoints is miserable. It might take 20 minutes or it might take 2 hours, but either way, I go through emotional turbulence. Sometimes I’m stuck on a simple (existential?) question: Why does someone else decide if I get home or not and whether or not I’m late? Sometimes it’s more logistical: If boys start to throw rocks, how can I get out of the checkpoint before the tear gas flies?

Occasionally there are amusing or thought-provoking incidents at the checkpoint. A few weeks back I was near the front of the line at Qalandia when rocks started raining down on my car and the cars around me. The drivers jumped out of their cars furious at the boys, “You’re hitting us, you fools. The Israeli watchtower is over there. Learn to aim!” And recently, coming home with a carload of children through a different checkpoint, we encountered a soldier the children named, “the happy soldier” because he seemed so happy to see us.

Photo by Muthanna Al-Qadi

What do you say to a child when he waves enthusiastically at an Israeli soldier at a military checkpoint? Do you tell him not to be friendly and squash the innate humanity of the child? Or do you encourage him to express his humanity, perhaps awaking the humanity of the solder? Or do you spend the next 20 minutes talking about the complexities of human interactions in situations of structural inequality, thus losing the child completely and embarrassing your daughter in front of her friends? (You can guess what I did.)

Even when I’m alone, checkpoints are hard. How to act? I’ve noticed that if I drive up and hand my passport to a soldier with a scowl on my face, although I intend to communicate my disapproval and non-acceptance, the soldier tends not to notice or care. To be honest, they are often too deep in conversation with one another to acknowledge me. Yesterday a male and female soldier were flirting so suggestively at Qalandia; I felt I had walked into a private bedroom! In these situations, I find I want to shout, to make them feel uncomfortable; to make them know they are unwelcome.

But let’s be honest, if I make a fuss, I’ll delay the line. The drivers behind me will be angry. After all, we just want to get home, have some lemonade and watch Fetafeat, the cooking show, on TV. And it won’t make a difference anyway. Nothing makes a difference. So why make a fuss? But if I don’t make a fuss, what am I saying about occupation?

One thing that especially infuriates me is when they make me get out of my car to open the trunk for inspection. In my trunk I have a gallon of windshield wiper fluid, a quart of oil, and equipment for changing a tire. Sometimes my computer is in there and a box of books and some bags of recycling to deliver. There could be anything in there, but invariably, they glance in the trunk and hand back my passport without comment. So what was it for? It certainly wasn’t a security check. It was harassment. How come I have to drive away furious while they get to go back to flirting without even registering my existence?

Sometimes I’m angry before I get to the soldiers. Sitting in my car, next to a pile of rocks and expended tear gas canisters, I can see them up ahead chit chatting and repositioning their guns on their shoulders. Through the loudspeaker, the soldier who I cannot see in the watchtower to my left shrieks (yes, she shrieks!) “imshi” by which she intends the first several cars to enter the checkpoint while the rest wait behind the line. But “imshi” isn’t the right word for that! She should say “itfadal” (if you please) or “bevakasha” if she wants to say it in Hebrew. “Imshi,” especially in that tone, is the tone that an animal-hater would use to tell a dog to get out of the way, or perhaps, if you were really, really upset, you might use it to tell your child to hurry up.

I feel my muscles tightening just writing about it.

So, when I’m in the car with people who use a different strategy, I am amazed. They drive up to the checkpoint and greet the soldier: “How are you?” with a smile. They hand over their passport and wait patiently. They take back the passport and pause to say, “Thank you! Have a nice day!” How do they do that?

I understand, intellectually, that the soldier is a human being and s/he may not even want to be there oppressing me. I also understand that if I treat the soldier like a human being, s/he is more likely to treat me as one. But I don’t live in my intellect.

What would you do at a military checkpoint?

One Palestinian Woman’s Spring

May 9, 2012 by Nora Lester Murad

It’s finally time to share some of my actual fiction writing. This is a short piece I wrote for the wonderful online writing community The Write Practice and I am proud to say that it won an honorable mention in their show-off contest, spring edition! Funny, I set out to write a short story about the theme of spring, but a character from my novel-in-progress “One Year in Beit Hanina” was on my mind. As a result, this piece ended up as a draft scene in the novel so you can consider this a sneak peak. All I ask is that IF you read this piece, you comment. And if you like this piece, you tell someone about my blog and encourage them to subscribe. Deal?

One Palestinian Woman’s Spring

By midnight, Christine was burning. Half conscious, she tossed and turned, unrelieved. Finally, she startled awake in a melange of hot and cold. Her face and feet, protruding from the heavy covers, were flush, but the rest of her body shivered on the sweat-soaked mattress. The digital clock read 2:17 am. It was the 96th night in a row that she hadn’t bled.

