this first letter is from a friend of my friend heidi howes. i don't remember his name. the three letters that follow it are from rachael to her family.
"We are all Palestinians", reads one of my favorite t-shirts. I am frequently asked about its meaning, and I used to explain it with abstract examples of how all struggles for freedom are linked, and how an injustice to one is an injustice to all. Solidarity has become and important part of my life, and my work towards it has shaped who I am.
In January of 2003, I went to Palestine to work with the International Solidarity Movement (ISM). I ended up taking on a coordinating role in Rafah, the southern most city of the Gaza Strip. I worked there for over three months and am now doing peace work in Israel proper. I will return to the United States in about a month. Once home, I will attempt to spread the word about what is happening in Palestine and in Rafah, through speaking tours and media work. I will also be active in organizing demonstrations and other events that will apply pressure and raise awareness about this conflict and other race and war issues.
ISM is a Palestinian-led grassroots organization designed to work with international volunteers to partake in non-violent direct action resistance to the Israeli occupation. We work and live in Palestinian communities, and get a first-hand account of the violence to which the Israeli military subjects them every day. We are in solidarity with them, as we share in their suffering and take some of the risks that they are unfortunately forced to live with.
It is important for us to show that the world has not forgotten these people, and that individuals from all over the world are willing to interrupt their comfortable lives to come and risk themselves for the sake of Palestinians. Through this work, we attempt to make links between Palestine and the outside world. We use our personal contacts, the international media, and our embassies to draw international attention to the Palestinian plight. And we work as observers of the immense human rights violations Israel commits, and document these atrocities with established human rights organizations.
Indeed, sometimes we are the only internationals present in these areas, in fact this is true for Rafah, as international media and UN officials are afraid to live and work here. I chose to come to Palestine and work with ISM because I felt it was one of the best ways for me to use my privilege as a white middle class American male to directly serve impoverished people of color. I believe that Palestinians are under-privileged directly by the Israeli and other Western governments, especially mine. I have dedicated my life to serving such people, as I believe that their underprivilege is a direct result of my overprivilege. I have benefited from their suffering, and this must stop.
On the 16th of March 2003, something happened that has changed me forever. We started the day off as usual with a morning meeting at 8:30am. We discussed a few pressing issues and long-term projects. Rachel Corrie, a 23-year-old American peace activist, had been with us for 7 weeks, and had taken on quite a leadership role. I learned a lot from her in this regard, as she was the best kind of leader, she led by example. I remember commenting at that meeting that she had single-handedly taken on almost every task produced by the meeting. However, this point was quickly dropped as we went on to discuss the actions of the day.
We split into two groups, one working as human shields for water workers at the Canada water well in Tel Alsulton and the other doing the same for electricity workers in Hi Salaam, both areas of Rafah with a significant refugee population, that are especially hard-hit by the Israeli occupation. It is dangerous for these men to work there near the border, as Israeli tanks patrol it and will often shoot at any Palestinian in sight, including civilian workers and playing children. At around 1pm, the Hi Salaam activists noticed that two Israeli Armored bulldozers (Caterpillar? design) and one tank had entered onto Palestinian civilian property near the border and were demolishing farmland and other already damaged structures.
The military machinery was severely threatening near-by homes, so the activists decided to intervene, and called for the rest of us to come. I arrived with Rachel and several others, sporting orange florescent jackets with reflective stripping, and brandishing ISM banners and a megaphone. As a visible group of unarmed internationals, we began to interfere with the bulldozers. We sat and stood directly in their path, and physically occupied any structure that they threatened. We were afraid they would target near-by homes, so we blocked the equipment early, before they got too close. We did this for a couple hours with some success, despite a few close calls. A Scottish activist barely escaped a falling concrete pillar, and a British activist got her leg caught in a pile of sand and rubble. An American activist was pushed up against a pile of barbed wire, and Rachel was pinned up against a fence at one point. In all these cases, however, the bulldozer operators stopped in time to avoid injuring us, so we were confident that they were at least relatively concerned for our safety, and understood that we would not move.
