With an Open Heart: Eyewitness to the Levant: Report of the Spring 2012 Journey

…There are ten measures of hypocrisy in the world—nine in Jerusalem and one in the rest of the world…

—Avot D’Rabbi Natan

Popular Achievement training session at Birzeit University, a program of the American Friends Service committee in the West Bank and Gaza

Landfill in the Jordan Valley, nominally Palestinian Territory in the West Bank, operated by Veolia, a corporation under sanctions by Jewish Voice for Peace, the American Friends Service Committee, and other BDS (Boycott-Divest-Sanction) movement organizations

At a protest by Bedouins in the Negev and their Israeli supporters in opposition to land confiscation and village destruction

PHOTOS

On May 28, 2012, my last day of seventy in the land of promise and trouble I wrote to my dear friend and partner, M:

i sit on the floor of the ben gurion airport after a night of relatively solid sleep in my car. in the parking lot of the rental agency no one bothered me. i rocked the seat back, cracked the windows open, put on my mosquito lotion, and slept well. a bit dazed when i awoke at 5:30—like you early to enjoy a bird chorus—i struggled to remember where i was, what i needed to pack and do, and how to formulate my story when confronted by airport security. trucks delivering airport construction materials lumbered by as I groggily checked out at the Avis rental office. now i wait until the airport check-in opens for my flight, three hours prior.

my last full day was monumental—mainly with bedouins in the negev desert and their israeli supporters. it was a fit finale to my ten-week journey of discovery. i photographed a long discussion about strategy to stop the land confiscation and forced removal from homelands (reminding me of american indians of course), followed by a fairly large demonstration at a major highway intersection. a bus pulled up and disgorged about thirty bedouin youth who then drummed, chanted, clapped, and smiled at the passing motorists.

i’d hoped to photograph bedouin communities, which i did earlier during the discussion (i couldn’t follow the hebrew of course). instead what i showed were mostly buildings, tents, toilets, animal pens, solar panels, fences, a cemetery and goats, sheep, and horses—not people. the demonstration provided the people, most vitally the women who usually don’t allow their photos to be made. the demo is public; thus they’re more willing.

so that was the kernel of my last day. i’m eager to prepare the photos. i have much to do when home as follow up. i’ve made many promises and received some praise. the work now continues, in many ways harder than while traveling because of other paths, not necessarily conflicting paths, but hopefully always mutually supporting ones.

Near Bethlehem, in the shadow of surrounding settlements-colonies, the weekly protest Catholic Mass at the Cremisan Monastery

As Martin Luther King Jr claimed, those with nothing they’re willing to die for are not fit to live. A harsh statement perhaps but, to me, convincing. The question of Palestine and Israel is my issue, I am fortunate to engage.

This was one of my best trips of seven. Why? Mainly because my nine-year-long accruing experience in Palestine-Israel generates insights, trust, motivation, ability to anticipate, navigational skills, multiple and often contradictory perspectives, and a clearer sense of what is best to show and how best to show it. As I wrote M, I know not to photograph traditional Muslim women unless they are in public situations like the demonstration or if I’ve been invited into their homes. Contacts have led to contacts. David N, an Israeli activist who I met on my first trip in 2003, led me to Haya N and the Negev Coexistence Forum for Civil Equality, which in turn led to the Bedouins. Gilat B from Friends of the Earth Middle East led me to Tal H and not only the community garden project near southern Gaza but to the party at the swimming pool in a settlement to celebrate Shavuot. My many months in Gaza during previous trips generated a desire to explore the militarized perimeter from the Israeli side—a personal highlight, dangerous, delicate, revealing, a theme rarely photographed. Quakers in Palestine-Israel and at home continue to be a huge help. The American Friends Service Committee (AFSC), Ramallah Friends School, Ramallah Friends Meeting, Friends International Center in Ramallah (FICR), my home meeting of Friends Meeting at Cambridge, etc. provided prayers, guidance, leads, and much appreciated financial backing.

On the Israeli side of the militarized barrier between Gaza and southern Israel

I am also slowly learning how to confront my anxieties. A list from this trip might inspire laughter: denied entry at the airport arrested, detained, deported or shot by the Israeli army; run out of gas; lose the car keys; fillings fall out or need a root canal; heart attack; misplace my passport; money and cards stolen; computer breaks or is lost; camera equipment malfunctions; etc. Some of this actually happened—my laptop’s hard drive failed, my credit card inexplicably stopped charging, my memory cards suffered corrupted files, and I had minor problems with a lens. However, I never ran out of gas, I never lost my car keys, I was not injured or arrested, and I experienced no thefts. As Mark Twain said, I am an old man and have known a great many troubles, but most of them never happened.

