Friday, January 16
The good news is that one of our delegation members - Jennifer - finally got into Gaza Wednesday night and is now in Rafah. The other two of us - myself and Cisco Bradley - will not be able to enter Gaza. Cisco spent yesterday going to Erez Crossing and trying to persuade them to allow him entry based on our Congresswoman Tammy Baldwin's letter of support. Despite having a somewhat sympathetic soldier at the crossing, in the end his supervisors denied entry for Cisco. We got zero support from the US Embassy in Tel Aviv. We both also got letters from officially registered NGO's, but found that it is a 5-day application process with the Israeli military office. I talked to two people who have recently tried to enter Gaza this way, and it is still difficult; even after submitting the paperwork and waiting the five days, the likelihood of being granted permission to enter seems to be decreasing every week. For us this method is no use anyway, as we leave to fly back to the States in two days.
I spent half of yesterday trying to finalize my press card at the Israeli Gov't Press Office (GPO). Despite fulfilling all requirements by the Israeli press office, they have refused to issue me a press card. Interestingly, when I met with the press office bureaucrat to give him all the paperwork, he immediately asked me why Madison was engaging in a sister city relationship with Rafah, which led to further questions about whether we are also twinning with an Israeli city, and disparaging statements about Rafah. He must have learned about the sister city project from Bob Schwartz at the Israeli Consulate in Chicago, who mentioned it to me when I called him on Tuesday to make sure he was issuing the appropriate approval to the GPO. I'm surmising he may have heard about the editor at the Madison Times who issued my press credentials and called the Israeli Consulate in Chicago to see about getting the press accreditation for me (I haven't confirmed this yet). I probably should have mentioned to him that it was not such a good idea to tip the Israelis off that potential entrants to Gaza might be working with residents there in a sister city project or any sort of cooperation or aid. Every indication we have gotten thus far has demonstrated that Israeli policy is staunch in trying to discourage any such efforts.
In the end, the GPO man - Richard Pater, a youngish British guy with long flowing hair - claimed that the fact I don't have a body of published work in the Madison Times makes it impossible for them to accredit me as a journalist. But I suspect his refusal may have more to do with a deliberate effort to obstruct our sister city mission. After all, Jennifer didn't have a body of work with WORT either, but fortunately Pater didn't know about the sister city project when she was going through the process, and he apparently issued Jennifer's credentials without the same scrutiny he applied to me. It seems clear that he was looking for a reason to say no to me, and he found one. I asked what unpublished additional criteria he was using to deny me a press pass, since I had met all the requirements published in their new policy statement, which I had a copy of. He assured me that that he wasn't using any extraordinary requirements, but that my lack of history as a journalist "negated my letter of assignment" which is one of the requirements. I told him I had a perfectly valid letter of assignment from the editor-in-chief of a newspaper that had been validated by the Consulate in Chicago as was required. He said he was sorry, but would not give me a press card. I told him I found his answer unacceptable and was deeply disappointed with this decision ("I understand your feelings..."), and that since I had met all their requirements but was still refused a press pass, I can only assume his concerns are around the potential content of an article I might write after observing the situation in Gaza. He vehemently denied this, but refused to change the "no" decision. I went back to the hotel and left a phone message for Mr. Schwartz in Chicago registering my dismay at the situation, making clear that I had fully complied with the procedure but was denied a press card anyway and had gotten absolutely no satisfactory reason from Mr. Pater as to why. I added that the GPO clearly has requirements above and beyond those officially published in the new policy, and I asked him to intervene on my behalf (he was actually very pleasant when I spoke with him on the phone the first time). I didn't want to give up quietly on this, but in reality it won't matter; even if they were to reverse Pater's decision, there is no chance I can get a press card in time now since the GPO is closed today (Friday) and Saturday.
I spent the rest of yesterday going to the West Bank town of Qalqilya. I saw the Separation Wall along the way. It is truly unbelievable. And the harassment at the checkpoints is really something.
My driver, Intar, was a Palestinian from Jerusalem with Israeli license plate and papers. From the outside of his van looking in, you can't tell what his ethnic identity is. At each highway checkpoint there were 2-3 soldiers at a forward position who would decide which of two lines each vehicle was to proceed to. Each vehicle either slowed or stopped completely, depending on the hand signal from the soldier in charge. He would in some cases just have a look at each driver and wave them through the straight-ahead line; when I saw this occur and was able to study the vehicles waved directly through, in each case the driver and passengers were visibly Jewish Israeli (e.g. wearing religious garments or had Hebrew bumper stickers, etc.). We, on the other hand, were directed to stop at every checkpoint, signaled to roll down the window, and after a question or two from the soldier, he would inspect Intar's ID and my passport then order us to pull over into the inspection line for the second set of soldiers to question us further. I was asked "what are you doing here" every time we passed through a checkpoint.
The Qalqilya checkpoint is about a mile out from the town of Qalqilya, a distance many people have to walk, since most vehicles can't pass. We waited in the long line of cars to get to the forward position of the checkpoint. There was also a long line of people on foot, in a muddy walking path to the left of the muddy road we were on. As we waited, I saw a woman with three small children approach the soldier and present papers. The soldier looked at them, handed them back with a negative nod and waved them dismissively away, to go back from whence they came. She stood there for a moment, then collected her kids, turned around and started walking back. I wondered whether she was returning to her home in Qalqilya, coming to visit family there, or had some other business in the town. Wherever she was going, she wasn't getting there. She went back and stood on the walking path with her kids, apparently trying to figure out what to do next.
