Pam in Progress

When I produced the first round of video profiles for the Palestinian Gandhi Project, in the Gaza Strip, one of my favorite stories I chronicled was that of the DARG Team (Da Arabian Revolutionary Guys) — a rap group that had tenaciously battled Islamic/cultural prejudice against “Western art” to become so talented they attracted the external attention needed to win coveted visas to Europe for a three-month tour. I caught up with them shortly after their return, and was thrilled to see the change in their worldview that was reflected in their music. In place of words that screamed sadness and anger over the destruction of their land, they were now singing of their pride in their identity and their desire to rebuild. What an inspiration for the youth of Gaza!

And then, upon this most recent return to Gaza, I heard the news: The group had returned for a second European tour, and instead, they had all sought and received permanent asylum in Switzerland and Sweden. All, except for Mohammed Antar, one of its lead rappers.  

My first, gut response, upon hearing the news was — I have to admit — an almost personal sense of betrayal. I had showcased the group as “Palestinian Gandhis” — young men who survived the last Israeli war on Gaza (and repeated attempts to silence them by the Islamic government) to become beacons of creative, inspiring resistance. That is, until they chose instead to flee their homeland, leaving its struggles and their imprisoned peers behind for the sake of freedom and the “good life.” 

Almost immediately thereafter, I felt guilt. Who was I, a privileged American who never had to make that choice, to condemn youth for seizing the opportunity to live a more “normal” life? It’s so easy to urge others to sacrifice, when you don’t have to do so yourself. And, when chatting with one of the group’s members online, he assured me that they were keeping up the fight by performing their message — just this time with no “prison bars.”

I sought out the lone DARG rapper who had resisted the powerful urge to escape hoping to to find help in deciding which of my conflicting emotions was “correct.” 

“I have to be honest, we always thought about seeking asylum when we first landed in Europe. I mean, it was FREEDOM! A chance to wander like we had never experienced before,” recalls Mohammed. “But while for them there was a lure in the freedom to… do whatever they liked, for me…I soon began wondering what my goal was, what my mission was there, if it were not to go back and be with my people. Yes, in Europe, we got a lot of attention, but it seemed to be more pity than anything else — an assumption that you would rather be anywhere else than be stuck in Gaza. The hardcore activists were into the conflict, but not Palestine, not really. The words ‘free free Palestine’ are more about peace and love than they are about destroying Israel. Or at least they should be.”

According to Mohammed, the group overstayed their visa for three weeks as they debated whether to return home from their tour. In the end, they did — but only because he insisted. Later, however, when they were offered the opportunity to return to Europe to debut a rap written in honor of Vittorio Arrigoni — the Italian activist murdered last year in Gaza — the group went, this time determined to seek asylum in the process.

Except for Mohammed. He had broken with the group and stayed behind. “My main purpose is to tell our story by making music, and to do it in solidarity with my people. We were supposed to be the ‘revolutionary guys,’ but instead it felt like we would be cutting and running,” explains Mohammed. He admitted, however, that he also hated the thought of starting from zero — slowly building a new “base” for living, when in Gaza he had finally won hard-earned respect. And in fact, in Gaza, the response was swift. Once the darlings of the Gaza youth, most I talked to now speak of the team bitterly — as if betrayed themselves. They had looked up to them as examples, and now they felt as if they had been robbed. (There were some exceptions, of course. One of my friends explained, “Sometimes you just get tired of Gaza. And..you don’t stop being Palestinian by leaving.” But, the voice in my head says, that very “brain drain” could be the death of Palestine…)

As for his fellow crew members, “they think I am stupid to stay behind,” says Mohammed.  

Mohammed is doing just fine, however, The PA Culture Ministry in Ramallah has awarded him $25,000 to develop his own, solo CD, and he is now seeking other sponsors. (To get a taste of his new direction, view his music video with GYBO [Gaza Youth Break Out] founder Abu Yazen in Cairo, as well as his new You Tube channel.) He sings alone, he said (although he is gradually involving his talented, 15-year-old brother), rather than joining the Strip’s other remaining rap group, Palestinian Unit. After the paying the price of being rejected by his DARG “brothers,” he wants to stay true to his own, unique style and message. 

I can totally understand why most of the DARG Team grabbed for the brass ring and chose to stay in Europe, and who am I to deny them that chance, when I do not have to live in their shoes? But…my admiration is with Mohammed.

(Publication was delayed one day due to severe connectivity issues! The power shortage in Gaza continues…) Today is the Islamic holy day, and in Gaza, that means a big meal after the mid-day call to prayer. Among my “circle,” everyone — Palestinian and international friends alike — gathers at the home of the Abusalamas, a moderate-to-liberal family that has “adopted” me since my six-month stay in 2010.

After our fill of rice and chicken, and while we sipped Turkish coffee and mint tea, the talk turned to the increasingly unhealthy dependency of Gaza on international NGOs — and how that paternal relationship is reflected in the behavior of their employees. 

