Nora Lester Murad - The View From My Window in Palestine

NGO Hush Money: Trading Silence for Access and Privilege (reblogged)

by

This article [originally posted at http://www.thinkir.co.uk/ngo-hush-money/ and reblogged with permission of the author]  considers the possibility that international NGOs may not be fulfilling their mandate to Palestinians by keeping silent on key issues in exchange for access to the occupied Palestinian territories and preferential treatment by Israeli authorities, mirroring a system of control used by Israel to manipulate Palestinian Authority officials. 

from the Deccan Chronicle

In her article “VIP Hush Money,” journalist Amira Hass describes the manner in which Israel uses special permits for travel as a way to manipulate and maintain control over the leadership of the Palestinian Authority (PA).  She details how the Israeli government has stripped a few dozen senior PA officials, including President Mahmoud Abbas, of their VIP permits since mid-2011 as a form of punishment for the PA’s application to the United Nations for admission as a member state.  This VIP status gives its Palestinian bearer free movement throughout Israel and the occupied Palestinian territories (oPt), a basic right that is simultaneously denied to millions of other Palestinians who are barricaded into tiny little cantons under PA control throughout the West Bank and Gaza strip.

Hass reveals how command over this very basic aspect of life, movement, is used by Israel to control its subject Palestinian population in the West Bank and Gaza Strip.  With Hass referring to this as a form of colonialism, Noam Chomsky regards it as part of a neo-colonial model of control where Israel also permits and encourages a privileged existence for Palestinian elites in Ramallah, largely sustained by European funding.  When it chooses not to permit those PA officials to move about freely, Israel is asserting its control over them and manipulating peace negotiations in its favour.

Hass points out that “collaborating with the humiliation inherent in VIP status conferred by the occupier is part of the PA’s whole concept. Its senior officials lavish praise in their speeches on ‘popular resistance’ as the preferred alternative to taking up arms.  But in the very sphere where they could easily engage in civil disobedience of their own, they don’t do it.”  However, it is not just the PA that is taking part in this system of humiliation and collaboration.  There are hundreds of “well-meaning” Non-Governmental Organisations (NGO) that are provided with VIP status of their own, allowing them freedom of movement into the oPt, in return for providing basic services and funding for Palestinians that Israel is not willing to provide itself.

In the same way that Israel maintains control over freedom of movement in order to rein in uncooperative Palestinian leaders, it also uses control of movement over hundreds of foreign NGOs and thousands of foreign NGO workers (and rights activists) who operate out of the West Bank, Gaza and Israel.  If any of them are to stray too far in their activities into advocacy work that is deemed threatening to Israeli policy, the government of Israel will simply refuse them access at the border with Israel and the oPt.

This is a serious threat that occupies the minds of every NGO worker (and human rights activist) that has to travel through the Israeli border in order to get to the West Bank or Gaza Strip.  It preoccupies their preparations before each journey through Ben Gurion Airport  and the Allenby Bridge crossing, needing to prepare different plans should they not gain access.  By not being able to enter through the Israeli border in order to carry-out funded aid projects, NGOs run the risk of losing their funding and workers of losing their jobs.  Add to that the reality that thousands of people do get turned away and sent home at the border every year[1].

from BBC News

This fear leads to organisations censoring their advocacy work and blunting their criticism of the source of Palestinians’ problems, “the Occupation.”  Outspoken criticism of the occupation is the activity Israel most opposes.  So  long as they choose not to be too outspoken and disobedient, Israel also allows foreign NGO workers to enjoy a comfortable and privileged existence in Ramallah, largely funded by Europe, where they enjoy a state of relative calm from the violence associated with night raids or invasions, the comforts of modern life, and a booming cafe and night club culture.  Israel even facilitates freedom of movement for foreign nationals at the Qalandia checkpoint between Ramallah and Jerusalem by not forcing them to leave public buses to go through the intimidating security checkpoint where their bags are screened and passports checked before gaining entry.  Considering deepening economic malaise and joblessness back home, many foreign NGO workers from Europe or North America may be even less inclined at this time to lose their job in the oPt.  As one young American aid work told this author in 2010, “It is actually better to be here, where there are jobs, than back in America, where there are none.”

With the benefits of VIP status, working at an NGO in the oPt can be an exciting and comfortable career opportunity, even while the Palestinians they are supporting continue to suffer under occupation and to slip further into poverty.  If those foreign NGO workers should stray too far from behaviour deemed acceptable by the government of Israel, it is not afraid to rein those NGOs in.  Indeed, Israel regularly reminds foreign NGOs that their ongoing presence in territory it occupies depends precariously on its permission.  For example, in 2010 Israel largely eliminated work visas for the employees of those NGOs privileged enough to be able to apply for work visas, forcing foreign employees to take tourist visas that are valid only for up to three months[2].  Employees on a tourist visa are forced to exit and re-enter through the Israeli border, where they may be refused entry.  There are even fears that “international staff may be accused of working illegally and consequently face punitive measures, including long-term barring of entry into or passage through Israel due to violation of Israeli employment laws.”

This is a significant contributing factor to NGOs engaging in self-censorship of their own work.  Hart and Lo Forte note in their research on child protection in the oPt that NGOs clearly operate on a matter of pragmatism over principle, with “Western donor governments generally choosing not to challenge Israel on practices that clearly put the lives of Palestinian children at risk, preferring to support ad hoc efforts to improve conditions or equip families to cope with the intolerable.” The result is that child protection becomes focused on response to harm rather than prevention[3].  Hart and Lo Forte note that some donors, such as the United States government, will even use control of funding to limit any public advocacy that might embarrass Israel.  Just as the United States government can deny funding for aid projects that advocate too heavily on behalf of Palestinian children, Israel can simply deny NGOs access to operate on occupied Palestinian territory, putting an end to their work.  In this way, Israel’s control over the movement of NGOs allows it to maintain control over the work of those NGOs themselves.