There was nothing to do at 2:17 am. No familiar body to wrap around and drift back to sleep. No one to sit with in the kitchen over a cup of chamomile tea. She got out of bed. Looking out the window through the gray night, she could see little sprigs of weeds fighting their way through the cracks in the concrete signaling spring for the rest of the world. But for Christine, there would be no new buds.

She scrutinized herself in the full-length mirror. Eyes: kind. Lids: drooping. Mouth: resting. Wrinkles: proliferating. There was a faint muddy spot in the shape of a cashew under her left eye. Her lips, chapped, had not kissed for a long, long time. Overall, many more negatives than positives. Christine felt like a slice of meat left too long in the refrigerator. She needed to be thrown away, uneaten, having failed in her mission to nourish life.

Light from the bedroom reflected off the mirror illuminating her breasts, big and only slightly sagging. They had never filled with milk custom-made for an infant that shared her weak chin. They had never overflowed with love and squirted an infant in the eye. Christine looked at herself sideways in the mirror. Her stomach was round from eating too much sesame-covered Jerusalem bread, but there were no marks. The marks that other women cursed, but that she had coveted. Down below, two or three gray pubic hairs glinted in the light. She stifled the urge to laugh and cry simultaneously.

It was only 2:30 am and Christine had nothing to do. She couldn’t shower. The gurgling sounds of the electric boiler heating the water would wake the neighbors downstairs. It wouldn’t wake the old man upstairs; he slept like the dead. Lucky man. So instead of showering, Christine decided to clean out the spare room.

Although it had never been used as a nursery, it had been used twice as a guest room. Once, a Norwegian girl sat next to her on the bus and confided that she had no where to sleep. Crazy tourists. They came to Jerusalem year after year looking for the Holy Land and found only a cursed land full of other tourists also looking for the Holy Land. Christine welcomed the girl in her virgin guestroom. The next morning she made a huge breakfast of fried goat cheese and onion omelettes with sage tea heavily sweetened. The Norwegian girl was so grateful, she came back a year later and stayed for a week. Christine never saw her again, but she had gotten a letter saying that she was well. Married. Pregnant.

Christine was disappointed that the guest room was already clean and there was only one thing to get rid of. In the last drawer of the dresser there were three matching sets of knitted hats, gloves, booties and blankets. Christine had made hundreds of layette sets over the years and had donated them to the charitable society when they ran their annual Christmas bazaar. She could have rented a table and sold her knitted goods herself, and she might have made a nice sum, but she didn’t want to stand exposed in front of the community like that. They would gossip. Palestinians are skillful gossipers. They can excommunicate a person with casual comments and without a pang of guilt. Or they could attack with self-righteous judgment and lead a person to banish herself. Better to stay away.

Those three layette sets that lay in the bottom dresser drawer were special. They had been touched by the Bishop! According to the lady from the charitable society, the Bishop had come in with several priests and caused quite a commotion in the bazaar. He walked through slowly and looked at the crafts made so carefully by the old ladies who had nothing to do after their children and grandchildren emigrated. He bought several wreaths of plastic pine vines woven with flowers and adorned with small silver bulbs. When he got to the table of knitted goods, he touched them and praised them, but didn’t buy. The woman had given the ones touched by the Bishop back to Christine, and she had treasured them and all that they might mean. Till now.

Her chest felt heavy as she wrapped the layettes in a plastic bag with a piece of pita bread. It wasn’t a custom and didn’t mean anything, but somehow Christine needed something symbolic to make the ritual hurt more. If she could make herself hurt enough, perhaps God, the merciful, might let her die. She snuck down the stairs quietly and into the garden in the backyard where it was even colder than in her apartment. And still. So still.

Dew had made the ground moist and she easily dug under the mint patch in the far corner to bury her small package, and then she sat on the cold earth and tried to cry but couldn’t. It was the path God had chosen for her and she had no right to want something else, no right to feel resentful. But she did.

Why would God create such a world, a world where some children live unloved, while others, loved, are unborn or are born only to die despite their innocence? Why would God create a world where some people never love while others love deeply and are ripped apart from the only person who completes them? Christine’s head pounded while her feet were numb on the cold ground. Why couldn’t she cry?

Suddenly, Christine jumped to her feet. Energy cursed from the back of her legs up her back and through the back of her arms. She climbed into the olive tree that sat in the place of honor in the middle of the garden. “You have no right to live,” she hissed under her breath as she ripped a new shoot from the tree. “You have no right to be with your loved ones,” she spit as she ripped another. With each murderous motion, Christine stung as if she had peeled the skin from her palms.