Bethlehem checkpoint

My primary impressions about the Palestine-Israel situation are these: First, Israel is a laudable country, successful and innovative in so many ways such as agriculture, transport, art and science, image building, and yet the incontestable fact remains that its success is to some extent based on the oppression of another people who have equal if not greater rights to that land. Israel relies—not entirely—on the resources and labor of the Palestinians.

Israeli middle school students help excavate an ancient cistern in the heart of West Jerusalem, a project of Friends of the Earth Middle East and Emek Shaveh

Second, referring only to the West Bank (and not Gaza which I did not enter this time), conditions superficially seem improved—slightly expanded economy and slightly more freedom of movement with fewer internal checkpoints. However, settler violence has dramatically increased, the Israeli government has shifted rightward, the Palestinian Authority appears moribund, and settlement construction continues at a high rate. Impunity and futility reign supreme.

Construction of a dormitory at the Ariel University Center of Samaria, in the settlement-colony of Ariel, deep in the West Bank

Dormitory at the Ariel University funded by the controversial Irving Moskowitz

Ariel settlement

Third, Palestine’s Second or Al Aqsa Intifada (shaking off in Arabic, or uprising) has mostly transformed into nonviolent resistance. Some regard this as the Third Intifada, and much of my photographic work aims at support.

Nonviolent demonstration in the village of Al Masara near Bethlehem

After the demonstration, the commander of the Israeli unit with Palestinian media workers

And fourth is my growing conviction that much Palestinian-led resistance—and Israel’s responses—are formulaic, lack strategy, and prove useless and counterproductive. I witnessed much back and forth between tear gas and bullets responding to rocks and sometimes Molotov cocktails responding in turn to tear gas and bullets. As my colleague Mustafa said, one Molotov cocktail and you can expect five dead or injured Palestinians. In addition I observed that media, including myself, allows itself to be sucked into coverage because of the drama. I write extensively about this in my blogs.

Prisoners’ rights demonstration at Ofer Prison, Israel

My itinerary: one month in Bethlehem with the Palestine News Network, one week in Ramallah with the AFSC and FICR, two weeks in the Jenin refugee camp with the Freedom Theater, one week in Jerusalem with Friends of the Earth Middle East and a second week again with the AFSC, and my final week in the Negev desert. My photographic themes included non-violent resistance to the occupation, corporations benefitting from and sustaining the occupation (one photo assignment was to support a limited divestment campaign), youth, arts as resistance, the environment, Quaker activities, Bedouins in the Negev, ancient habitation sites, and Christians in Bethlehem. In Jenin, Bethlehem, and Ramallah I also taught photography to adults and high school students and helped establish photo archives. I volunteered these services with funding I’d raised privately from friends and the Quaker community.

Palestinian prisoners suffering in Israeli prisons conducted a massive hunger strike which at one point included some 1,600 prisoners, more than one-third the entire Palestinian prison population. The strike elicited Israeli promises to make its policies more humane, promises yet to be realized (as of June 2012). At demonstrations I was able to intersect this theme several times, once to include my Jenin high school photo students in what some might term “an appointment with tear gas and rubber-covered metal bullets”—or “real life photography.”

One of my students at the Ofer Prison demonstration

From 13,290 photos (56 separate folders, totaling 68 gigabytes) made with what I hope is my open heart, my central task now is to supply photos I’ve promised to various organizations, put together new collections for exhibitions, slide shows, and my blog and website, update my blog with excerpts from my copious journals, and seek audiences, most immediately on the west coast in the fall of 2012 from California to Alaska and British Columbia. One way you the reader can help would be to let me know of venues that might wish to host one of my photo presentations. I can supply tour details if asked.

Thanks for following the issues and my work.

You photograph not only with your eyes but with your heart.

—Fares Oda, West Bank AFSC staff

Boys and automatic rifles

Caterpillar at work building illegal settlement-colonies (Har Homa)

Nativity Church and full moon in Bethlehem

LINKS

American Friends Service Committee

Friends of the Earth Middle East

Negev Coexistence Forum for Social Equality

Palestine News Network (English)

Jenin Freedom Theater

Friends International Center in Ramallah

(With gratitude to Maria Termini for help editing this blog.)

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With an Open Heart: photos & stories from Palestine & Israel: Violent clashes—strategic or futile?