By not addressing the root causes of the problem and only inadequately addressing the results, NGOs may simply be helping to offset the costs of war and occupation bourn by the Israeli government in the oPt, a warning given nearly 150 years ago when Florence Nightingale criticised Henri Dunant’s plan to create a civilian medical service (the future International Committee of the Red Cross) as something which would actually relieve governments of part of the burden of going to war, allowing them to more easily engage further in it.  As Mary Anderson points out in Do No Harm, aid provides the dual possibility of either supporting peace or supporting war, depending on how it is applied.  Regardless of the difficulties inherent in working in an occupied territory, the NGO community should take serious time to reflect upon whether or not just “being there” balances out with any detrimental effects that may be caused by not addressing the primary problem, the occupation, and the possibility they are relieving the occupier, Israel, from some of the costs of occupation.  Considering the retrogressive nature of a long-stalled peace process and an ongoing decline in Palestinian standards of living, those NGOs may find that it is time to take a new approach to their work, emphasizing advocacy and demanding open access without hindrance, or else simply refusing to provide assistance if it is only serving to subsidize the activities of the occupier.

Additional Note:
Attaining the requisite documentation for access to the oPt by NGOs is both complex and expensive.  A June 2011 Association of International Development Agencies (AIDA) report notes that  “the complexities of obtaining the requisite documentation to freely move national and international staff between Jerusalem, the West Bank and Gaza severely hampers the ability of AIDA members to deliver projects, effectively manage and monitor projects, hire appropriate personnel, share best practices, train staff or coordinate with other organizations.”  The report estimated that the restrictions cost those organisations an additional $4.5 million per year.

[1] There are thousands of examples of people being refused entry at the border to Israel:  tourists, spouses or family members of Palestinians, academics, activists, journalists and NGO workers.  Recent high profile examples include Irish Nobel Peace Prize Laureate Mairead Maguire and American Professor Noam Chomsky.  The number of people refused entry into Israel was 1 828 in 2005 and 2 941 in 2007.

[2] The length of stay or area of geographical access given in a Visa provided at the Israeli border at the Allenby Bridge crossing with Jordan can be highly arbitrary: ranging from as little as one day to three months in length, and from access to Palestinian Authority areas only to all of the oPt and Israel.

[3] Hart and Lo Forte found that organisations such as Save the Children US and UNICEF are placed in a challenging position where they must balance accountability to the population they are there to serve with the demands of donors and the anxieties of their superiors at headquarters. Too often, it seems, downwards accountability is severely compromised, if not abandoned.

About JeremyWildeman

Jeremy Wildeman (B.A. Saskatchewan, M.A. McMaster) is a PhD candidate at the University of Exeter, where he is conducting research into the effects of foreign aid on Palestinians. Previously he co-founded and managed the internationally registered, West Bank-based charity for Palestinian youth “Project Hope” (www.projecthope.ps). He is a founding committee member for the International Relations Blog “ThinkIR” (www.thinkir.co.uk). In his spare time he maintains a Blog about using digital tools in post-secondary research called “iScholarapp” (www.ischolarapp.com).

Guest Post: Palestinians on the Beach? by Vicki Tamoush

by

PALESTINIANS ON THE BEACH? WHY NOT EVERY DAY?!

As I write this, sitting in Southern California, I can hear the waves crashing just a few feet away.  Whenever I seek renewal of the spirit, refreshment of the soul, I am drawn to the sea where all can be washed clean.  Any burdens I carry can be cast onto the waves that reliably ebb away, pulling my hurts and guilts and sorrows with them.  As stifling as life is under occupation, I have to wonder if even a tsunami would be strong enough to wash away that pain.

Of course, it would have to be a tsunami; Palestinians are, by and large, prohibited from going to the beach so the ocean would have to come to them.

For this reason, I was stunned to read an article that said in August, for the first time ever, 130,000 Palestinians were granted permits to visit the beach for Eid al-Fitr.  When I first read Gideon Levy’s story, my eyes filled with tears. Mr. Levy’s account is written with such loving, exacting detail that we are left feeling as though we saw this phenomenal scene with our own eyes. I had to read it a second; even a third time to be sure I hadn’t missed the punch line where he tells the reader that he woke to find that it had all been a dream.

It’s not rare, at least for me, to experience quite the opposite reaction when I read news stories about the occupation.  Often I’m moved more to nausea than to tears.  This story was different not only because it described an unexpected visit to the sea but even more because of the great joy that this sight brought the writer.  I love his exuberant response; I love that he demands to know why it can’t be this way every day.  He opened the door for me to dare to dream the same.

The simple question, “Why not everyday?” made me realize that several thefts are taking place.  The occupation, those who uphold and codify and institutionalize the occupation, have stolen so much from the Palestinians and also from the world at large.  Palestinians have been robbed of the enjoyment of a gift given by God; the occupiers have the audacity to steal a gift handmade by no less than the Creator.

And justice-minded, goodhearted Israelis are being robbed as well.  The occupation steals from them the right to do what I can do whenever I like: call up a Palestinian friend and say, “Hey, it’s a beautiful day.  Let’s hit the beach!”  I have Israeli friends here in the States who long to do in their home country what they can only do here: befriend a Palestinian and interact as equals, as true peers.