Around 4:45pm, however, the bulldozer number 949623, began to work near the house of a physician who is a friend of ours, and in whose house Rachel and other activists often stayed. While we occupied other structures only a few meters west, Rachel sat down in the pathway of the bulldozer. Wearing her fluorescent jacket, she sat down at least 15 meters in front of the bulldozer, and began waving her arms and shouting, just as activists had successfully done dozens of times that day. The bulldozer continued driving forward and headed straight for Rachel. When it got so close that it was moving the earth beneath her, she climbed onto the pile of rubble being pushed by the bulldozer. She was then elevated to eye-level with the cab of the bulldozer. Her head and upper torso were above the bulldozer's blade, and the bulldozer driver and co-operator could clearly see her. Despite this, the driver continued forward, which pulled her legs into the pile of rubble, and pulled her down out of the view of the diver. If he'd stopped at this point, he may have only broken her legs, but he continued forward, which pulled her underneath the bulldozer. We ran towards him, and waved our arms and shouted, one activist with the megaphone. But the bulldozer driver continued forward, until Rachel was all the way underneath the central section of the bulldozer. At this point, it was more than clear that she was nowhere but underneath the bulldozer, there was simply nowhere else she could have been, as she had not appeared on either side of the bulldozer, and could not have stayed in front of it that long without being crushed. Despite the obviousness of her position, the bulldozer began to reverse, without lifting its blade, and drug the blade over her body again. He continued to reverse until he was on the border strip, about 100 meters away, and left her crushed body in the sand. Three activists ran to her and began administering first-responder medical treatment. The tank came over to see what had happened, and I shouted that they had run over our friend, and that she may die.
The soldiers in the tank never spoke to us, asked us any questions or offered us any help. They simply talked on their radio and then withdrew to the border strip and parked between the two idling bulldozers. An ambulance arrived within 15 minutes, and the Palestinian paramedics risked their lives to come out onto the border strip. We worked as human shields for them, and tried to make it difficult for the tank to fire at the ambulance workers as they have at many others in the past. They loaded her onto a stretcher and took her to a near-by hospital. She was pronounced dead at 5:20pm, and was wheeled out of the emergency room with a white sheet covering her head. "It's over." Said Mohammed with tears in his eyes. He was a close Palestinian friend of hers and mine, and a trusted member of our group.
I couldn't believe it. It was so unreal. There was a part of me that couldn't accept that she was gone. It had all happened so fast, I was in complete shock. I became less emotional than I'd been since the incident. I was just dumbfounded. As others began to cry, I joined in, and was on international television being comforted by the before-mentioned Mohammed. But I have yet to even come close to expressing the emotion that is built up inside me. I'm still having trouble accepting that it's real. I keep remembering small things about her, like how she liked juice, and used to wear this ridiculous pink jump suit that was given to her by a Palestinian woman. I've started smoking cigarettes since her death, and I'm constantly telling the story of how Rachel had quit smoking for a year before coming to Rafah, but started again the night she arrived while she stayed in a tent along the border that came under heavy fire. As the tank fired shots around the area in attempts to frighten the activists, one of the bullets actually hit the top of the tent. She'd smoked ever since, and how I wish that she'd lived long enough to die of lung cancer. Never before have I had to deal with this kind of trauma. I've never lost someone close to me, let alone had them brutally murdered before my very eyes. I had to take a few days off to recuperate, fortunately I had a dear friend living in Haifa. The stress was overwhelming, and I experienced it physically in my jaw and respiratory system. I quickly became much better at asserting my needs, as out of personal necessity I would have to say "no" and demand some time. I was swarmed by journalists and inundated with interviews. And I was also forced to help deal with a lot of the logistics surrounding her death, including ceremonies and demonstrations.