We finally got to the front of the line and were waved forward in our van. In the guard tower just ahead of the checkpoint crossing, a soldier up was in his perch with a machine gun poking through a slotted opening. As our van approached soldier on the ground, the sniper trained his gun on our windshield. I could see his head shifting as he viewed us through is scope. He kept it trained on us the whole time we were sitting there.
Again, "Why are you here? What do you want?" After several minutes' discussion, the soldier would not allow Intar and his vehicle to pass, but said I could enter because I am a journalist (having the Wisconsin press card helped). Intar parked and waited while I went through the pedestrian line and entered Qalqilya. I met some very friendly young men there who showed me around some and explained what had happened at certain sites of significance. I met some Palestinian security forces on the way back out, and we talked for a while and they got a cab to take me back to the checkpoint. On the way out, a soldier on the outgoing side asked me the "why are you here" question. When I answered that I wanted to see the West Bank, he asked "what are your impressions" very seriously. It's beautiful here, I told him with a smile. Where I am from there is snow on the ground and it's cold, and the warm weather here is great. He broke his cold, serious demeanor and cracked a smile. Then I said "but I wish it was easier for the people here. It's very hard." His smile disappeared immediately. He glared at me for a moment in silence, paged through my passport for a while and then handed it back to me and resumed glaring without a word. I looked back at him silently and got the sense he was done with me, so I started to walk forward. In stark contrast to the Israeli roads and walkways, the walking path and most of the driving road were filthy, mucky and uneven with holes and rocks. Despite the miserable conditions, the endless waiting and the uncertainty about reaching their destination, each person I saw along the way in and around the checkpoint was friendly and seemed to be either glad or just a little baffled as to why I was there among them.
Intar was waiting for me back on the other side and we started the return trip to Jerusalem. At the first highway checkpoint we were of course waved over to the right for another inspection. The soldier, maybe 18 or 19 years old, took my passport. "America, eh? What's up, man?" he laughed. When I handed him my passport I had inadvertently given him my Wisconsin press card with it. I was already in and out of Qalqilya, and didn't need to use it now; it would have been better just to say I was a tourist. "Why are you here?" To look around, see what's going on. Seeing my press card, he asked "To report to everybody how bad I am?" To report whatever I see, I said. "You report what you see that will make me look bad, and make me act worse and worse." He had an edge to his voice. Why do you say that? You don't know me or what I will write. "Wait here." He took our documents and talked with an another soldier and an older military police officer in a blue uniform. They spoke in Hebrew as they handed our documents around. The young soldier came back and ordered Intar out of the van, opened the sliding side door, entered the van and searched inside. Then the soldier went around back and had Intar pop the rear door and open the bags and boxes so he could inspect the contents. Then he went back and spoke to the other two again, still carrying our ID and passport. He came back, handed us our documents. "You can go."
A few more checkpoints later, we were back in Jerusalem.
On Tuesday Jennifer, Cisco and I went to Abu Dis, where we saw the wall under construction. Huge 26-foot tall slabs of concrete were being craned into place, soldiers pacing around with their M-16s. We got some pictures of this and of a nearby area where the permanent wall is not yet built but a large temporary concrete barricade now blocks a main street where the wall will cut the town in half and separate it from Jerusalem. Palestinian men, women and children were climbing over a narrow pile of rubble that formed the side of the blockade. Peace graffiti and anti-wall slogans were all over the blockade in English. I climbed up atop the narrow passage and looked over the other side of the barrier. There was quite a drop off the side of this ledge of sorts, but this was the only way for people to pass. Schoolgirls and boys, families, and workers were passing in both directions.
We saw other areas where the wall has been or is being built, and flat graded areas where land has been cleared of ancient olive groves in preparation for the Wall. We got pictures of this too.
We went through several settlements, including the infamous Gilo. We saw the residence of the Palestinian man who owns all the land on which Gilo is built. It is a dilapidated old bus on a small plot of land near the middle of Gilo. He has refused to leave, and is essentially "squatting" on his own land. The Israelis built a high-voltage electrical substation immediately next to him (about 15 feet from his door), and put a tall chain-link fence around his little overgrown plot. As we were taking pictures of this lone Palestinian residence in Gilo, a settler in a shiny, late-model high-end VW drove up and stopped with his grille a few feet from us. The driver and what appeared to be his daughter in the passenger seat glared belligerently at us. He waited. He was trying to intimidate us into stopping what we were doing and leaving. We finished our pictures and, after a few minutes, we left. We had seen police patrolling around, and Intar and Abu Hassan, our driver and guide, suggested that we might not want to attract police attention here.
We got pictures of settlements as well as the Palestinian towns that were in many cases partially destroyed or bisected to accommodate the settlements and the Separation Wall. Quite a contrast.
Today Cisco and I will go to Ramallah and tomorrow on to Nablus. Jennifer will continue our mission in Rafah.