Many international employees of NGOs in Gaza live life in a metaphorical bubble, exempt from the hardships of their “beneficiaries.”

International NGOs in Gaza — such as the UN (in the form of UNRWA), Oxfam and MercyCorps — are an industry. Yes, they are here to dispense aid, and to sponsor various projects promoted as helping Gazans break the oppressive yoke of occupation and re-establish their economic independence.  But the occupation has gone on so long —- 60+ years — that the original purpose of temporary relief and skills-building for the future has morphed into the polar opposite: perpetual dependency. After all, what they are essentially doing is relieving Israel of its responsibility to care for and protect occupied populations (as dictated in international law), and allowing the rest of the world to avoid guilt from their own relative inaction. 

While there are several hundred indigenous NGOs operating in the Gaza Strip — just twice the size of Washington DC — they are “poor sisters” compared to the international “conglomerates.” In part, that is because they don’t know how to promote themselves to a Western audience, and don’t have the resources for professional help with Web design and English translation. Another factor is their inexperience in satisfying the rigorous demands of external grantmakers for third-party budget audits and evaluation reports (which is also related to resources). A third stumbling block is the fear of being accused of financing terrorist activity due to the U.S. Treasury Department’s prohibition on supporting the Hamas-led government of Gaza. (This prohibition — which stops UNRWA from engaging directly with the local authorities — is not only hypocritical but unethical. The Hamas party won a majority of seats in the Palestinian parliament fair and square, by all standards. In addition, United Nations resolutions and international codes of conduct state that among the core principles of humanitarian assistance are impartiality and respect for sovereignty — requirements that the refusal of many donors and countries to deal with the Hamas government clearly breach. As one of my fellow internationals [Julie Webb from New Zealand, who writes for Scoop Independent News], put it in one of her commentaries, “humanitarian need should be the determining factor, not politics or our desire for regime change.” You’d think we would have learned from the 10+ years of Iraq sanctions that even if it was moral, collective punishment doesn’t work; if anything, it only rallies the people around their government and props up the elite.) 

The result of the contortions to which the international community puts itself to avoid working with members of Hamas is a near usurpation of local authority by international NGOs. (In fact, I believe that by cutting Hamas off from so many of the functions of normal governments — including the attendant ability to create jobs and raise revenue — we have virtually forced it to become as extreme as some of its elements now are. But that’s another blog post…) 

I once became so aggravated by this forced reliance on internationals, when they have a plethora of local NGOs that could provide for their own, that I developed a proposal in response. I would use my skills in communications and marketing to develop English-language profiles of local organizations that meet certain quality criteria, complete with photos and videos, then develop a Web portal to showcase them to progressive individuals who would rather give directly to them than to the conglomerates. What better way to help the people help themselves? All I needed was a U.S. charitable organization to serve as the “funnel,” thus removing the “terrorist connection” worry for individual donors. I even envisioned organizing delegations of donors who wanted to see their money at work firsthand, bringing them to Gaza to do volunteer work for a week — and thus converting them into “ambassadors” when they returned home. However, I have been unsuccessful to date in finding the relatively small amount of funding needed, or an appropriate NGO partner.

One of the other consequences of the pseudo economy created by the reliance on international NGOs is a legitimization of the Israeli occupation. Every rule set down by Israel (such as the restrictions on who goes in and out of the Strip through the Erez terminal) they obey — so much so that it becomes “normal.” 

Part of the problem is domestic politics. UNRWA, for instance, is reliant on funding from large Western governments such as the United States. I have seen firsthand the extent to which that ties its hands. I was present when John Ging, until recently head of UNRWA in Gaza, visited the U.S. Congress to solicit support during the immediate aftermath of Operation Cast Lead — the massive Israeli attack of 2008/9. He wanted to talk about the survival needs of children, and the hearing attendees asked instead about whether the Holocaust was being taught in Gazan schools. It is mentalities like this that forces UNRWA to pretend like Hamas does not run a legitimate local government.

This is a news photo of John Ging examining the damage wrought by Operation Cast Lead, in Gaza. Can you imagine going from this, to a U.S. Congressional hearing where the main question is whether the Holocaust is taught in UN schools?

However, the problems are even more systemic. The top positions at UNRWA and other international NGOs here in Gaza are reserved for internationals, who typically earn much higher salaries than their Palestinian counterparts, don’t know Arabic (full disclosure: neither do I; but then again, I don’t live here), eat at a small list of approved restaurants (too expensive for most Gazans to afford), rent the best apartments by the sea, drive around in what seems to be hermetically sealed white vans (they are not allowed to take local taxis or even to walk), and every weekend, go in and out of the Gaza Strip through Erez for their “rest and recreation” breaks. Most seem utterly immune to the fact that the 1.6 million Palestinians who live their are deprived of that “privilege.” 