To commemorate Rachel's death, we stuck with the Palestinian tradition of a three-day ceremony, started by a popular demonstration and march then followed by all-day grieving periods that include numerous visits by community members. Black coffee and dates are served in the spirit of the nomadic tradition. Chairs are set up in a line, and the family (us in this case) sits in them and shake hands with lines of community members that come to express their condolences. Underneath a large tent there are chairs in which visitors may sit and talk. Beautiful Arabic music is played over a loud speaker, along with comments and speeches about the deceased. Signs and banners are hung all around, along with many copies of her "Shahid Poster". Palestinians always design a poster for each shahid (martyr) that displays the shahid's picture and words about them. Thousands of copies have been made, posted and distributed all around Rafah. We especially placed them in areas that Rachel frequented, such as the internet cafe in which she sometimes spent all night. On the top of the poster we printed it says, "Rachel, she came to stop the tanks." It comes from a quote we found in her journal about an Italian activist that was once here. Few activists actually come to Palestine intending to come to Rafah, as the West Bank has gotten so much more publicity. However, Rafah's unique situation makes it attractive to long-term activists that really want to make a difference. Rachel and I were drawn to it for similar reasons. Rachel had heard about Rafah from a good friend of hers who had spent time here a few months ago, and he told her about how neglected Rafah is by the world, and even by the activist community. She was also aware of how dangerous Rafah is. In fact, more people have been killed per-capita in Rafah than any other place in Palestine. Not only is it the most dangerous place, but it is also considered the poorest city in all of Palestine, a country already considered one of the poorest in the world. Rafah is one of the poorest and most dangerous places in the world, and Rachel made a B-line straight for it.
Rachel and I both actually went to The Evergreen State College, but were only acquaintances, so I about flipped when I got a random email from her telling me that she is coming to Palestine and planning to come directly to Rafah. The coincidence was incredible, plus I was excited to have another activist joining us for the long-term, especially one with her kind of dedication and initiative. Rachel planned to stay in Rafah for at least four months, maybe more, in order to set up a sister-city relationship with her hometown of Olympia, WA. Olympia has several relationships of this kind, and they basically consist of a relationship between the people and institutions of each city. Schools, hospitals, governments, businesses, and many individuals provide services for and interactions between the two sisters. She made dozens of contacts with individuals and organizations in the Rafah community, and had an eventual goal of bringing groups of Olympians to Rafah, and maybe even someday groups of Rafians to Olympia. It was a beautiful dream, one that I am continuing. That type of project displays Rachel's incredible initiative, an element of her personality from which I learned a lot. She was willing and able to invent and carry through all kinds of creative and challenging projects. I had the privilege of meeting her during one of these such projects. Olympia has this fabulous event called "Procession of the Species", an annual parade featuring community members of all ages, races, classes and political affiliations. Each participant constructs a costume or a puppet of any shape, size, or color that represents a particular species, i.e. plants and animals. In April of 2002, during the US war on Afghanistan, Rachel decided to organize a group of people to create and dress as doves, in symbolic protest against this and all wars. She made signs, called people, sent out numerous emails, and set up workshops for people to coordinate their efforts. I had experience making large backpack puppets, and other large and mobile structures, so she found me and asked for my help; I agreed, of course. I found her incredibly passionate and organized, as well as a lot of fun and remarkably creative. She was responsible for over 30 doves in that parade, including one that was over 12 feet tall, and a huge one on a bicycle. Her message was clear, and creatively expressed. This is typical of her personality and style of organizing. Despite my previous puppet-making experience, I actually learned from her. I will always try to be as inspiring and creative in my future activist work.
I can't get over how much fun she was. She could be totally spontaneous and random at times, and her sarcasm always brought a laugh. She truly made a huge impact on the Rafah community in the time that she was here. I can't tell you how many people have come to her funeral ceremony expressing their deep sadness. I recognize so many of them as frequent visitors of hers, and people whom she loved and trusted. She especially had important relationships with the children of Rafah. It was not uncommon at all to have a few small boys show up at our office to visit, and she'd be ready with soda or candy, and sometimes join them for a quick game of football (soccer). They loved her dearly, and she cherished them endlessly. I've tried to follow her example and pay more attention to children. They are everyone's future, and are so easily overlooked when evaluating larger schemes. She had a relatively close relationship with the physician whose > house she died protecting. She especially liked his wife and children, and truly thought of them as family. She slept in his house many nights, and it does not surprise me that she would give her life to defend this family's only home and possessions. I never really had to think about what I'd do if a bulldozer came for the house in which I stayed. I know I'd go to the roof, make myself visible, and refuse to leave, but I never realized that that meant risking, or even giving my life. Now that I know it does, I'm still willing to do it. We sleep in many houses along the border that are threatened with demolition. Israel has already demolished over 700 homes in Rafah, as they try to construct a 100-meter perimeter between the houses and the 12-meter high and 8-meter deep steel wall currently under construction along the Egyptian boarder. Israeli soldiers currently patrol the border with tanks, and frequently shoot into the streets and houses still standing along the boarder. Much of this shooting is random, and not in response to resistance fire. We place large banners on the houses and in the communities in which we stay and we find that this deters the blanket fire, as well as demolition. When necessary, we use lights, florescent and reflective gear, and megaphones to alert them of our presence.