It didn’t take long for debris to pile up beneath the tree, and when the sun peaked over the high garden wall, Christine saw the damage she had done. Once plump with new life, the tree was as sparse as a monk’s worldly possessions. She mourned more for the new shoots left behind to live lonely lives than for the ones she had relieved of their misery.

From the tree, Christine looked down on the garden seeing it–and herself–from a new perspective. Surely Satan had conquered her. Surely there was no redemption. Tears released down her cheeks as she dug up the layette sets and buried the debris from the tree with them. She fought the urge to say a prayer, which she knew she had no right to utter.

Later that afternoon, Basel entered the garden that he had neglected and was struck by the tree. Who had pruned it? Who had so gently lightened its load so that it could grow stronger and bear more fruit? Who had given life so anonymously?

Video Interview with Ahdaf Soueif

May 5, 2012 by Nora Lester Murad

My tech skills: F

Picking good interviewees: A+

The Literary Scene in Palestine

May 3, 2012 by Nora Lester Murad

This post was written for the fabulous blog, “Arabic Literature (in English).” You can find the article here. Subscribe to receive a plethora of excellent information about Arabic literature and  follow @arablit.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I sat holding my breath in a comfy chair in my friend’s living room. Married to a local (like me), she’s lived in Palestine for a million years under the high ceilings of an old, traditional Ramallah home. It was my favorite night of the week – Wednesday. The Writers’ Circle, a group I instigated under the auspices of the Palestine Writing Workshop, was listening to a stunning young Palestinian read her excerpt. It was about the day when her family, after years of suffering exile as “absentees,” returned to Palestine. A cliché, but true nonetheless: you could have heard a pin drop.

For me, this is the literary scene in Palestine – people writing, people reading, awareness growing, and community deepening.

Looking beyond my narrow experience, it does seem that the literary scene in Palestine, like everything Palestinian, fights against fragmentation by geography and politics. And, like everything Palestinian, the same geography and politics that divide also bind people to the place, to one another, and to literature. The literary scene may be sorely under-developed in relation to its potential, but it is vibrant in its own way.

Political Context, Political Content

“There is an intensity here,” one writer told me, “and the literary scene is certainly affected.” The ongoing reality of occupation, colonization, and dispossession gives everything a political significance.

According to Walid Abubaker, prominent novelist, critic and publisher, writers have always been essential to the national movement and the national movement has always been central in Palestinian literature. Since the 1970s, writers have been organized under the umbrella of the Palestine Liberation Organization.

Sophie DeWitt, founder and director of the Palestine Writing Workshop, agrees that politics shape the context for Palestinian writing, and often constitute the topic as well. (I myself have wondered if Palestinians write beyond two genres: political non-fiction and political fiction.) I asked Sophie if open wounds hold Palestinian writers back or push them forward, she said, “perhaps both.” Walid is more definite. He says that the golden age of Palestinian literature was in the 1970s and 1980s. Since the Oslo Accords, he laments, refugees and members of the Palestinian diaspora produce better quality than those inside. “If you feel you’ve lost your dream, how can you write?” But a recent profile of four local authors presents a more hopeful view.

The centrality of political themes in Palestinian writing is not only a function of writers’ experiences but also of readers’ needs. I saw it in a dear friend’s eyes and heard it in the tremble of her voice as she talked about the importance of Sahar Khalifeh in her life. I can picture my friend holding Wild Thorns and inhaling; the words oxygenating her cells, steeling her against the harsh reality. I like to imagine that Sahar is nourished in kind by her readers, and especially the Palestinian ones who, in addition to admiration, offer affirmation.

The Politics of Language

Many Palestinians speak English, certainly among the elite, but not all Palestinians are fluent in Arabic. Therefore, language realities and language politics are an important consideration in local literary activities.

“Even if all the participants in an event speak English, it’s still a political compromise to run the event in English,” Sophie says. “On the other hand, many are making a conscious choice to write in English in order to bear witness.” Some of those books, like Mornings in Jenin, are later translated back into Arabic.

“Writing in other languages, and translation of Arabic texts into other languages, have shown that ours are humanistic experiences that cross national boundaries,” says Renad Qubbaj, Director of Tamer Institute for Community Education. “Brilliant writers like Mahmoud Darwish talk about our local experience in a way that touches everyone. His contribution is greater than merely national. And at the same time, worldwide interest in Palestine has helped propel Palestinian writers onto the world stage.”