There is another victim of this robbery, and that is the American public.  We finance the occupation in so many ways (taxes, purchases from companies that support the occupation, and even through our voting patterns).  We pay for a land of the free and home of the brave in the Levantine but when we open the package we find only a bill of goods.  What we are financing is in wholesale opposition to the principles on which the United States was founded.  But little is said, and nothing is done, and the thief walks away in broad daylight.

I’m not sure I can ever again listen to the waves crashing without thinking of the scene Mr. Levy described.  In fact, I rather hope that vision will continue to haunt me for the rest of my life.  I need to be reminded that I’ve been the victim of a robbery so I can run out into the world screaming my head off to anyone who will listen.

 Vicki Tamoush is a second-generation Arab American who lives in Tustin, California.  She holds a Bachelor’s degree in English from the University of California, Irvine and is founder of Interfaith Witnesses. Her first guest post on this blog was How Ramadan Made Me a Better Christian.

Guest post: How Ramadan Made Me a Better Christian by Vicki Tamoush

by

Vicki Tamoush, Interfaith Activist

Vicki Tamoush is a second-generation Arab American who lives in Tustin, California.  She holds a Bachelor’s degree in English from the University of California, Irvine and is founder of Interfaith Witnesses. More importantly, Vicki  is one of my dearest and longest friends, and one of the most inspirational peace activists  I’ve ever met. Her faith is palpable , including her interfaith work, but there’s not a judgmental or self-righteous bone in her body. So, it is a HUGE honor to me that she wrote this guest post, partly in response to my post about Ramadan and mothering.

Please chime in with your thoughts and experiences by leaving a comment here.

“How Ramadan Made Me a Better Christian” by Vicki Tamoush

I’m one of those people who always tries to do the right thing.  I drive under the speed limit and recycle my aluminums and love my neighbor as myself and you can find me in church on Sundays.  My friends are doing the right thing, too, but bad stuff keeps happening all around us and I just couldn’t stand it anymore.  So I fasted.

I don’t remember the first time I fasted for a specific intention, but I must have been in my early teens.  I suspect it was in solidarity with Cesar Chavez’ fast or in commemoration of the anniversary of one of Gandhi’s fasts….  What I do remember is that it felt different than any other act I’d ever engaged in: I felt like I was praying with my whole body.  I loved the feeling of engaging my entire being in prayer.

Growing up Arab American, I was always the only Arab at my church, often the only Christian among a group of Arab friends.  I had a unique point of view wherever I went, and I was lucky enough to be exposed to a lot of things that other Christians and other Arab American’s weren’t.  During Ramadan, my Muslim friends fasted from before dawn until the moment of sunset.  It looked impossibly hard, especially when Ramadan fell in the summertime.  The idea of fasting even from water made me look at my Muslim friends as superheroes.

When I was about 22, I moved to Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, where my father worked for two years on contract with a large American corporation.  I found myself not only the only Christian among my group of friends but one of only a few hundred in the entire country.   It was here that I first experienced fasting on a nation-wide level.  It was phenomenal, a cross between Lent and Advent.  There were decorations and flowers everywhere.  People were kinder than ever, greeting strangers as if they were family, and I saw so many Bedouin families gathering to serve huge communal meals to people in poverty.  I came to love the sound of the cannon being shot to signal far and wide the moment of the sun’s setting.  Cold water and dates were consumed, followed immediately by prayer before anyone engaged in a meal.  For centuries, these faithful Muslims had fasted out here in the desert where it was scorchingly hot even when Ramadan did not fall in the summer.

Now, three decades later, I find myself immersed in the interfaith community in Orange County, California, known primarily for its proliferation of conservative politics and yuppie mega-churches.  My circle of friends is comprised of people of every faith you can think of, many of whom fast for various reasons based on their religious beliefs.  My Muslim friends are now in the final week of Ramadan which, again, fell in the hottest part of the summer.

These past few years, I’ve been blessed with numerous invitations both from mosque and individual Muslim friends to share the meal to break the fast at sunset.  I’ve attended many of these in my life, and the rhythm of these ritual meals, the cadence of the evening, the precisely timed corporate worship are somehow comforting to me.  Iftar feels the same to me as the communal meals we share at my church during Lent.  It’s a time when everyone allows themselves to be loved.  Everyone is focused on the group gathered together, rather than on any individual.  Things are mostly the same at each iftar and each Lenten supper.  Little kids run among the tables while old friends cluster to chat.  The fast is never a topic of conversation; it’s all about community.

To experience Ramadan more deeply, some of us non-Muslims decided that whenever we were invited to an iftar, we would fast that day, a sort of solidarity fast.  I personally chose a specific intention for my fasts: one time, I prayed for a healthy pregnancy for my cousin.  Another time, I focused on the huge number of people in my church who were looking for employment.  Last year, I was invited to 8 iftars and this year 10, a mix of those held in mosques and more intimate in-home meals.  Again this year, the cadence of Ramadan was comforting and familiar; I found that the past two years, I’ve looked forward anxiously to this month.  On its surface, it’s a month of denial from one new moon to the next, but I find it to be a month overflowing with an abundance of fellowship and love, of needs being met.  There is charity of every sort, including charity of spirit.  No harsh words are spoken; people are quick to forgive what would normally rise to a conflict.

When my Muslim hosts learn that I’ve fasted when accepting an invitation to iftar, they are more than gracious and more than curious.  Some expect that I allowed myself to drink water (I didn’t) and some thought I felt deprived (I didn’t) but all were, without exception, more impressed than I deserved.  To me, it is natural to do this.  How could I accept an invitation to break a fast I hadn’t participated in?  How could such an iftar hold any meaning for me?