I am deeply saddened at the loss of a good friend, and a brilliant activist.
I am outraged that these soldiers have murdered my friend, as they have murdered
thousands of Palestinian civilians. I am terrified at what they will do to internationals
and other dissenting voices in the future. I now feel how every Palestinian
family must feel. I am determined to continue to resist this brutal occupation,
and have learned from the courage and commitment that Rachel displayed. I will
always remember and emanate her unmoving dedication to this cause, even though
it led to her death. The Palestinians have been incredibly supportive, as they
are quite used to this. We all hope that her death will at least bring the world's
attention to the brutal and senseless violence that this occupation represents.
The murder of one American peace activist is nothing compared to the IDF's war
on Palestinian civilians. It should not be forgotten that Makmud Makmud Abu
Negar, a young Palestinian man, was killed in Tel Alsulton around the same time
as Rachel. He was a learning-disabled municipality worker who was smoking a
cigarette on his porch when an Israeli sniper shot him repeatedly, in the head,
chest and leg. Somehow, while Rachel makes the front page of newspapers worldwide,
his death, along with those of thousands of other innocent Palestinian men,
women, and children, goes overlooked. "You're one of us now," some
Palestinians have said to me. "You were a foreigner before, but now you
know what it is to be Palestinian." Spray paint on a wall near our apartment
says the only thing left to say, "Rachel Corrie, an American citizen with
Palestinian blood."
This weekend 23-year-old American peace activist Rachel Corrie was crushed to death by a bulldozer as she tried to prevent the Israeli army destroying homes in the Gaza Strip. In a remarkable series of emails to her family, she explained why she was risking her life
Tuesday March 18, 2003
The Guardian
February 7 2003
Hi friends and family, and others,
I have been in Palestine for two weeks and one hour now, and I still have very few words to describe what I see. It is most difficult for me to think about what's going on here when I sit down to write back to the United States. Something about the virtual portal into luxury. I don't know if many of the children here have ever existed without tank-shell holes in their walls and the towers of an occupying army surveying them constantly from the near horizons. I think, although I'm not entirely sure, that even the smallest of these children understand that life is not like this everywhere. An eight-year-old was shot and killed by an Israeli tank two days before I got here, and many of the children murmur his name to me - Ali - or point at the posters of him on the walls. The children also love to get me to practice my limited Arabic by asking me, "Kaif Sharon?" "Kaif Bush?" and they laugh when I say, "Bush Majnoon", "Sharon Majnoon" back in my limited arabic. (How is Sharon? How is Bush? Bush is crazy. Sharon is crazy.) Of course this isn't quite what I believe, and some of the adults who have the English correct me: "Bush mish Majnoon" ... Bush is a businessman. Today I tried to learn to say, "Bush is a tool", but I don't think it translated quite right. But anyway, there are eight-year-olds here much more aware of the workings of the global power structure than I was just a few years ago.