Renad notes that Salma al-Jayussi in London, Ibrahim Nasrallah in Jordan, and Ibtisam Barakat in the United States have built international reputations by writing about Palestinian themes. Walid agrees that Palestinian literature in English is important, if only because distribution is so much greater. “We print 1000 copies of a novel in Arabic and it takes 5 years to distribute, even if we give them away for free.”

Literacy Rates are Not the Same as Literary Appreciation

Does this mean, then, that Palestine is not a nation of readers? Many people are asking this question. Renad says: “We are devastated when people say Arabs don’t read. So we did our own study, which is available in Arabic on Tamer’s website. We found the situation in Palestine is not quite that bad.” She explains: “Literacy has always been considered an aspect of resistance to occupation and a means of resilience. Our literacy rates are among the highest in Arab world, but achievement test scores are lower calling into question the quality of education.”

“We need to develop a value for reading in Palestine,” says Sophie. “Even in university, students read photocopies of books. They don’t know the smell of a public library or how precious it is to build a personal library at home.” That’s why Palestine Writing Workshop has a reading room that is not only a physical space to read, but also a refuge to sit and think and be among books.”

In fact, many NGOs run reading events, organize workshops for writers, host lectures, sponsor contests, etc. But some are critical of the “NGO-ization” of reading and writing. They say it risks prioritizing numbers of participants over substance and quality. “Many people claim to be involved, but,” Walid asks, “do they buy books? Do they read? Do they write? Do they publish?”

The Broken Ecosystem: Reader-Writer-Publisher

Renad points out that there are many diverse sources available, including books, social media, videos, and more. “What we need are promoters that connect the writers with the readers.” In a healthy economy, publishers play this role, but in Palestine, publishing isn’t profitable. “It’s even worse in Gaza,” Renad explains.

“From 2007-2011, the Israelis didn’t allow books into Gaza. They weren’t considered ‘essential.’ Now they do allow books in, but it’s very expensive to transport them. One solution is to reprint books inside Gaza, but the quality can be poor, and this affects interest.”

Moreover, the Ministry of Culture and the Ministry of Education don’t do as much as they should. As a result, most books are produced by NGOs with donations, often from international donors, which is not sustainable.

Mahmoud Muna of the Educational Bookshop in Jerusalem agrees that there is a large and growing community of writers and a smaller but growing community of readers. “One problem is that they aren’t connected,” he explains. The Educational Bookshop tries to address this by organizing events that bring people together around literature. For English readers, there are book launches, author discussions, and film showings. For Arabic readers they have a monthly event organized around authors, not specific books, so that readers get excited about authors and about reading and discussing books. Usually a well-known critic is featured and that draws a crowd, though never as large as for English books.

“Like publishers, authors also don’t make enough money to be able to devote their time to writing,” debut novelist Aref Husseini points out. “That’s why writers need more support.” He believes that reading and writing events are good for involving amateurs in literature, and there are venues for them to publish such as Filistin Ashabab. But there is a dearth of help for talented writers who want to polish their craft so they can advance to the professional ranks. The Palestinian Cultural Forum is a new NGO that seeks to fill that void with the support of local publisher Dar Al-Shorok. Literary actors in Palestine seek to build what Sophie DeWitt calls a “creative economy.”

Randa Abdelfattah's children's literature workshop run by Palestine Writing Workshop at Tamer Institute, Ramallah

No Shortage of Literary Activity

Even in Jerusalem, where I live, there is a lot going on — despite the fact that West Bank and Gaza participants are prevented entry by military checkpoints. In addition to events at the Educational Bookshop, there are book launches and readings at the American Colony Bookshop and related events at the Press Club and theaters. Authors from around the world come to offer workshops, and books and films are distributed through schools and community libraries.

In May, the Palestine Festival of Literature (PalFest) brings the literary community together in writing workshops, radio journalism training, children’s storytelling, panel lectures, blogging courses, and more that take place in Gaza and the West Bank– enough to keep anyone busy full time just learning about and producing literature. There is, unfortunately, a paucity of activity in the outlying and hard to reach areas.

Regardless of all the challenges, writers will write. They write because they can’t help themselves. Writing is what writers do. Aref says, “I wrote Kafir Sabt because it was a story that had to be written.” Some talented writers may not be able to make the sacrifices that Aref made in order to write his novel. But perhaps over time our collective efforts will enable us to build a literary scene in Palestine that maximizes opportunities for local writers to develop skills, gain recognition, and compete for readership worldwide.

In some places the literary scene might be an enhancement. Here in Palestine it is bread itself — common, coarse, and salty. Writers train and practice and strive to weave words into stories that are uniquely Palestinian, and in doing so, make their experiences universal. For me, it was reading Ghassan Kanafani’s Men in the Sun more than twenty years ago. How could anyone read it and not get involved?

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