“9 protesters hurt in clash outside Ofer prison,” Published May 11, 2012

RAMALLAH (Ma’an) — Nine Palestinians were injured, including one seriously, by rubber bullets during clashes that erupted between Palestinians and Israeli forces near the Ofer prison.

The demonstration was held near the Ofar prison but the Israeli forces intervened in a sit-in by shooting tear gas and stun grenades in addition to rubber bullets and a foul-smelling liquid.

Palestinians threw rocks and empty bottles toward Israeli forces.

Excerpts from my journal as I examine and portray the troubles in the Levant

PHOTOS: Prisoners rights demonstration in Ramallah & Ofer Prison

part one

part two

May 12, 2012, Saturday, Jenin refugee camp, guest house in the Freedom Theater

Same as usual, very frustrating. Here’s what I wrote M yesterday:

we all arrived safely home a few hrs ago. 5 girls, 2 teachers, and mustafa, well known to the girls as a long term, trusted videographer and teacher at the jenin freedom theater. we suffered some tear gas, some high flying and low flying rubber-covered metal bullets, and a shot or two (at a distance) of stink water, chemically treated water that might smell like a skunk, or sewage, or shit. many injured from gas inhalation, perhaps a few from rubber-covered bullets. none seriously as far as i saw. lots of photos, but this event and ones like it deeply disappoint me. nonstrategic, more like a theater piece, tit for tat, back and forth, symbolic action, each side daring the other to take more risks. with no clear goal or method in view.

the issue is prisoners’ rights, sparked by the mass hunger strike of palestinian political prisoners in israeli jails. ofer prison, where we were today, near ramallah, is the only israeli prison in the west bank and thus the site of daily demos. good experience for the girls, i suppose. they ranged from terrified, hiding and crying, to overly gutsy, taking rash chances to merely make the same photos over and over again. i suppose a good lesson for them, regardless.

The prisoners’ rights demonstration in Ramallah yesterday began at a large parking lot in Al Bireh [near Ramallah, West Bank, Occupied Palestine], someone speaking to a huge crowd of men sitting outside on prayer mats, a relatively small number of women sitting under a tent. The speech ended with the call to prayer. I used this occasion to make a series of photos that included the prayer, something I love doing and can rarely do in Palestine because I don’t enter mosques. I lost many of these due to a camera card failure (I hope to retrieve them.). I urged the girls to make photos during this period. They began and were stopped by some men who said, because you’re not media you can’t photograph here. The men further explained that some photographers use photographs to malign Islam. We called Mustafa to intervene but he preferred to finish prayer. By the end of prayer the men had given the girls permission to photograph. A little lesson in how to deal with obstructions. Real world photography.

Then the march. Which itself began with the “war of flags and chants.” Which flag, which chant, which political party, Fatah or Hamas, would prevail? Someone tried to confiscate all the yellow Fatah flags. A contingent wearing Hamas green barged their way into the throng. Some tussling and then it settled. One set of slogans, one flag—Palestine! We’d occasionally stop, bunch up, I’d feel claustrophobic, we’d begin to walk again. Relief! Thru a few parts of Al Bireh and Ramallah to the Manarah [center of Ramallah] and then what? Ofer prison?

But first another assembly at the Lion’s Square tent where I met Fareed and his son, photographed a guy in a wheel chair who I believe was an early Bil’in casualty [small village near Ramallah which for more than 6 years non violently resists the Annexation Barrier which confiscated much of the agricultural land] and a grandmother and granddaughter, the elder in traditional Palestine village clothing, looking regal and impressive, the younger holding a photo of a man, perhaps the grandmother’s son, granddaughter’s father.

The girls photographic workshop from the Jenin Freedom Theater

Mustafa with one of the girls

 Daneen interviewed

We’d intended to go to Bil’in, but while on the way in our hired serveece, Mustafa called to tell us the plan had changed—big presence at the prison and not in Bil’in. So after consulting Jonatan and Adnan at the Freedom Theater in Jenin we headed to Ramallah, expecting eventually to reach Ofer prison.

After the prayer and speech and subsequent march thru Al Bireh and Ramallah we called our driver and drove to Ofer prison about 3 km SW of Ramallah, near Betuniya. Fareed said he’d not go to the prison. I no longer throw rocks, I don’t support it. Remember, I was imprisoned when a boy for throwing rocks. He also asked me if I’d seen the photo of Edward Said throwing a rock from Lebanon, perhaps an indication that we must recognize the frustration of many Palestinians at the injustice they suffer—and the symbolism of the rock against a mightier force.