Nevertheless, no amount of reading, attendance at conferences, documentary viewing and word of mouth could have prepared me for the reality of the situation here. You just can't imagine it unless you see it - and even then you are always well aware that your experience of it is not at all the reality: what with the difficulties the Israeli army would face if they shot an unarmed US citizen, and with the fact that I have money to buy water when the army destroys wells, and the fact, of course, that I have the option of leaving. Nobody in my family has been shot, driving in their car, by a rocket launcher from a tower at the end of a major street in my hometown. I have a home. I am allowed to go see the ocean. When I leave for school or work I can be relatively certain that there will not be a heavily armed soldier waiting halfway between Mud Bay and downtown Olympia at a checkpoint with the power to decide whether I can go about my business, and whether I can get home again when I'm done. As an afterthought to all this rambling, I am in Rafah: a city of about 140,000 people, approximately 60% of whom are refugees - many of whom are twice or three times refugees. Today, as I walked on top of the rubble where homes once stood, Egyptian soldiers called to me from the other side of the border, "Go! Go!" because a tank was coming. And then waving and "What's your name?". Something disturbing about this friendly curiosity. It reminded me of how much, to some degree, we are all kids curious about other kids. Egyptian kids shouting at strange women wandering into the path of tanks. Palestinian kids shot from the tanks when they peak out from behind walls to see what's going on. International kids standing in front of tanks with banners. Israeli kids in the tanks anonymously - occasionally shouting and also occasionally waving - many forced to be here, many just agressive - shooting into the houses as we wander away.
I've been having trouble accessing news about the outside world here, but I hear an escalation of war on Iraq is inevitable. There is a great deal of concern here about the "reoccupation of Gaza". Gaza is reoccupied every day to various extents but I think the fear is that the tanks will enter all the streets and remain here instead of entering some of the streets and then withdrawing after some hours or days to observe and shoot from the edges of the communities. If people aren't already thinking about the consequences of this war for the people of the entire region then I hope you will start.
My love to everyone. My love to my mom. My love to smooch. My love to fg and barnhair and sesamees and Lincoln School. My love to Olympia.
Rachel
February 20 2003
Mama,
Now the Israeli army has actually dug up the road to Gaza, and both of the major checkpoints are closed. This means that Palestinians who want to go and register for their next quarter at university can't. People can't get to their jobs and those who are trapped on the other side can't get home; and internationals, who have a meeting tomorrow in the West Bank, won't make it. We could probably make it through if we made serious use of our international white person privilege, but that would also mean some risk of arrest and deportation, even though none of us has done anything illegal.
The Gaza Strip is divided in thirds now. There is some talk about the "reoccupation of Gaza", but I seriously doubt this will happen, because I think it would be a geopolitically stupid move for Israel right now. I think the more likely thing is an increase in smaller below-the-international-outcry-radar incursions and possibly the oft-hinted "population transfer".
I am staying put in Rafah for now, no plans to head north. I still feel like I'm relatively safe and think that my most likely risk in case of a larger-scale incursion is arrest. A move to reoccupy Gaza would generate a much larger outcry than Sharon's assassination-during-peace-negotiations/land grab strategy, which is working very well now to create settlements all over, slowly but surely eliminating any meaningful possibility for Palestinian self-determination. Know that I have a lot of very nice Palestinians looking after me. I have a small flu bug, and got some very nice lemony drinks to cure me. Also, the woman who keeps the key for the well where we still sleep keeps asking me about you. She doesn't speak a bit of English, but she asks about my mom pretty frequently - wants to make sure I'm calling you.
Love to you and Dad and Sarah and Chris and everybody.
Rachel
February 27 2003
(To her mother)
Love you. Really miss you. I have bad nightmares about tanks and bulldozers outside our house and you and me inside. Sometimes the adrenaline acts as an anesthetic for weeks and then in the evening or at night it just hits me again - a little bit of the reality of the situation. I am really scared for the people here. Yesterday, I watched a father lead his two tiny children, holding his hands, out into the sight of tanks and a sniper tower and bulldozers and Jeeps because he thought his house was going to be exploded. Jenny and I stayed in the house with several women and two small babies. It was our mistake in translation that caused him to think it was his house that was being exploded. In fact, the Israeli army was in the process of detonating an explosive in the ground nearby - one that appears to have been planted by Palestinian resistance.