It’s not inconceivable that next Ramadan I may find myself fasting the entire month, new moon to new moon.  Having now discussed fasting traditions with so many Muslim friends, I’m wondering if anyone will want to participate in my “Lenten Promises” as we Christians refer to our commitments.  I don’t see these experiences as the dilution of our faiths; I see them as intimate acts of sharing, of connecting spiritually.  It’s been amazing to learn how much I’ve received by giving something up.

Is anything going right in NGO-INGO relations?

by

This is a post I wrote for Why.Dev: committed to getting development right, a really important online community that thinks critically and constructively about development. The post is co-authored with Renee Black of PeaceGeeks, a Canadian NGO that is working with Dalia Association right now. I’ve been the main contact person with PeaceGeeks on Dalia Association’s behalf, and I initiated the post because it’s nice to share a positive experience every once in a while!

 

Is anything going right in NGO-INGO relations? By Nora Lester Murad and Renee Black

Nora Lester Murad, volunteer,  Dalia Association:

Something is definitely wrong in NGO-INGO relations. Tension keeps popping up at global meetings and in social media exchanges. Some of it, I think, is the same power struggle as that between locals and donors (e.g., who decides how resources are used, who decides what “success” means, etc.), but there’s another aspect that’s about who “we” are as civil society, and how we manage power and privilege within “our” family. From my experience in Palestine, the disconnect is getting wider. Too often, internationals focus on projects and outputs that make sense in their organisational and funding context, but fail to take responsibility for their collective impact on local civil society – we are getting weaker and less sustainable as a result of international “aid.”

I find myself thinking about these issues all the time. I talk to colleagues around the world. I raise these issues whenever I write or speak at meetings. And the response I get is very challenging.

People say: “We understand your criticisms, but what do you suggest we do differently?”

In other words, knowing what’s wrong in NGO-INGO relations isn’t enough. We need to know how to do it better. But sadly, while I’ve had many bad and neutral experiences, I haven’t had many good ones. That’s why I’m happy to share my recent experience with PeaceGeeks, a Canadian NGO that is helping Dalia Association, a Palestinian NGO, to run an online competition.

What is PeaceGeeks doing right?

1- They called us.

PeaceGeeks contacted Dalia Association, first by email and then by Skype. As the English-speaking volunteer, I was asked to respond (we had never heard of them). Because we didn’t initiate a request for money, the dynamics lacked that sense we often feel of begging, trying to impress, of being evaluated.

2-They show respect for our leadership.

Having already read Dalia’s website, PeaceGeeks asked questions about our organisation and the context we work in. They were in learning mode; we were the experts. They also shared honestly about their organisation and their previous work. This left me feeling like there was a chance to create something together rather than being forced to take or leave a pre-packaged project on someone else’s terms.

3-They bring expertise we don’t have and at a high level.

PeaceGeeks is a collective of technical volunteers. They have expertise we don’t have. That feels very different than working with an INGO that only has money to offer.

4-They respect our timeline and limitations.

We have not been able to move as fast as PeaceGeeks. They are a huge team ready to implement ideas right away. Dalia is a small, grassroots NGO that doesn’t even have sufficient English capacity. So far, PeaceGeeks has been flexible and willing to move more slowly, making the effort to bring Arabic speakers onto their team, and understanding of our need for collective decision-making processes.

5-They are creative and responsive.

When we had difficulty coming up with the name for our philanthropy competition, they offered to incorporate a brainstorming activity into a volunteer recruitment event they were holding in Canada. Then they did extra outreach to recruit Canadian-Palestinians to participate as volunteers.

6-They act like partners.

At all steps in the process, they have shared with us what is happening on their end. For example, they explained how their board decides which projects to take on, and what kind of scrutiny we’d be subjected to. They also copy us on notes to their team so we are in the loop.

Our project—a competition to recognise Palestinian philanthropy around the world—is just starting, and there are much more work to do with PeaceGeeks around the technological interface, social media, and design. It’s a lot, and we might not be able to pull it off without help. So how do I feel so far having PeaceGeeks on our side? Hopeful.

Renee Black of PeaceGeeks:

PeaceGeeks began working with Dalia after a great chat where we could see both a clear vision of what they wanted to accomplish, and a clear role we could play a role in helping them to achieve it. Dalia is tackling a complex set of intertwined systematic issues. In the short term, they aim to challenge the perception that Palestinians are takers and not givers. The long-term objective is to engage more Palestinians in philanthropy and on questions on the effective use local resources to address local issues, towards reducing dependency on international aid and strengthening local accountability.

Breaking this unsustainable and disempowering pattern is no simple task. Dalia has chosen to begin addressing this problem through a contest that asks Palestinian youth to identify examples of Palestinian philanthropy in its various forms, whether it be sharing money, time, resources, talents and networks. They want a culture among youth who see that they have a role to play in addressing issues that affect their communities.

After meeting with Dalia, we identified three key areas where we could help make this contest possible. First, they needed a web developer to help create the website pages for the contest on their website and to train their web team in Jordan in how to replicate and manage these pages. Second, they needed a campaign name, brand and logo to help communicate the contest to stakeholders. Third, they needed help in building the capacities of their staff to make effective of use social media and blogging tools to spread the word about the contest to youth and solicit submissions. And all of this needed to happen in a very short time frame because of cutoff from one of their donors.