Edward Said at the Lebanon border with Israel, 2000

Far fewer people at the prison, site of daily protests sparked by the hunger strikers. Two prisoners have passed the 70-day mark and are reportedly near death. Others are in the 30s. Some 1,500 men are striking from a total prison population of about 4,000. There is huge attention on this issue, at least in Palestine. Doubtful about Israel and the rest of the world. The issues are as follows:

1. End the solitary confinement and isolation

2. End the policy of isolation for all prisoners

3. End the policy of systematic humiliation by the occupation army against the Palestinian people at checkpoints and crossings, particularly targeting visitors to prisons, and end the arbitrary denial of visits to the prisoners, especially the prisoners from the Gaza Strip. End the humiliation and abuse of prisoners during transfer.

4. End the policy of administration detention.

(from one source)

Or:

Palestinian political prisoners held by Israel are demanding an end to solitary confinement and administrative detention, allowing visits to Gaza Strip Detainees, provision of medical care and education, and an end to strip searches of their families before visits. All demands are consistent with International law and the 4th Geneva Convention.

(from a second)

Mustafa adjusting the face mask kaffiyeh of one of the girls—to help protect from tear gas and to not be identified by Israelis

Here the deterioration of the demonstration, in my view. Lack of strategic planning on all parties. Palestinians throw a rock—Israeli soldiers retaliate with a tear gas canister or a cluster of them. Burn a tire—the army shoots skunk water. Heave a Molotov cocktail and as Mustafa said, you may count 10 dead Palestinians. Exciting? Yes. Wise? I doubt it. Ditto for the media drawn to such actions—me included—as if a whirlpool sucks us into its center and we drown.

At least at some demonstrations there is a clear, recognizable, reasonable objective that a larger audience can understand. Such as at Al Masara. The immediate objective is to reach the agricultural lands now blocked by the wall or fence. More widely the end of occupation. Or at Bil’in the same, reach village land, the fence itself, and tear it down. And at the recent women’s demonstration at the Jenin muqata (municipal headquarters),  deliver a message to the Palestinian Authority officials in their offices. And Cremisan winery and monastery which I photographed in Bethlehem, a Catholic mass in full view of the settlers. Going back decades, the sit-ins at lunch counters, the Montgomery bus boycott, occupation of factories to shut them down, etc. And more recently the occupation of numerous public sites around the world during the Arab Spring and the Occupy Movement. But Ofer prison? To reach the prison? I do not see the point.

Instead yesterday, tumult. How near the gate can we get? How much firepower do we need to turn these Palestinians back? Will that bullet reach me? Will the wind switch direction so the gas reaches the protesters and not us? Am I out of range, behind effective cover? How can I increase the range of this rifle?

I felt the zing of adrenalin, as I’m sure the older girls did when they lunged ahead, sucked by that whirlpool. Thank god for Mustafa who has the charisma, experience, methodology, and above all else love for the girls. He shepherded them very effectively and might make a centerpiece of my photography. I suspect for the girls showing the action was paramount. Maybe this is good, a first step, but not sufficient. We can discuss some of these issues tomorrow when we evaluate the photos. [We never discussed the issues.]

Early into this scene I noticed a young man grimacing while holding his shoulder. Apparently a rubber-covered metal bullet had struck him. I tried to photograph him. Then the men in the field and beyond them the soldiers. A man angrily approached me, no photos! Mustafa had warned us not to photograph faces of rock throwers because later Israel might identify and prosecute them. But distance photos of soldiers? Problems with this? Thought I: this guy’s an ass hole. I’ll defy him at every turn. Not long after this altercation I spotted a woman on the ground, gassed, others attending to her. I tried to photograph this. The same guy grabbed my camera. Luckily Mustafa was nearby and intervened. Then this mini saga concluded when I observed a man on the ground, thought back to what Mustafa had told us that if hurt, fall to the ground and someone will help you. I photographed him lying there. Turned out he was the guy who’d stopped me from photographing. No one came to his assistance.

I plan to tell the students about the Lakota warrior society, maybe called the Buffalo Society, which comprised older men, respected warriors, whose main job was to moderate and direct the younger men. Otherwise, if left alone, their youthful boundless courage would possibly cause needless injury to themselves and their tribe.