This is a photo of the Gazan restaurant “Roots” that appeared in the Israeli media recently, as proof that life is pretty good in the Strip. However, few Gazans can afford to eat there. It is primarily frequented by employees of UNRWA and other international NGOs. 

Lydia, a Dutch woman who works at the Palestinian Center for Human Rights, is so incensed by the bubble these internationals seem to be living and working in that she wants to organize a protest on Thursday nights and Sunday mornings outside of the Erez entryway. “I think we need to remind them that while they sail in and out with ease, the 1.6 million Palestinians (in Gaza) are denied the same, basic right,” she said. 

Of course there are some rational reasons behind this exceptionalism. Internationals who come to work in Gaza sometimes leave families behind, and thus need higher pay to compensate for frequent visits home, etc., etc. But it’s worth the question: Are they aware of the distance they have created between themselves (and thus their organizations) and the people they are serving? And of the impression that creates among the masses? (I say the “masses,” because even in a small, closed society like Gaza, there is a rich elite, such as the Shawa family that owns so much of the real estate in the Strip.) 

According to Lydia, the only international NGO she hears consistently good reports about from the Gazans themselves is MSF [Doctors Without Borders] — mainly because they identify needs at the grassroots level, follow through on their commitments from start to finish and are transparent to the local population about how their funds are used

I recently attended a discussion of Haiti in the aftermath of the earthquake that devastated so much of the population, and the observations were similar. NGOs flocked to provide relief, such as the Red Cross, but two years later, there were still vast tent cities — right across the street from the resorts frequented by the aid workers. If they had ever been asked, the so-called beneficiaries of these programs would have given them an “F.” But that’s the point — they were never asked. The NGOs essentially have no accountability. So…here’s a novel idea: Why not conduct a survey of the people, asking them which NGOs provide what they think is needed, and produce results that are valued on the ground? In other words, an NGO report card?  As a (small) donor myself, I sure would like to see that…

Note:  In case you are wondering, when I enter Gaza, I prefer the Rafah crossing from Egypt, which is increasingly open to Palestinians. The one time I was given a six-month pass to go in and out via Erez, I used it only once — turning down the opportunity for “R&R breaks.” Frankly, just the thought of the Erez terminal — with its long spooky tunnel — makes my stomach clench. When I am in Gaza, I live with families, being careful to include those who live outside of the more “cosmopolitan” (if you can call it that!) Gaza City. And, I have no income to speak of right now, so no, I don’t tend to eat in Roots either! I go where the average Palestinian goes….

Today I visited the solidarity tent that has been going strong outside the Gaza City headquarters of the International Committee of the Red Cross for the last 35 days, where participants hoped their bodies and their voices would pressure the world to intervene to save Khader Adnan. Entering the 66th day of a hunger strike to protest his arrest and detention by Israeli forces without charge or trial, he was reportedly near death. (Adnan was arrested in an Israeli army raid on his home in the West Bank village of Arrabeh, near Jenin, at 3:30 a.m. Dec. 17. He was never given a reason.)

“I hereby assert that I am confronting the occupiers for not my own sake as an individual, but for the sake of thousands of prisoners who are being deprived of their simplest human rights while the world and international community look on…It is time the international community and the UN support prisoners and force the State of Israel to respect international human rights and stop treating prisoners as if they were not humans,” Adnan wrote from the bed to which was chained.

I tagged along with my “host sister,” Shahd Abusalama, who had been a regular visitor to the tent. Her own father had once spent 17 years in an Israeli prison, and she had tried to join the dozen men and one woman who had been going without food for 15 days in sympathy with Adnan. By the second day, she was already getting headaches. 

The hunger striking Gazans manned the solidarity tent 24/7, sleeping overnight during a winter that has been particularly cold. However, their comraderie created a warmth of its own.

Tarek, one of the Palestinian prisoners who was released from an Israeli jail in December in return for Cpl. Gilad Shalit, was among the hunger strikers in the Gazan solidarity tent. Before he was released, he had been serving one life sentence and 70 years. Yes, hunger striking was hard, he said, but he had done it before, and would do it again. “It is my responsibility, until every Palestinian prisoner is freed.”

Forty percent of all Palestinian males are imprisoned by the Israelis at at least one point in their lives — which means that every Palestinian has a brother, son, father or close friend behind bars. Political prisoners are a very personal issue for Palestinians — a fact most Americans can’t understand. Some are detained for no apparent reason; others merely because of their affiliation with a party that participates in resistance; and still others because they openly fought for their homeland’s freedom.

Fatima Azzay was the lone woman participating in the hunger strike for the full 15 days, and was also one of the few female prisoners to be released in exchange for Shalit. She was detained for planning an act of resistance, leaving eight children behind. A ninth was born in jail.