At first, we weren’t sure if we would be able to help because of the short turn-around time, but the project quickly piqued the interest of our volunteers, and within three days, we recruited web developer Scott Nelson, Arabic-speaking graphic designer Neeveen Bhadur and social media expert Carey Sessoms. We are now recruiting an experienced Arabic-speaking blogger to help Dalia to understand how blogging can help with their work. Along the way, we have been talking to Dalia about their evolving situation and making sure that the help that we are providing is timely and relevant.

We see our role as enablers of change. We can’t lead initiatives to address issues affecting people in other places. But what we do is help organisations like Dalia to get the tools and capacities they need to execute projects, better manage their resources or reach and engage their constituents effectively so they can solve local issues. And in the process, our volunteers get an incredible opportunity to both learn about how communities around the world are solving local problems and playing a role in helping them do it.

Check back for a follow up post in three months or so as we look back honestly about what worked and what didn’t. Meanwhile…

What are your experiences with local NGO-INGO relations?

Part Two: Accessing Gaza Through the Tunnels: My Saga! Guest Post by Anonymous

by

This is Part Two of a rare first hand account of accessing Gaza through the tunnels that connect the Gaza Strip to the outside world. To protect those involved, the author is anonymous and all the names have been changed. Note: The photos are of Gaza tunnels, but they were not taken by the author of this account, nor were they taken at the same time as the author’s trip.

Getting out

The exit leg of the trip was long and worrisome:

Because my return flight from Cairo to Tel Aviv was set for 9:00 am on Sunday Cairo time, and to avoid driving from Rafah to Cairo through Sinai at night, I decided to leave Gaza City the day before, Saturday  as soon as I finished my lecture.

It was arranged for a taxi to pick me up at 12:30 from IUG and to take me directly to Muthanna (my Palestinian “tunnel” organizer), who was waiting for us at the Gaza Mental Health Program “chalet” on the beach, not far from Al-Zawaydeh (the middle part of Gaza).  There, we had to wait for about 30 minutes for Abu Tarek, originally a Bedouin from the Rafah area (and our effective and indispensable “key” for the tunnel procedure.)  He met me at the tunnel opening when I entered.  He’s Muthanna’s reliable contact. The plan was that I’d be accompanied to the “mouth” of the tunnel in Rafah with Muthanna, Abu Tarek (of the inviting organization).

We arrived at the tunnel area in Rafah about 40 minutes later.  We were led to the office of “Central Operations, the Borders’ Commission” of the Ministry of the Interior in the Gaza Government.  Government offices are closed on Fridays and Saturdays, we were told.  This office had a skeleton staff of one—a very nice young man, with a cute smile, dressed in black shirt and black trousers, no evidence of any gun to his waist, but he could not (or would not) take any personal responsibility for the decisions he had to take.  This situation spelled disaster for us.

I showed my documents: (1) the permit from the Ministry of Interior to enter Gaza, (2) My US passport stamped in Egypt with an entry visa, and (3) my return ticket.  He recorded my data, which he had a hell of a time deciphering, on a loose sheet of paper.  He kept repeating my name as “ad-daktoor.”  I kept on correcting him every time he called someone with the information, but he kept repeating the same thing.  Also, my accompanying team in the office kept correcting him and telling him: “Ad-Doktoor is an important doktoor and professor, and he came to lecture.”

The young man kept trying to call “his superiors” for authorization.  He said that all my information was in order, but he could not “authorize” me to cross in his own capacity.  The person, or persons, he was trying to call had their Jawwals (Palestinian cells) turned off.  He said he was sorry for this, but he could not do anything about it. In the meantime, we sat in his office on a very wide dusty bed (with no sides or pillows for back support), constantly shifting our bodies for comfort, searching and hoping to keep our backs straight.  We were very hot; dust and more dust everywhere.  The cab driver sat in his cab and waited for us.  All of us waited and hoped for the Jawwal on the other side of the signal to turn on!  We assumed this was the reason for the delay.

We became very intolerant with the nonchalant attitude and indecisiveness. My team kept repeating “Ad-Doktoor had to leave today; otherwise he’ll miss his flight tomorrow morning to America.”  He had the ticket in front of him, on the dusty and bare desk, showing, for anyone, who could read English, and that my flight was to Tel Aviv not to America! He kept apologizing for delaying us, and insisted that he needed authorization, and he could not take the responsibility on his own to let me through.  He said perhaps his superior was sleeping.  We said: “why don’t you wake him up; if he’s sleeping nothing gets done?”

We consulted among ourselves on how to nudge the decision process. In the meantime, we had been sitting, fidgeting, sighing … and Abu Tarek making his Islamic supplications, recalling Koranic verses, intermingled with Arabic jokes to release tension … As we “sat” there, a colleague of our indecisive young man, from another Ministry of Interior office next door, came in and, after hearing the story and that my papers were in order, he urged our young man repeatedly: “Hurry and authorize the crossing of ad-Doktoor so he can be on his way”.  This, however, was to no avail on the claim that he needed authorization from his superiors.  Suddenly, and without receiving any external calls, or any indication that he received the “needed” authorization from his superiors or anybody, he decided to let me cross … just like that!  We got up after nearly two hours; thanked him, and followed, in our taxi, his colleague, in his jeep, towards the “mouth” of the same tunnel through which I came in.