Mustafa tear gassed

LINKS

Al Masara blog with photos: Al Masara: Boys with signs, soldiers with machine guns

“16 injured at protest at Ofer prison,” February 12, 2012
Popular Struggle Coordination Committee for Alternative Information Center

“Clashes in front of Ofer prison during demonstration for Khader Adnan,” with photos, February 21, 2012

“Hunger-striking detainees sign deal with prison authority“

“Time for a Change!“ Nakba message from Mazin Qumsiyeh

“Edward Said Accused of Stoning in South Lebanon,” by Sunnie Kim, July 19, 2000

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With an Open Heart: Eyewitness to the Levant—Skip Schiel’s next journey to Palestine/Israel

Gaza, 2010

I have followed Skip’s activities through his email newsletter which has kept me up to date through the personal contacts he has made with peacemakers. From living [myself] in a situation of violence and change in South Africa I know how valuable it is to have the kind of support he is offering to peacemakers in Israel and Palestine—getting out the everyday stories of life, thought, and peace and justice making that don’t make the international headlines. It helps keep the people on the ground going.

—Jeremy Routledge, former director of the
Quaker Peace Center in Cape Town, South Africa

Dear friends:

In various ways, I’ve faithfully reported to many people about my work concerning Palestine/Israel. For the past nine years, not only while I was most recently in the region in 2010, but subsequently with my US-based work, I’ve tried to keep people informed and motivated thru my photos and stories.

Later this month I will begin my 7th journey of photographic discovery and exposure of conditions and struggles in Palestine/Israel. I hope you can join me, as a viewer and reader—and as a financial supporter.

Yaffa/Tel Aviv, Israel, 2010

Gaza, 2010

For this 10-week trip I plan to volunteer my photographic services again with the American Friends Service Committee in Gaza and the West Bank, Holy Land Trust in Bethlehem, Al-Rowwad in a Bethlehem refugee camp, Friends of the Earth Middle East in both Israel and Palestine, and the Jenin Freedom Theater, as well as other organizations who request my services. Mainly I will photograph for them and also, when asked, teach photography to  high school and university age youth. The AFSC plans a traveling exhibit about the occupation; they’ve sought my photographic contributions. All this is at no or minimal charge to the organizations. Thus I need financial help.

Public opinion in the US is slowly becoming more responsive to Palestinian experiences, the numerous violations of human rights and international law, and the expanding non-violent resistance against the injustice perpetrated by the Israeli government (with corresponding violence and sometimes criminal actions by Palestinians). The United States and many European governments mutely accept most of the illegal and unjust Israeli policies. Slowly, incrementally, a mild trickle of awareness is percolating into what could become a torrent of support for Palestinian rights. On March 30 international organizers plan The Great March on Jerusalem into Israel across the borders of Lebanon, Syria, and Jordan. I plan to be there to photograph. I hope to be part of the larger movement for human rights and accountability to international law. With your help I can achieve this.

Gaza, 2010

Airfare is roughly $1300, accommodations, food and local transport will cost me approximately $1400, photo equipment and supplies another $500, and miscellaneous about $300 for a grand total of $3500. I’d deeply appreciate any sort of contribution, large or small, whether money, airline ticket benefits, equipment (photographic or computer) and prayers. I welcome your suggestions about making this journey. You could also help by organizing a showing of my up to date slide shows or photo exhibitions.

Checks can be made out to me, Skip Schiel, mailed to 9 Sacramento St, Cambridge MA, 02138 USA, or you can use PayPal on my website, teeksaphoto.org. I’m not able to offer you a tax deduction.

Thank you so much for your support.

—Skip

Dr. Mona Al Farra, Gaza, 2009

Kalandia Checkpoint between Ramallah and Jerusalem, Ramadan, blocked from attending Friday prayers at the Al Aqsa mosque in Jerusalem, 2009

You might want to visit these internet sites to view and read what I’ve done over the past 9 years on this project.

teeksaphoto.org (photos)

skipschiel.wordpress.com (writing and photos, plus movies)

eyewitnessgaza.net (movie by Tom Jackson about my work)

www.blurb.com/bookstore/detail/2902195 (recently published book of my Gaza photos)

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Eyewitness Gaza available for download & broadcast

For community access TV stations and others who might wish to download our new movie and broadcast it—other distributors and venues as well. You can now download the movie at no charge thru PEG Media. (However, you must be registered.) Please consider forwarding this to your local station.

Download

In Eyewitness Gaza, Skip conveys his personal observations on events in Gaza, the complexities and consequences of action and reaction at the military and governmental level and its affects on real people. The video graphically depicts the emotional as well as physical affects of violence and offers hope in statements from young people about their commitment to non-violence. Sadly, it also describes how opponents of a peaceful approach discourage such actions. It is a compelling insight into the situation in Gaza.