As I was interviewing Fatima, suddenly the loudspeakers blared. A newscaster was announcing that a deal had been struck to save Adnan, just moments before the Israeli Supreme Court was set to hear his case. He will be released on April 17 (or so Israeli officials have promised), and the administrative detention order will not be renewed. There is a dangerous caveat: As with past prisoner releases, Israel has reserved the right to reverse itself if new “secret material” comes to light during the the next two months. Still, the deal was clearly reached in response to the intense, worldwide pressure from activists and their media, and the crowd in the tent erupted into ululation, chants, speeches and tears.

Uhm Ibrahim (mother of Ibrahim) has not seen or heard directly from her son, in Israeli prison for 26 years, for the last 14 years. He has one more year to serve.

One of the Gazan hunger strikers conveys the good news over his cell phone, while a smiling picture of Gandhi approves.

The Western media did not cover the plight of Khader Adnan anywhere near the extent to which it paid attention to Shalit. But the Arabic media were there in force.

The Islamic Jihad movement, with which Adnan is affiliated, organized the solidarity tent. However, support was broad.  Maryam AbuDdagga, an official with the PFLP (communist) party, spoke at the “victory” celebration.

Despite the jubilation, the protesters vowed to remain vigilant and ready to go “back to the tent.” Adnan’s health is still precarious, and — as Shahd was quick to remind me — “Israel breaks every law there is, and every deal it signs.” A case in point are the numerous reports of Palestinians who were released as part of the Shalit exchange, only to be re-arrested shortly after. Plus, there are 308 other Palestinian prisoners in “administrative detention,” jailed without charge or trial. 

Still, Palestinians have learned to celebrate what they can. And Adnan’s impending release is clearly a sign of “people power.”

When you think about dreams unfulfilled, so often it is borders that stop us in our tracks, or force detours or delays. 

Borders can be mental, existing only in our heads, but as powerful as if they were enforced by barbed wire and guns. My friend Suleiman comes to mind, a Gazan Palestinian who is studying English literature — in preparation to be a teacher — in Alexandria, Egypt, only because that is his father’s wishes. His heart, however, is drawn to forensic science — a specialty that is far from a priority in a territory where residents struggle just to make a living. In his case, the border/barrier is culturally imposed and accepted. 

And then there are the borders that are very much physical, although their ramifications are also emotional in a quite visceral way. As I traveled from Egypt into Gaza, borders were very much on my mind — both the ones I laboriously traversed today, and the ones I have struggled to cross in the past in my work as an activist for Palestinian rights. (My experiences pale, however, in comparison to what it means to be a Palestinian, trying to travel both within and outside their homeland.) Because I am asked so many times how I manage to get into Gaza and what to expect along the way, I thought I would chronicle the journey, with some tips and explanations and a little “color” for those  internationals (non-Palestinians) who might want to try it themselves…

There are only two ways to enter Gaza: through Israel’s Erez terminal, or Egypt’s Rafah gate. Unlike a “normal” country, into which you can enter at will, as long as you have a visa issued by your destination (if required), traffic in and out of the Palestinian Territories is controlled by often-hostile third parties — in this case, Israel and Egypt. 

Israel: the ‘belly of the beast’

Erez is typically the most difficult way into Gaza, and in fact is virtually impossible unless you happen to work for 1) a major, recognized newspaper, magazine or radio network  (with a stature along the lines of the New York Times) and haven’t developed a track record that put you on the black list or 2) an international NGO, which then seeks clearance for you directly from the Israeli “security apparatus.” 

I had the “privilege” of receiving approval to enter via Erez just once, in January 2010. I was among the 1,000+ activists who descended on Cairo for the Gaza Freedom March, with the intention of marching into the Strip to mark the one-year anniversary of Israel’s massive attack, called Operation Cast Lead. Those were still the Hosni Mubarak years, however, and he announced just days before the first marchers began arriving that he had no intention of letting us cross through Rafah. We responded by demonstrating and protesting in the streets and in front of every embassy we could for a solid week, before most of the marchers returned home. I, however, had come determined to stay on in Gaza, living and working there for six months to better understand how I could help. I was not about to just go home. 

Along with a handful of other motley die-hards, I camped out in Cairo, making The Sun hostel my home, for 45 days — trying every way we could to either get a legal permit to enter or somehow sneak our way in. And then, as I was beginning to face the fact that I might not succeed, a well-placed friend from UNRWA (United Nations Relief & Works Agency) whom I had met on a previous delegation, came to my rescue. UNRWA filed with Israel for approval for my entry, and lo and behold! I got it. A ‘VISA’ THAT PERMITTED ME TO GO IN AND OUT FOR THE NEXT SIX MONTHS. I felt like I had struck gold. 

I left my comfortable home away from home in Cairo, took an all-night bus to Taba, and crossed the border into Israel — a border that is very much a mental as well as a physical one, largely due to the way their “power” is wielded by the young soldiers who decide who comes in, and who doesn’t.