Entering the tunnel was no problem at all, no delay.  The platform elevator was level with the ground, where the passengers—I and two full-size, horse-pulled carts, awaited and ready to board.  The carts, with their horses and drivers, loaded side by side on the wooden platform, followed by my suitcase on one of the carts.  “Yalla doktoor, hop on,” I was instructed, and I gladly obliged, relieved that the ordeal was basically over.  Down the 40-meter shaft we were lowered: I, two young men, two horses, two carts on four wheels each, and my suitcase.  As we reached the ground, one of the carts proceeded ahead of us, while my driver asked me to hold on tight.  The only way I could hold on tight was to lay flat on the dirty cart hanging on my suitcase.  (Keep in mind that I was coming directly from giving a lecture at the university with a white shirt, dressing dark pants, suit jacket …).  I held on tight for my life with great fear at times of falling, as the horse trotted most of the 750 meters of the tunnel, jerking my body right and left, until we got to the opening on the Egyptian side, where I let a big sigh when I could see the natural light!

I got out from the tunnel with my suitcase, shoulder satchel, jacket, pants, shirt, and hair, all full of white powdery sand and dirt; thirsty and without anything to eat since 6:00 am.  By now, it was about 5:00 pm.

A young boy was asked by the tunnel operator to help carry the suitcase of al-Hajj (me) to the wire gate signaling the entrance, a distance of 20-30 meters.  The young boy dragged my suitcase in thick dirt and sand, and placed it outside the gate, which they closed behind me.

Now, I stood alone with my suitcase immediately outside the gate, with no sign of my driver who transported me from the airport to Rafah a few days back, and whom I expected to see waiting for me at the gate, especially since he is reliable, and we had called him the night before and informed him about the arrangements.  We had asked him to be there about 2:30 pm, but I arrived about 3 hours late.  What to do now? I stood at the entrance gate, in an unknown and potentially hostile territory, with an overwhelming sense of panic.  I felt I was standing in a mafia-controlled territory, as the sun was gradually disappearing.  This is an area under the total control of Bedouin tribes, marauders, traders and transporters of every commodity for which there is demand and pay, between the two sides of Rafah.  There is clearly no control of the Egyptian central authority here.  On the contrary, these people are overtly opposed to the presence of any symbols of central authority.  The last two days, the area witnessed armed confrontation between the northern Sinai tribesmen and Egyptian police and army.  Police posts were attacked with RPG’s and some were ambushed, which resulted in several injuries and one dead. They don’t hide their deep mistrust and hostility towards the Egyptian police and army, and they express openly their desire to establish an “Islamic Salafist Imarah” in this region.

As I stood there, I tried desperately to call my driver on his mobile to no avail.  I could not get hold of him.  He was praying.  After about 30 minutes, which seemed forever, he showed up, and sped with me towards Cairo airport, dodging the hot spots of confrontation and burning tires on the main access road, and clearly rushing to avoid driving in the dark in northern Sinai.

He dropped me off at about 10:00 pm at Novotel airport hotel, in which I had reserved a room the night before.  All I needed at that minute was to have a decent place where I could have a nice hot bath, a meal, a bottle of wine, a TV with good reception, clean sheets, and sleep.  That I did, until I was awakened at 6:00 am to ready myself to catch my flight back to Tel Aviv.

Observations at-large

I will start with observations of little things, compared with Ramallah:

  • Observable on the streets are old, run-down cars, with more pollution; absence of fancy, new, late model cars observable on the streets of the “imaginary bubble” called Ramallah.  On the other hand, animal-pulled carts (donkeys, mules and horses), abound on the streets of Gaza to transport rubbish, building materials, cases of water and soft drinks, vegetables, etc.  Most often, they are “driven” by younger boys; in some cases, middle-aged women were “driving” their donkey-pulled carts with some homegrown vegetables to peddle at different stops.

  • Popular foods (falafel, humus, fool, etc.) are much cheaper than in Ramallah; in my experience, the price is about one-third what I am used to in Ramallah.  In one instance, I walked to the “popular food” shop across the street from the apartment where I stayed, to get some falafel and humus for lunch.  When I asked about the cost of the falafel, he told me “seven for one Shekel”.  My shock was obvious from my body reaction.  The owner said: “clearly you are not from here”.  No, I answered, “I am Palestinian from Galilee but living in Ramallah”.  “How much is it in Ramallah,” he asked, “generally, three for one Shekel,” I answered.

But, when the average person has no money, this seems to be the only affordable quick food. On the other hand, the only available commercial bread is the tiny, white-flour, tasteless, cardboard-like, “kmajeh”, which young people refer to as “bitah”! I looked hard to find other kinds of bread, dark, or whole wheat, etc., hoping in my exuberance of visiting Gaza in spite of all kinds of restrictions, to stumble upon “taboun” bread, but to no avail.

  • Unless you were planning to shop at the new mall, it was almost impossible to walk around with denominations bigger than 50 Shekels. Small shops cannot handle bigger denominations, and have no small change.
  • During my stay, electricity was interrupted every day, during the day, sometimes for 7-8 hours; often it came back late during the night.  So, one had to plan when to charge mobile phones, what to keep, or not to keep, in the refrigerator, when can you heat water on the gas stove for coffee or tea, if you don’t smoke and don’t walk around with a box of matches or a lighter, etc. Not to mention, of course, if you’re hoping to keep up with your favorite TV show…
  • I walked up and down Omar Al-Mukhtar Street, one of the main, and at one time fancy, streets in Gaza city.  When the electricity was out, every shop, small or big, had a running small generator by the door.  The noise is deafening; and combined with the heat and dust of the day, the noise pollution is overbearing.
  • Tap water is salty.  I would brush my teeth in the morning, and I have the constant taste of salt in my mouth until I had a chance to eat or drink bottled water.  Of course, this water is undrinkable. But who can afford bottled water? How does the average person, who has no money and cannot afford to go to restaurants, manage?
  • Long cues of cars are frequently observable in front of gas stations, waiting for cheaper Egyptian gasoline and solar (mazoot) to arrive.  Next to the cars, I observed another long cue of empty tin cans and gallon jugs waiting to be filled, so they can be sold on the black market for some profit (which is illegal; taking pictures of these cues is also illegal).  The price of the Egyptian gas is less than half the price of the Israeli gas.  I observed these phenomena also in northern Sinai district, as I entered and exited Gaza.
  • Not readily observable are young “professional technocrats” walking around with their name tags, attached to blue ribbons, and dangling down from their necks, as is the common scene in many Ramallah streets.  A few “NGO types” can be observed, mainly near fancy hotels and meeting halls, but not abundantly.
  • Walking the streets, during day or night, I never feared for my personal security.  Nor did I notice signs of armed groups, or such menacing scenes.  I felt the place was quiet.

