Journal, May 26, 2006 (edited June 30, 2006)—Gaza
Photos: Gaza-9
Other photos and writing
Dispatches from Gaza - 9
(candle light vigil)
By Skip Schiel
CONVERSATIONS ABOUT GAZA
As usual, after a long full day [May 25, 2006, my last day in Gaza], I yearned to be in my Gaza apartment and settle in with my work. But no, Ibraheem S invited me to “meet with my group.” Also, someone I’d met at the peace demonstration, his best friend, had said she wanted to talk with me. I found myself sitting next to her in the small informal coffee shop next to the Ministry of Culture’s art gallery where we’d seen the painting show the night before. She identified herself as the woman with the mask and noose that I’d photographed the day before. She sat with her younger sister who I mistakenly asked if that was her daughter. This group, an initiative in their words, not an organization, planned and implemented the mask and noose demonstration that called for peace between the warring political factions, Hamas and Fatah. They discussed 2 questions while I attended—whether to stage a demo that evening in front of the building housing a 2 day conference between Hamas and Fatah, and whether to accept funding from a Jordanian business man who is willing to sponsor their work.
They decided to stage the demo, using candles for an evening vigil, Palestinian flags, and chants calling for the resolution of the conflict between political parties. But they couldn’t decide about accepting the proffered funding—it might limit their activity. Before heading out with them 1.5 hrs later, I snuck a nap in a chair, graciously provided by someone at the café. And then another interlude, a chat with the woman friend of Ibraheem’s and another older woman with 3 kids. Both wished to perfect their English.
The younger woman is enrolled at an Islamic university in Gaza, studying journalism, but she does not find it satisfying and is unsure how to proceed. She is clear however about Islam, about some of the strictures of Islam, the clothing for women in particular. Ibraheem pointed out to me that tonight she dressed “normally,” hair exposed, usual western female attire. But on the street and especially at the university she is covered.
The older woman has her PhD in biochemistry from a Ukrainian university, works in the Shifa hospital lab, but with her husband, a physician also employed at the hospital, and kids, now plans to emigrate to Australia. There she hopes to fulfill a dream, university professor.
She confessed to me that visiting Gaza is maybe ok, but living here is horrible. And not only for the expected reasons, the siege. But because of Gazan internal politics. She outlined the discrimination faced by those who were outside Gaza until recently. No matter what skills they have or degrees or professional experience, if they are like her, outside for much of the suffering, they are not insiders and can expect limits on their aspirations. She cannot get a teaching position at any of the 4 universities in Gaza.
She offered a point of view about politics that was roundly criticized by Ibraheem’s friend and Ibraheem—that Gazans are too consumed by politics. She used the example of the lab. Not only are the technicians not fully trained, not only do they lack the necessary equipment and supplies, but they often are distracted by political discussions. I saw something of this in the writing workshop I led when I noticed that about half the group was heatedly debating Hamas vs. Fatah when I’d asked them to write.
Ibraheem and friend countered this view by stating that political awareness is vital for the struggle. Then they asked my opinion: I see truth in both positions, and mentioned the workshop incident and my belief that a clear and balanced political perspective is vital for a successful struggle. The issue is more than Fatah vs. Hamas but justice itself.
CANDLE LIGHT VIGIL
The candle light vigil began in a frustrating manner—trying to light candles with a soft wind ablowing. Soldiers and police protecting the conference participants gathered to watch the effort. Thanks to Ibraheem K I’m learning the difference: blue and white uniforms are police, administered by the president, Abu Mazen; the army usually wears black, also controlled by Mazen; and the men usually in green and wearing black caps are Hamas. Walking from the art gallery to the demo site, we passed clumps of men with guns—they all look the same to me, threatening and ill advised. Ibraheem said Hamas and Fatah mix together in these clumps. Further, members of each party might be neighborhood or school chums and might even be from the same family. This reminds me of the Civil War in the States, how painfully intertwined people were and unable to resolve their differences without guns. The gun and its offshoots: the scourge of civilization, the so-called civilized world.
Adding to the tumult of numerous weapons, police or army periodically leapt into cars and raced off, sirens blaring, lights flashing. Where they went, and why so fast, we never learned. Like the guns, this is young man behavior, testosterone-based, uncontrolled and self-damaging. Plains Indians had special societies of older men who moderated the bravura of the young warriors when they threatened , by their zealotry, to harm the larger group. Currently in our world, there is little that limits this misplaced courage.
Eventually stalwarts lit the candles. They used signs and flags to block the wind. They sang and chanted, some recited poetry known to all, resistance poetry. Certain chants followed the poetry, often intended to accompany that poetry. Eventually most armed men mysteriously disappeared. Hardly any media noticed this event.
I stayed till nearly the end. But I encountered 2 slight problems, maybe 3: I was running out of camera memory. I thought I had shat in my pants (turned out I didn’t, but it felt like it, always a nagging suspicion), and a burly guy in a uniform, seeming high on politics if not drugs, harassed me. He turned to me, thrust his face close to mine, glared at me, raised his voice in Arabic, and shouted a totally incomprehensible message. I said, shway arabi, little Arabic, muttered inglisi, English, and then I heard from a friend of his who’d wrapped his arm around the bully’s shoulders, words that sounded like, “you speak Israeli?”
Perhaps, thought I feebly, they think I’m a Jewish spy.
Luckily for me, I was with friends. Ibraheem’s woman friend and the black woman I photographed last year pulled me over to stand beside them. This might reassure those with no idea who I was that I was indeed a partner of the Palestinians.
So it went, the last full day of this year’s Gaza exploit. Now I hear booming, a clear thud, repeating, shells falling on innocents somewhere in the Gaza strip. Who dies tonight, for what reason?
(possibly the last in my on-line series)
LINKS
"From Gaza, with Love," a blog from Dr. Mona El-Farra
Two views about the reconciliation effort in May
One
Two
"Hope for captive as Gaza bombing goes on," Conal Urquhart in Gaza City, June 30, 2006,
The Guardian
Photos of Israeli artillery
"Gaza Physician, British Journalist Refute Reported Israeli Military Investigation that Clears IDF, Blames Hamas for Deadly Beach Attack," June 13, 2006, Democracy Now
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