That time, I sort of slithered under their radar. But not too long before, in June of 2009, it was a totally different story. I was traveling at the time with three other activists, and just as we thought we would sail through, we were stopped — likely because of the Rafah stamps in our passports from previous trips, but it could really be anything — your age (the older the better), the way you dress, your answer to what appears to be a simple question. What followed was eight hours of tedious waiting, punctuated by visits with various members of the guards. I was increasingly singled out, although the only line of questioning focused on my religion. [Tip: When asked, say something safe like “Catholic” or simply “Christian.” I am an agnostic, but said Unitarian, since I was experimenting with that at the time. Big mistake. “What’s that?” the guard asked. “Well, it means we pretty much respect and accept all of the religions,” I helpfully answered. “That’s not a legitimate religion,” came the reply. (Oh, really? Why was I somehow not surprised by that reply, given who it came from?)] 

We were exhausted and limp (the intended result) by the time we were all ordered to sign a statement agreeing that we would not enter the West Bank (our Israeli attorney friends had told us to go ahead and sign it; there was no way it could be enforced). I, however, was told to sign an additional statement informing me that I must leave Israel within 48 hours or pay a stiff fine as penalty. 

That same game of roulette plays out no matter what way you choose to enter Israel — Ben Gurion, Taba or Amman, Jordan (in which case you exit into the West Bank, but the gate is controlled by Israel). The key is to avoid admitting your destination is Gaza (or the West Bank, for that matter) and to be armed with names of places and people you intend to visit in the “land of the chosen people.”  

When you eventually arrive at the Erez terminal, typically by taxi, the feeling is one of a high-security prison or nuclear installation. Unlike Rafah Gate, which is often thronged with noisy, friendly Palestinians, Erez is typically empty, with only a few Palestinians coming in or out for medical reasons or privileged internationals working for the cushy NGOs and living in their own version of the ‘Green Zone’ to be seen. 

The first stop is a guard house, just outside of the high mesh fence. Getting approval to enter Erez is never given in writing, in the form of an actual slip of paper you can use like a security blanket. So, the fist time at least, a feeling of insecure pins and needles is pervasive. That is intentional. Once the guard — typically in wrap-around sunglasses that hide his or her eyes, disguising any hint of humanity — checks your name in your passport against the records in the depths of a computer database, you are miraculously waved through the first gate. That gushy feeling of awe and relief is all part of the mind game. “Wow! I can’t believe it! I am being let into the inner sanctum!” It’s amazing…you almost feel grateful; the Wizard of Oz is letting you into the castle! 

Inside the huge terminal, all white and echoey, the eerie feeling of being all alone continues. There is another stop at a guard station, this time while you crane your neck up to peer at the stern “official” (but really just a pretty young recruit) behind the glass. It’s as if every aspect of this border sentinel was designed specifically to isolate and intimidate. A physical border, yes, but also very much — and deliberately — a mental one. Until you reach the other side of the building, where you are spit out into a long passageway that leads you deep into Gaza, you are guided one step at a time by blinking lights signaling which door is open (literally), always under the watchful eye of the guards high above — only becoming apparent when you don’t understand what to do next and a voice barks out. Coming out into the open air, it really doesn’t matter that you have to walk what seems to be miles before you can exit the passageway into the friendly, waiting arms of the Palestinians. Freedom! you want to cry. With each step closer to the taxis, breathing gets easier, while you exchange furtive smiles with the poor Palestinian man who has to make his living by serving as “escort.” 

It’s funny; although the “visa” I had allowed me to exit and enter unlimited times over a six-month period, I rarely exercised the right. Just the thought of going back into Erez made my stomach turn. 

Egypt: chaos and uncertainty

All of the other five times I have come to Gaza have been through Egypt’s Rafah Gate (about a six-hour journey from Cairo, by shared car or bus).

There are three ways to do so:

• Request permission through the Egyptian Embassy in your home country, either alone or as part of a delegation. A letter of invitation, outlining what work you will be doing, from a Gaza-based NGO must be submitted along with a scan of your passport and an email outlining your desired entry and exit dates. In other words, you cannot go just because you’d like to, or because you have friends there, like most other destinations. The embassy will send your request to Cairo for a security review, with an answer — yes or no — provided within 20 days (although nothing will happen at all, my experience says, if you don’t keep checking in).
  
  If you are approved, you will receive a visa stamp for your passport that includes Gaza as a destination. But that’s not the end of your battle. The border guards at the Rafah Gate operate as if they are their own entity. No matter what permission Cairo grants, they often see fit to simply ignore it. It’s not uncommon to have to shuttle back and forth between Rafah and the central government in Cairo, or Rafah and Al Arish (the nearest town, where you can rest up for the next day’s argument; I recommend staying at the Sina Stars Hotel!). If you have the necessary permit, and are persistent as well as patient (it also helps if you know Arabic or are accompanied by someone who does), chances are you will get in — that is, unless unrest erupts in the Sinai or Tahrir Square, in which case the kneejerk reaction is often to close the doors.
  