—Joan Raducha, American Friends Service Committee, Madison Wisconsin

Detail For Show: Eyewitness Gaza

Description:

Eyewitness Gaza shows an accurate view of current life in Gaza, through the lens of photographer Skip Schiel. His photographs and reflections on many trips to Gaza show the unique position Gazans are in: under siege, under occupation, constantly threatened by attacks from Israel and their own political factions, with little awareness or concern by the rest of the world.

Central to “Eyewitness Gaza” are Gazan youth. How do they survive a siege and marginalizing by the world community? Through events in Palestine such as the Gaza Youth Break Out movement, and to the most recent manifestations of violent and nonviolent transformation of “Arab Spring”, Schiel and his camera chronicle a community trying to rebuild itself.

Type of Show: Specials

Target Viewing Market: National (US)

State of Production and/or Target State or Province: New Hampshire

Frequency of Episodes: One time show

Producer: Joe Public Films

More information about Eyewitness Gaza

What is PEG Media?

PegMedia.org is a media transfer site for PEG (Public, Education, Government) community television stations and producers of media for these stations. This site is an easy way for producers to make their programming known and available to many stations simultaneously and, at the same time, to give stations a wide variety of programming from which to choose.

The stations who use PegMedia for content cover tens of millions of cabled homes and represent more than 50% of the total cable viewership in the US, giving producers a very large potential audience.

We welcome producers who are PEG stations, independent producers, musicians, and documentary and film makers, in a wide variety of genre.

More about PEG Media

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Along the Mediterranean Coast: To learn photography

Excerpts from my journal during a recent 6 week journey to Gaza—now back home in the United States.

PHOTOS

Have you ever heard of the hour of the wolf? … It’s the time between 3:00 and 4:00 in the morning. You can’t sleep, and all you can see is the troubles and the problems and the ways that your life should’ve gone but didn’t. All you can hear is the sound of your own heart.

(Commander Susan Ivanova in an episode of the science fiction television show Babylon 5 entitled “The Hour of the Wolf” and from Swedish and Finnish folk religion, also the title of a horror film by Ingmar Bergman where I first learned the term and phenomenon.)

(Click here for an enlargement)

November 23, 2010, Tuesday, Gaza city, my apartment in Rimal

I’m nervous this morning, for a variety of reasons. 1. I teach the first session of the photographic workshop tomorrow [November 24, 2010]. Altho I feel very prepared and confident enough I always feel nervous beginning a workshop series. I focus more on past failures than successes, on my problems at Birzeit University and with the Haifa Israeli Arab youth when I taught at both sites, rather than the long string of successes at the Quaker Palestine Youth Program (QPYP), Cambridge Center for Adult Education and Harvard University. 2. My computer problems. 3. My flashlight’s bulb seems to have burned out, not a big deal but precipitating a return of my Hour of the Wolf syndrome, keeping me awake with flooding thoughts, visions, worries. 4. Where in Gaza can I find an ATM for cash? 5. The money transfer question. All of these swamped me last night as I struggled to return to blissful sleep—and eventually did.

I am befuddled by the weekly schedule here. Week begins on Sunday, Friday is a holiday. I have to shift my thinking from Monday begins the week, Saturday and Sunday are holidays.

A dream despite or inspired by the problems of the night: true to my habit (and I’m thankful for this one) I was preparing to teach a photo workshop, not in Gaza but at home. Working around my wife, a stand-in for my former wife, I gathered materials including an old digital camera that I’d dismantled, blank film, cords, and other paraphernalia that if I were actually home and about to teach I’d collect. A bulb had burned out. My wife provided me one. I inserted it and I could see better what I was collecting. Last night I devoted myself mainly to preparing for the workshop tomorrow and I’m certain the dream was an offshoot of that. Unlike at home, I don’t have the materials I dreamt about gathering.

The second dream was about gathering a woman to me—another sort of gathering—inviting her into my intimate circle. She was young, desirable, available. I’d arranged for her to sit with others in a sort of pit. The pit began enclosing her and others. I jumped in. Some in the pit became food. She finally agreed to be with me intimately. I felt mutual love. Patricia Watson, an old dear Quaker friend and mentor, entered the story somehow; maybe it referred to her without her actual presence. How strange this one was. Unlike any dream I can recall having and definitely unlike any known courtship procedure.