This is in the area where Sunday about 150 men were rounded up and contained outside the settlement with gunfire over their heads and around them, while tanks and bulldozers destroyed 25 greenhouses - the livelihoods for 300 people. The explosive was right in front of the greenhouses - right in the point of entry for tanks that might come back again. I was terrified to think that this man felt it was less of a risk to walk out in view of the tanks with his kids than to stay in his house. I was really scared that they were all going to be shot and I tried to stand between them and the tank. This happens every day, but just this father walking out with his two little kids just looking very sad, just happened to get my attention more at this particular moment, probably because I felt it was our translation problems that made him leave.
I thought a lot about what you said on the phone about Palestinian violence not helping the situation. Sixty thousand workers from Rafah worked in Israel two years ago. Now only 600 can go to Israel for jobs. Of these 600, many have moved, because the three checkpoints between here and Ashkelon (the closest city in Israel) make what used to be a 40-minute drive, now a 12-hour or impassible journey. In addition, what Rafah identified in 1999 as sources of economic growth are all completely destroyed - the Gaza international airport (runways demolished, totally closed); the border for trade with Egypt (now with a giant Israeli sniper tower in the middle of the crossing); access to the ocean (completely cut off in the last two years by a checkpoint and the Gush Katif settlement). The count of homes destroyed in Rafah since the beginning of this intifada is up around 600, by and large people with no connection to the resistance but who happen to live along the border. I think it is maybe official now that Rafah is the poorest place in the world. There used to be a middle class here - recently. We also get reports that in the past, Gazan flower shipments to Europe were delayed for two weeks at the Erez crossing for security inspections. You can imagine the value of two-week-old cut flowers in the European market, so that market dried up. And then the bulldozers come and take out people's vegetable farms and gardens. What is left for people? Tell me if you can think of anything. I can't.
If any of us had our lives and welfare completely strangled, lived with children in a shrinking place where we knew, because of previous experience, that soldiers and tanks and bulldozers could come for us at any moment and destroy all the greenhouses that we had been cultivating for however long, and did this while some of us were beaten and held captive with 149 other people for several hours - do you think we might try to use somewhat violent means to protect whatever fragments remained? I think about this especially when I see orchards and greenhouses and fruit trees destroyed - just years of care and cultivation. I think about you and how long it takes to make things grow and what a labour of love it is. I really think, in a similar situation, most people would defend themselves as best they could. I think Uncle Craig would. I think probably Grandma would. I think I would.
You asked me about non-violent resistance.
When that explosive detonated yesterday it broke all the windows in the family's house. I was in the process of being served tea and playing with the two small babies. I'm having a hard time right now. Just feel sick to my stomach a lot from being doted on all the time, very sweetly, by people who are facing doom. I know that from the United States, it all sounds like hyperbole. Honestly, a lot of the time the sheer kindness of the people here, coupled with the overwhelming evidence of the wilful destruction of their lives, makes it seem unreal to me. I really can't believe that something like this can happen in the world without a bigger outcry about it. It really hurts me, again, like it has hurt me in the past, to witness how awful we can allow the world to be. I felt after talking to you that maybe you didn't completely believe me. I think it's actually good if you don't, because I do believe pretty much above all else in the importance of independent critical thinking. And I also realise that with you I'm much less careful than usual about trying to source every assertion that I make. A lot of the reason for that is I know that you actually do go and do your own research. But it makes me worry about the job I'm doing. All of the situation that I tried to enumerate above - and a lot of other things - constitutes a somewhat gradual - often hidden, but nevertheless massive - removal and destruction of the ability of a particular group of people to survive. This is what I am seeing here. The assassinations, rocket attacks and shooting of children are atrocities - but in focusing on them I'm terrified of missing their context. The vast majority of people here - even if they had the economic means to escape, even if they actually wanted to give up resisting on their land and just leave (which appears to be maybe the less nefarious of Sharon's possible goals), can't leave. Because they can't even get into Israel to apply for visas, and because their destination countries won't let them in (both our country! and Arab countries). So I think when all means of survival is cut off in a pen (Gaza) which people can't get out of, I think that qualifies as genocide. Even if they could get out, I think it would still qualify as genocide. Maybe you could look up the definition of genocide according to international law. I don't remember it right now. I'm going to get better at illustrating this, hopefully. I don't like to use those charged words. I think you know this about me. I really value words. I really try to illustrate and let people draw their own conclusions.