  
• Apply for a press pass from the Egyptian government. This is my preferred, and highly recommended route — mainly because it is the most predictable and fast. The review/approval time is normally just two weeks (you can apply before you leave home, by email), and once you get your pass, you are sped along the way with professionalism and style. I cannot speak more highly of the Foreign Press Office staff in Rafah city, who meet you at the gate; shoo away the incredibly persistent crowd of opportunists who want to carry your bags, etc. for a fee; push their way to the front of any lines and expertly navigate the bureaucracy; then settle you onto the bus to the Palestinian side.   The caveat: You must have an official letter from a bricks-and-mortar media outlet (no online-only media) saying you write/report/produce for it.
  
  The other, really aggravating requirement for a press pass is that you obtain a letter from your embassy in Cairo. If you are American, that means you have to make an appointment online, then pay $50 in return for a notarized letter saying, basically, that the U.S. government washes its hands of you once you enter Gaza. And, btw, they are serious about that. In February 2011, an intended one-month stay in Gaza turned into three, due first to the Egyptian revolution and then to the theft of my purse, including my passport. (All of my friends in Gaza were shocked; petty crime is virtually unheard of there.)  To get a replacement, however, the American embassy in Jerusalem (designated as the “liaison” with Gaza, rather than Cairo) requires an in-person interview. The problem was, without a passport, I couldn’t leave Gaza to travel to Jerusalem, and U.S. policy prohibited embassy staff from coming to me. It was a classic Catch 22. After many phone calls — by me, my friends and the senators they contacted — a solution was finally reached. Embassy staff would meet me in Erez (literally, in the middle of the terminal), but at a cost of $800 (reimbursement for their travel time, and the cost of the passport itself). Moral of the story: Do not lose your passport in Gaza!
  
  Note: The Patriot Act requirement that passport interviews be held in person in Jerusalem (thus requiring applicants to leave Gaza through Israel) is the same that prevents many Palestinians from getting U.S. visas. Israel simply won’t let them out. I am told by Gisha (an Israeli agency that tries to help Palestinians leave Gaza for school, etc.) that the United States is one of only two countries in the world (along with the Czech Republic) that won’t allow video conferencing as an alternative. Wouldn’t repealing this onerous requirement be one small, simple way to reverse some serious wrongs?
  
  
• Enter illegally, through the underground smuggling tunnels. I was prepared to take this route, when my press pass was taking a bit longer than usual to be approved, and I didn’t want to lose any more time in Gaza. Everyone I talked to for their advice indicated that accidents or bombings are rare these days. In fact, the tunnels are responsible for the incredible building boom I observed the last time I returned, in December. (There is very little shortage of “things” in Gaza these days, thanks to the tunnels. What is missing is freedom to travel in and out, and to do business via export.)
  
  In addition, if you do it the “right” way — having an in-the-know Gazan obtain approval from the “Rafah Tunnels Committee” and officially assign you a tunnel — it’s also amazingly inexpensive: just US$50 each direction. (If you go in that way, you have to return that way.)
  
  The biggest downside, from what I have heard, is that tunnel “quality” varies. If you are lucky, you will be assigned a spacious “luxury” tunnel — wide and tall enough to stand pretty much straight up, with helpful luggage assistance. If not, crawling may be in order, and beware if you are bothered by claustrophobia!
  

                                   
Foreign Policy magazine photo

One of the more recent developments, no matter which way you enter, is that Hamas is getting smart. If other countries/territories can make it difficult for others to enter, so can they. Thus, you must now have a visa from Hamas in order to enter Gaza. A friend, or your sponsoring NGO, can obtain this for you, usually without a hitch (although the questioning can be extensive, of your sponsor as well as yourself). However, Hamas can be as repressive as Egypt or Israel; last year, it kept Gaza high school students accepted into the U.S. State Department’s YES program at home, refusing to let them leave.

                                                       ***

I’d be happy to serve as advisor/consultant to anyone who wants to come or return to Gaza! Remember…borders are made to be challenged, whether they are mental, physical or both!

The following post is the first from my latest trip to the Gaza Strip — my sixth since March 2009. 

When I re-entered Cairo a week ago, a year after the revolution, I thrilled to see tents still filling Tahrir Square, an effigy of the prime minister hanging from a wire high above, music and chants continuing long into the night — sort of a lullaby as I sunk into jetlag- induced slumber in my favorite, “ring-side” hostel, The Sun. 

The hardcore activist in me vowed to join the crowd before I moved on to Gaza in four days. Through my physical solidarity, I would communicate that revolutionaries the world over hoped they would not let up until the military regime is forced out and a government that truly gives voice to the masses is installed. (Picture fist raised; keffiyeh wrapped around my neck.) 

Except…I soon discovered that reality is much more complex than what it seems. And it has been a humbling experience.