November 24, 2010, Wednesday, Gaza city, my apartment in Rimal

What provoked last night’s episode of the Hour of the Wolf was the following extremely vivid dream: I was meeting my workshop group for the first time. It was set in Gaza, large, around 15, the usual mix of people. For some reason a pole or column separated them into 2 smaller groups, which made seeing them at one time difficult. One of the students rudely and demonstratively played the piano loudly in the back of the room. I asked her to stop. Sullenly, she complied.

I was using my seminar approach, asking questions in the Socratic manner, mostly about photographic design. As an illustration I used  the element of repetition. I didn’t have actual pictures to look at, a major omission. At first I thought this was going very well, not plunging directly into the nuts and bolts of making photos but delving into some of the deeper topics—I love doing this. I felt I was doing it expertly. Gradually I noticed some of the students shaking heads at each other, a condemnatory shake, expressing, this sucks. This guy is a total shit. I do not like being in this workshop. I knew I was on the wrong path, not sure how to find the right one. I awoke with a sudden thud. Oh, oh, I said to myself, don’t take that road today when you teach, anything but that road.

On my morning walk a few minutes ago I realized I should begin the workshop by thanking everyone for the opportunity to work with them, for their choosing to enroll, do the work, and share my passion for photography, to give me a chance to learn from them. Yes, be very thankful and humble. To confess my gratitude, dependence on them, willingness to learn. Then to ask them to introduce themselves, with specific reference to photography. Tell us what you’d like to learn and why. The take away, the payoff. This will be challenging because of language barriers. (I’m hoping for good translation, which I had last year, making a huge difference.) Then maybe look at their photos, if they brought them as I asked Islam to invite them to do. At least look at my prints.

Then maybe a how to see deeply exercise, a guided meditation, and run thru the camera settings (how do this without the AV camera cable?). Concentrate on providing them many opportunities to actually photograph and later review their photos. To state this at the outset: make and comment on photos, the spine of the workshop. That usually works in most settings.

The QPYP staff were surprised to see me show up so early yesterday, ready to teach. Then I realized my mistake—I was one day early, one more night to suffer thru, the Hour of the Wolf will come again. I confided to Amal, the director of the program, how nervous I am. She is my mother in absentia. The moon, recently full, is waning. On the next full moon night I may either be preparing to leave Gaza or preparing to leave Yaffa and Israel, homeward bound.

Ibrahem Shatali and Amal Sabawai, program officer and director, respectively

November 25, 2010, Thursday, Gaza city, my apartment in Rimal

~~Electricity just went kaput as I was beginning this entry. Last night in an adjoining neighborhood near the sea, the power was out. Off at 7:20 pm, we’ll see how long before the generator kicks in.~~

The workshop yesterday, in my preliminary and self-interested perspective, went surprisingly well. 10 of the 12 enrolled attended, about half arrived on time, the others within 10 minutes of start time. They seemed engaged for the most part, those without English struggling to keep up. Rana and Hesham shared translation duties. All but one had cameras and that one used his mobile phone camera which apparently is fairly sophisticated. I lectured about a few basic digital principles like the difference between a photograph, a print, a file, and an image. For a later session we’ll discuss bits, bytes, and pix, color space, calibration, etc, rudimentary concepts that I find fascinating and vital to understand. Will they?

Because I lacked my AV cable allowing me to show camera settings, I lectured on the topic and had them follow with their cameras: auto, P for program, A for aperture priority, etc, leaving for later when and why these different settings are useful. All basic stuff. The students are less advanced than I’d assumed after talking with Amal and Islam. I thought they said these would mostly be practicing photographers who wished to upgrade their skills. Not so—some entry level, a few more advanced.

I’d laid out prints I brought of family and the coast, had them observe, comment on what they noticed, discuss how to improve certain photos, much like what I do at home. (No one else brought photos, even tho I’d requested it.) I also showed the slide show of photos from last year’s photo workshop, Starting Point, commending the photos and hoping to raise a standard. So that—and I tried to lay this out provisionally, not a promise or commitment—that if their photos are good enough we can have an exhibition at the Windows from Gaza gallery.

Maybe the hit of the 3-hour session was actually making photos, first in the room we worked in, and then the roof where I’d been several times with other groups. [A sampling of student photos from the entire workshop is at the end of this blog.] On the roof I challenged them to effectively show a vista and to make use of the high roof position. I’m saving my schema for making a good photo—be aware, observe the light, choose a camera position and shutter release moment, etc—for later. Returning down the stairs, I pointed out the viewpoint someone previously had discovered for making an abstract photo: straight down the stairwell. They all tried it, I photographed them trying it.