Some observations of the bigger things:

  • Readily observable is the presence of a big and clear chasm in geography, thought and speech simultaneously.  The Gaza Strip appears to be a world in its own.  Unity of Gaza and the West Bank is illusory. It appears to me that, more and more, Gaza is extending southwards, through language, social and human relationships, economic interests, daily interactions, and tyranny of religious thought, etc., and connecting with northern Sinai.  As observed, northern Sinai district exists in a sort of “imaginary self-rule”, detached from the central authority and in confrontation with it.
  • I began wondering about the implications of such geographical and emotive fragmentation, and the role and planning of Zionist colonization in fueling such disintegration in order to control the available energy resources in the entire area.  I also began questioning our contribution in feeding this fragmentation and disintegration, the more we insist on seeking a solution based on the partitioning of Palestine, and disregards its historical wholeness.
  • There are allusions that current society in Gaza is undergoing a “Talibanization” process, evidenced by the insistence of the Ministry of Education to introduce “Sharia” classes, required at the basic education level.  Drew my attention, in this context, a big sign affixed to the wall of the police training academy (that was shelled at the beginning of the war on Gaza), stating in bold calligraphy: “The liberation generation will emerge from the mosques”.
  • One is very impressed by the resilience and creative steadfastness shown by the average people of Gaza in their daily adaptation to the most difficult and oppressive living conditions and environment.  It was very clear to me that there was a prevalence of positive feeling of interactive human solidarity and concern to each other, which exceeds by leaps and bounds what I observe in Ramallah.

Part One: Accessing Gaza Through the Tunnels: My Saga! Guest Post by Anonymous

by

I am very excited to be able to share this rare first-hand account of accessing Gaza through the tunnels that link the Gaza Strip to the outside world. To protect those involved, the author of the account is anonymous and all the names have been changed. Note: The photos are of the Gaza tunnels, but they were not taken by the author of this account, nor were they taken on the same trip.

Opening remarks

  1. I was invited to visit Gaza by a small organization, Tida Gaza. I accepted the invitation on the same day.
  2. After being informed of the documents I hold, the organizers proposed two options through which I could enter Gaza.  The first option: to enter through the official crossing point at Rafah (al-Ma’bar), which meant that I would fly from Tel Aviv to Cairo, and be driven from there by car to Rafah. This required me to visit the US Embassy in Cairo a day before (since I would be traveling on my US passport) in order to give me a letter clearing them from any responsibility, while in Gaza.  It required also pre-coordination with Egyptian intelligence. The second option: to enter through the underground tunnels, which required pre-coordination with the Ministry of the Interior of the Gaza government, but without any coordination with the American or Egyptian authorities.
  3. I opted for the second option right away based on the principle that I, as a Palestinian, should not require external coordination, especially with our enemies, to interact and deliberate with my people, wherever they are, on important issues that affect our collective future.  My organizers took upon themselves to do the necessary coordination with the Gaza authorities.
  4. All communications with me were through emails and telephone.  I received a scanned copy of an entry permit from the Ministry of Interior valid for 30 days; a lecture was arranged for me; samples of my earlier writings were requested and sent; a scanned copy of my US passport; and names and numbers of all necessary contacts in Gaza responsible for my visit. At this moment, early on, I was impressed, and worried at the same time, by the level of openness, overtness, and normalcy of the whole process.  On the other hand, I kept reiterating to myself that I was not on a secret mission; I was going to lecture to university students, and to hold discussions in an open small seminar with concerned young people on pressing issues of “development”, which I addressed in my most recent book.  Accordingly, I reserved my flight.

Getting in

My flight on Air Sinai from Tel Aviv to Cairo was scheduled to leave at 12:00 noon on a Monday; it was about 30 minutes late.  We arrived at Cairo airport at about 2:00 pm, Egypt time. As an Israeli citizen, I exited from Tel Aviv on my Israeli passport, and I entered Egypt on my American passport.  This is the only way I could travel.

After I came out of customs, I saw four taxi drivers holding names of persons for whom they were waiting.  I veered towards them in search of my name, but it was not among them.  My heart sank for a minute; I was calm, however, but panic was about to set in! At that moment, my designated driver, whose name and cell number I was carrying, came in with my name and identified me.  Without wasting anytime, he picked up my suitcase, directed me to his car, and we started heading northeast in the direction of Rafah (on the Egyptian-Palestinian border—keep in mind that Rafah is an artificially divided city on both sides of the border).