The View from the Remote Reaches of the ‘Oasis’

Knowing that it would probably be a few days before I received the press pass that would allow me to enter Gaza, I fulfilled a promise to spend a few days with a friend, touring the region known as the “Oasis.” Following a six-hour bus ride to a small town in the West of the country, two Bedouins who would serve as our guides — Ahmed and Jabril — picked us up in a jeep and drove us to a base camp. 

The next morning, we took off for the White Desert — so named because of the chalk formations that emerge like space ships from the sand floor. (In fact, the comparison to outer space is not so far fetched…These “inselbergs” — from the German word for “island mountains” — are also found on other planets, and the ones in the White Desert have been studied to promote a greater understanding of the surface of Mars. Originally, the rock layers that formed these inselbergs were deposited when the desert was underwater a more than thousand years ago, and marine fauna died and settled at the bottom.) Sleeping under the masses of stars, on white sand and visited by silver fox, is an experience not to be missed. 

As we slammed up and down the steep dunes, my friend Mohammed translated as the two boys talked. They offered a totally different perspective on what Egyptians most needed now — and it wasn’t more turmoil. 

With the protests dragging on, and the caretaker military government retaining its tenacious grip, they said, one devastating side effect has been a dramatic drop in tourism and a soaring rate of unemployment. According to Egyptian Tourism Minister Mounir Abdel-Nour, tourists visiting Egypt dropped more than 33 percent in 2011, with income following suit (£5.7 billion compared to £8.1 billion in 2010). Ahmed and Jabril back this up from what they have seen in their own small corner of the country: Before the revolution, they say, about 150 trekkers a month asked to tour the deserts of the Oasis; now, they are lucky if they get 30. Apparently, the continuing news of protests, and the periodic reports of kidnappings caused by a crisis in security, is scaring off the tourists. 

In February, Bedouin gunmen, who complain of neglect from Cairo, intercepted a tour bus traveling across the Sinai peninsula towards Sharm el-Sheikh and kidnapped three Korean women. Twenty-seven other tourists were on the bus but were not taken. Earlier, two American women were held in a short-lived kidnapping until Egyptian authorities negotiated their release a few hours later. And separately, two dozen Chinese cement factory workers were kidnapped and released a day later.

Of course, those incidents all occurred in the Sinai; in the Oasis, the Bedouins keep to themselves, and Tahrir seems very far away. Still, they are suffering. Ahmed and Jabril are happy Hosni Mubarak is gone, but now they want to get back to earning a living. Revolutions are for the romantic, in their minds; they have food to put on the table. 

The View from the Trenches in Cairo

I have known my friend Samir since March 2009, the first time I entered Gaza. Somehow he found my name among the delegates traveling to the Strip for International Women’s Day, and connected with me on Yahoo, hoping I could send back news of a friend who had tried to enter some days before. We have remained in contact off and on since. 

When the revolution broke out first in Tunisia, then spread to Egypt, I was again in Gaza  (trapped, actually, when the borders closed). Samir had always been an activist from the time I met him, both with the “underground railroad” that smuggled laptops, etc. into Gaza via ambulances, etc., and with the nascent movement agitating for change in Egypt. When the revolution broke out, his Facebook posts transitioned from half English/half Arabic to Arabic all the time, and he no longer had time to chat. I fully understood and cheered him from the sidelines. But then, suddenly, he disappeared. And until yesterday, I did not hear from him at all. 

The Samir I met for koshary, tea, sheesha and then a beer was a different Samir than the one I had first met. Thinner, bearded, a haunted look in his eyes. He had suffered a breakdown of sorts, drowning in a deep depression he is self-treating with hashish and grass. Half of trigger was the sudden death of a woman with whom he had become emotionally connected. But the other half was the revolution — or rather, what had NOT become of the revolution. “Nothing has really changed,” he said, his eyes tearing slightly. As he predicted from the moment Mubarak stepped down and SCAF (the military) was allowed (even welcomed) to rule in his place, the repression has continued almost unabated. 

For Samir, the breaking point came on Nov. 18, when the largest number of protesters to turn out since Mubarak was deposed flooded Cairo once again, demanding civilian rule. SCAF — often dressed as riot police — responded brutally, wounding hundreds and killing more than 20. SCAF’s actions were predictable, from Samir’s point of view. But what crushed him was the public’s acceptance of the military’s actions. “They laid down,” he said. 

Guardian photo 

Even the camp in Tahrir Square was not as I expected. All of my friends in Cairo warned me away now, saying that unless a specific demonstration was called, the square is populated by thieves and secret police/intelligence in disguise (although there are some martyrs’ families as well.)

Egypt will one day go the route of Syria, Samir predicts. That is what it will require to push SCAF from power. Either the Muslim Brotherhood (which has, sadly, cooperated with SCAF to some extent to date to maximize its own power) will turn against it, or the people will do so, to a degree greater than it has to date. Egypt’s future depends on it…

******

My humble lesson from Ahmed, Jabril and Samir? It is easy to be an international activist, parachuting in when events are at their “most exciting,” and then returning safely home. (Read my earlier article on disaster tourism.) But the “natives” have to live the consequences every day — outcomes we don’t often see. 