Anyway, I'm rambling. Just want to write to my Mom and tell her that I'm witnessing this chronic, insidious genocide and I'm really scared, and questioning my fundamental belief in the goodness of human nature. This has to stop. I think it is a good idea for us all to drop everything and devote our lives to making this stop. I don't think it's an extremist thing to do anymore. I still really want to dance around to Pat Benatar and have boyfriends and make comics for my coworkers. But I also want this to stop. Disbelief and horror is what I feel. Disappointment. I am disappointed that this is the base reality of our world and that we, in fact, participate in it. This is not at all what I asked for when I came into this world. This is not at all what the people here asked for when they came into this world. This is not the world you and Dad wanted me to come into when you decided to have me. This is not what I meant when I looked at Capital Lake and said: "This is the wide world and I'm coming to it." I did not mean that I was coming into a world where I could live a comfortable life and possibly, with no effort at all, exist in complete unawareness of my participation in genocide. More big explosions somewhere in the distance outside.
When I come back from Palestine, I probably will have nightmares and constantly feel guilty for not being here, but I can channel that into more work. Coming here is one of the better things I've ever done. So when I sound crazy, or if the Israeli military should break with their racist tendency not to injure white people, please pin the reason squarely on the fact that I am in the midst of a genocide which I am also indirectly supporting, and for which my government is largely responsible.
I love you and Dad. Sorry for the diatribe. OK, some strange men next to me just gave me some peas, so I need to eat and thank them.
Rachel
February 28 2003
(To her mother)
Thanks, Mom, for your response to my email. It really helps me to get word from you, and from other people who care about me.
After I wrote to you I went incommunicado from the affinity group for about 10 hours which I spent with a family on the front line in Hi Salam - who fixed me dinner - and have cable TV. The two front rooms of their house are unusable because gunshots have been fired through the walls, so the whole family - three kids and two parents - sleep in the parent's bedroom. I sleep on the floor next to the youngest daughter, Iman, and we all shared blankets. I helped the son with his English homework a little, and we all watched Pet Semetery, which is a horrifying movie. I think they all thought it was pretty funny how much trouble I had watching it. Friday is the holiday, and when I woke up they were watching Gummy Bears dubbed into Arabic. So I ate breakfast with them and sat there for a while and just enjoyed being in this big puddle of blankets with this family watching what for me seemed like Saturday morning cartoons. Then I walked some way to B'razil, which is where Nidal and Mansur and Grandmother and Rafat and all the rest of the big family that has really wholeheartedly adopted me live. (The other day, by the way, Grandmother gave me a pantomimed lecture in Arabic that involved a lot of blowing and pointing to her black shawl. I got Nidal to tell her that my mother would appreciate knowing that someone here was giving me a lecture about smoking turning my lungs black.) I met their sister-in-law, who is visiting from Nusserat camp, and played with her small baby.
Nidal's English gets better every day. He's the one who calls me, "My sister". He started teaching Grandmother how to say, "Hello. How are you?" In English. You can always hear the tanks and bulldozers passing by, but all of these people are genuinely cheerful with each other, and with me. When I am with Palestinian friends I tend to be somewhat less horrified than when I am trying to act in a role of human rights observer, documenter, or direct-action resister. They are a good example of how to be in it for the long haul. I know that the situation gets to them - and may ultimately get them - on all kinds of levels, but I am nevertheless amazed at their strength in being able to defend such a large degree of their humanity - laughter, generosity, family-time - against the incredible horror occurring in their lives and against the constant presence of death. I felt much better after this morning. I spent a lot of time writing about the disappointment of discovering, somewhat first-hand, the degree of evil of which we are still capable. I should at least mention that I am also discovering a degree of strength and of basic ability for humans to remain human in the direst of circumstances - which I also haven't seen before. I think the word is dignity. I wish you could meet these people. Maybe, hopefully, someday you will.
Rachel