It was a drive of about 4-5 hours (450 km).  I tried to learn everything about “Mohammed” (my driver), and he about me.  Often I had to repeat my question or comment because of difference in our spoken Arabic dialects, which rendered some word usages too incomprehensible to both of us. Nevertheless, I learned that he grew up in various regions of the Sinai desert because his father was the chief engineer for putting in the railroad tracks for the “Hijaz Line” in the early thirties under the British occupation.  I felt reassured, particularly as it began to get dark, that he was familiar with the region in which we were driving, and that he spoke the local vernacular.  Most of the road northeastward, after clearing the Egyptian city of Ismailiyya, was dusty, to a suffocating degree, with sand in the air—a desert—until we got to the city of El-Arish on the shore of the Mediterranean.  From there we continued towards the city of Rafah, not to the official Crossing point between Egypt and Gaza, but to the “tunnel area”, which we reached around 5:45 pm.

Whereas the official Rafah Crossing is clearly marked with Egyptian flags, visible structures and signs, the entrance to the “tunnel area” is buried in the sand, and decipherable only to the knowledgeable; neither my driver nor I possessed this needed knowledge. Finally, we reached, as close as we could, the general tunnel area, and waited for instructions from my organizers on the Palestinian side.

In a way, it was tantamount to arriving at the right “terminal” in the airport, so to speak, but without any “gate” information, i.e., which of the nearly 1,700 tunnels we’re “scheduled” to take so that we can meet in the right place with our people on the other side. As we approached, Mohammed suggested calling my contact on the other side.  I called twice as we waited on the Egyptian side.  A “committee”, we were told, was convening to decide which tunnel to “allocate” for my crossing, since I had a formal entry approval from the Palestinian Ministry of the Interior—Gaza Government.  Fearing that it would become dark soon, and I won’t be able to cross, and may had to stay overnight on the Egyptian Rafah side, Mohammed decided to seek the advice of his local tribal contacts.  He did, and someone by the name of “Abu Bilal” met us there soon after.  After a brief discussion he proposed the “right” tunnel to take, which, I assumed, it was based on considerations of familiarity, safety and reliability? He knew it by the name of its owner/operator (a privately-owned).  He directed us to the “mouth” of the tunnel.  There, we encountered two men sitting on plastic chairs in the sand, without any appearance of urgency, sipping coffee or tea comfortably, around the “mouth” of the tunnel.  Hovering around them were two or three young men.  One of them had a Vespa-like motorcycle (referred to locally as “tuk tuk”), ready to service us. Our local guide explained the situation and my urgency to cross before it gets dark, since my people are awaiting my arrival on the other side, and that I had an official entry permit (which I pulled out on cue).  One of the men made a couple of contacts on his Jawwal (presumably to their men at the other end); and then they approved my crossing into their tunnel.  It was a “commercial” transaction, for which I knew I had to pay $100 each way. Immediately, we conveyed this info to our “organizers” on the Palestinian side.  At last, I was very relieved to know that I was cleared to enter through “their” tunnel.  No pictures were allowed; my mobile with camera was withheld at the beginning, and returned to me at the end of the ride.

Now, how to get to the other end of the tunnel?  Hop on “doktoor” on the tuk tuk behind the “driver”.  “What about my suitcase,” I asked, “the driver holds it in front of him,” the explanation came.  I hopped in behind him, but I was in a very precarious position, with my satchel on one shoulder, and my permit in one hand, as if expecting checkpoints on the way!

The instructions to the “tuk tuk” driver were to take me to the “well” (al-Bir) at the end of the tunnel. We zipped through the 750 meters length of the tunnel on a pressed sand and white dirt path, but with numerous bumps and potholes.  The path was wide enough, and high enough for cars, or big animals, to drive or gallop through (one-way).  The walls and the ceilings were of pressed mud and cement, protected with mesh wire, and lit by electric lights on small poles on both sides, spaced, what looked like every 10-15 meters.  Afraid of falling off, I pressed hard on the driver’s waist, without uttering a word.  Neither did he.  It became obvious later that the driver of the “tuk tuk” was mute.

The “well”, or Al-Bir, at the end of the tunnel, is a big circular open shaft, about 40 meters deep, where natural light from the Gaza sky could be seen.  Filling the complete diameter of this shaft is a wooden platform elevator operating by side pulleys, wide enough to transport people, cars, animals, animal-drawn carts, cement, gasoline, etc. As we arrived to Al-Bir, a maintenance crew of 4 young men was fixing the platform.  The atmosphere was nonchalant and normal.  I did not feel any sense of urgency, or that they were on some sort of a military mission; they were joking and laughing with each other and taking their time. Sometimes they were serious.  But they appeared like a normal maintenance crew, taking their job seriously.  Every now and then, they asked me questions about where I was from, and why did I come through the tunnel not the official crossing (al-Ma’bar), etc.  When I said I am a Palestinian living now in Ramallah, one asked, “where in Ramallah do you live? I lived there until ‘Al-Khityar’ (Abu Ammar) died; I was in the presidential guard,” he made a point to tell me, and to indicate, perhaps, that he was (or is) Fateh?  We waited in Al-Bir, 40 meters underground for about 20-30 minutes until the crew completed the maintenance chores.  During this time, electricity went out and the entire tunnel was pitch-black for a few seconds until generators kicked in without delay.

Now the elevator-platform is ready for operation.  I was ready and elated to be lifted up with my suitcase. Before I did,  I handed the “tuk tuk” driver a few Shekels for his trouble. Once on top, my contacts/organizers were waiting with broad smiles that I made it safely. A policeman was sitting there on a plastic chair “checking” those coming in. A car drove us to Gaza City, and that was it.

Read Part Two of this account to be posted on June 6, 2012.

Recent Posts

Tweets!

Could not authenticate you.