Almost three years ago, I stepped over the edge of a virtual cliff and hurtled into what at the time seemed to be an abyss.

First, I announced to my husband of 23 years that I wanted a separation (I couldn’t quite say the “d” word, although I knew in my heart that it was coming). A man who had one time served as a “safe harbor” after an emotionally disastrous first marriage had increasingly become an adversary — a person who opposed almost every one of the core values that my evolving activist persona held dear. I believe violence only begets violence; he believed in “peace through superior firepower” (in the words of a bumper sticker that caused one of our many arguments). I railed against what I perceive as the dogmatic and divisive dictates of organized religion; he allowed faith and the Bible to trump all other instincts. (I found this strange for a man who chose a license plate for his truck, “REALIST,” in response to my “DREAMER.”) I am energized and inspired by the likes of Amy Goodman (of the liberal TV/radio program, Democracy Now) and Congressman Dennis Kucinich; he admired Glenn Beck and Sarah Palin. The only question, really, among my friends (and even my family) was how and why we had stayed together for so long.

And then the other shoe dropped. My employer — a smallish developer of cancer diagnostics that had been wildly successful at introducing its flagship product (with my help I have to say) — was predictably acquired by a German conglomerate that saw the world through a narrow, cookie cutter prism. Hierarchy was the name of the game, and employees were treated like pawns being manipulated by the men in suits in the penthouse suite. We were like oil and water. My family was too used to the “good life” for me to quit (I had been the sole breadwinner for 8+ years, with one daughter already in college and another on the way). Any suggestion of voluntarily walking away was met by my husband with an urging to “hang in there.” So….subconsciously, I sabotaged myself. I broke several rules that I knew, at some level, would not sit well with my corporate overlords.  One week after announcing my intention of leaving the increasingly contentious prison that my marriage had become, I was called into the corporate “gas chamber” and told I didn’t fit. It’s always a shock when someone else makes the first move and says they want to break up (or in this case, tells you to leave) — even when it’s something you want, or know is in your best interest. (I still shudder just thinking about the hurt I know I caused my husband.) But they were right. I didn’t fit, and didn’t want to. 

I don’t know the percentages, but I am willing to bet that a whole heck of a lot of people are unhappy in their jobs, their marriages or both — and have been for a long time. But they are so afraid to step into that abyss they are virtually paralyzed, opting for the devil that they know. “Security” is the mantra we have been taught is more important than anything else. Without it, we enter the unknown, the uncertain, the ambiguous — and that is to be avoided at all costs. In other words, it’s better to know where you stand than to seek fulfillment and meaning. (Don’t get me wrong, in a hardcore capitalist society like the United States, there is very little protection for “seekers” — especially when you are raising young children. My philosophy isn’t for the faint of heart, and there is something to be said for “timing.” But there really isn’t ever a “right time,” and waiting for it is usually tantamount to waiting for Godot.) 

The “hold on to security” mantra is the same lulling dictate our government uses to justify the gradual robbing of our civil rights and the commission of war crimes against the “other.” Increasingly intrusive body scans at the airport and our continuing presence in Afghanistan, at the cost of thousands of lives, are just two cases in point. We are like frogs being slowly boiled alive. (Reference the parable that says if a frog is placed in boiling water, it will jump out. But if it is placed in cold water that is slowly heated, it will not perceive the danger and will be cooked to death. I feel compelled to add, however, that technically, we now know this isn’t true. A frog will jump out in time. Will we?)

However, almost three years after being deprived of every security blanket I owned, I have discovered a radically liberating truth: Security is an illusion! No marriage is guaranteed to last forever. Every job is at the mercy of ruthless bosses and a gyrating economy. And there will never, ever be an end to terrorism. As Dan Gardner writes in his 2008 book, Risk: “Common sense isn’t so common any more. It has been suffocated by irrational fear, which in turn has been enthusiastically stoked white-hot by the profiteering fear industry, aided and abetted by opportunistic politicians; gullible, lazy media; and other leaders of public opinion who should know better.” A case in point: Every time I travel, and am subjected to the ridiculous TSA ritual of body scanners and shoe removals, I want to hand out a copy of a Vanity Fair article by Charles Mann, who put the TSA to the test with the help of one of America’s top security experts. His conclusion? All those security measures accomplish nothing, at enormous cost. We feel safer, but it’s all an illusion.

Once you accept that simple fact — even embrace it — it’s like being set free. 

This blog is dedicated to that journey, upon which I have been embarking ever since. (Separately, I am starting to write a book, looking back at that “perfect storm” and the events that followed. Stay tuned!)

I invite you to travel with me, and to share your own thoughts and experiences.