~~7:30, power returned a mere 10 minutes later, thanks to a local generator I’m certain. Last year the generator was nearly outside my door, loud and smelly, small also. It remains but is not used. I have no idea where the working generator is, probably on the rooftop. I’ve never heard or seen it. [Later I learned the building's owner has tied into another neighborhood’s power lines so that when that neighborhood has electricity our building is powered.]~~

I introduced myself, very personally—grandpa, divorced, love Gaza, photographing since my dad gave me my first camera at age 7, etc—and they did the same. They are young, perhaps between about 18 and 25, most are college students, a few in business administration, a few in media. Some work for partner agencies. Hesham works with the guy I’ll probably hire as cameraman, Yousef.

So I’m relieved, greatly relieved. From time to time during the session, silently I compared the nightmare vision I’d had the 2 nights before to what was transpiring in front of me: night and day, night and day. I slept very well last night.

At times I’m frightened by the situation here. I read reports from the Gaza NGO Safety Office, GANSO, such as:

At approximately 1550 hrs on 7 October 2010, an IAF [Israeli Air Force]  drone fired a missile targeting a private vehicle carrying Palestinian militants affiliated to Al Nasser Salah Ad Din Brigades on Al Mughraqa Bridge, between Al Nuseirat and Al Zahra, North West of Al Nuseirat. However, the missile failed to hit its intended target, and instead exploded in front of a passing vehicle, injuring 5 civilian passengers, and 1 seriously. Similarly, at 1130 hrs on 3 November 2010, a private vehicle was targeted by the IAF in the vicinity of the de facto security services headquarters in Gaza City, N of Al Azhar University, killing an Army of Islam operative driving the vehicle, with injuries sustained by a passerby. And just last week (17 November) at 1640 hrs, a private vehicle was again targeted by the IAF on Al Wihda Street in Gaza City, resulting in the deaths of 2 Army of Islam operatives.

The central concern with respect to these attacks is that they occurred during daylight hours and, most particularly with respect to the two most recent incidents, in built up areas. In the previous Bi-Weekly Safety Report (17 – 30 October) GANSO highlighted the danger of internal hazards and their unpredictability. Much of the advice imparted on that occasion can also apply in this context, though tempered perhaps by an even greater degree of unpredictability. At this juncture, the most effective mitigation measure that GANSO can suggest is that NGO’s clearly mark their vehicles (particularly from an aerial perspective) when travelling throughout the Gaza Strip, while organisations are also strongly encouraged to keep a First Aid Kit and fire extinguisher within their vehicles at all times (and ensure staff are aware of how to safely and effectively use the equipment).

This bothers me—first aid kit and fire extinguisher, big help, forget it! Reminds me that if I happen to be out walking or with someone driving, at exactly the wrong moment and place, I could be hit, hurt, killed. Damned luck. I’m not sure my muses can do much about this. I’m not sure how cognizant they are about either the Israeli military or the Palestinian militants. The OP’s, Palestinian Operatives, to use the language of GANSO.

From Prof. Abdelwahed, published July 18, 2009:

“Gaza war in child’s memory (True story),”

Raid Fattouh is a Palestinian. He is married to Natasha, a Ukrainian woman. They live in Gaza with their four children: Karma 13, Jabr 10, Diana 6 and Hakeem 1. Two weeks ago, Raid and his Natasha wanted to travel to Ukraine after 13 years stay in Gaza. It was so hard for the parents to convince their children that traveling by airplane is comfortable and safe! Children could not sleep well for long nights before their land trip to Amman. They were scared of the airplane! Their persistent question was on their situation if the airplane bombed somewhere and killed innocent people like what it did in Gaza during the war! The image of the airplane was an image of a machine to kill the people in the streets and at homes! It was enormously difficult for the parents to convince the kids to step up into the airplane at Amman airport. The nightmare remained, and children were really horrified; they cried until they were on board. Their father told me that the most pathetic moments where those when kids were going upstairs the airplane! Once they were in they believed their parents.

—Prof. Abdelwahed, Department of English, Faculty of Arts & Humanities,Al-Azhar University of Gaza, Gaza is phoenix in burning flame

TO BE CONTINUED

STUDENT PHOTOS (click photo for enlargement):

Photos by Samah Ahmad

Photos by Rana Baker

       

Photos by Omar Shala

     

Photos by Meslah Ashram

Photos by Lina Abd Latif

      

Photos by Khaled El Rayyes

     

Photos by Hesham Mhanna

        

Photos by Abd Nassla

LINKS

Quaker Palestine Youth Program in Gaza

My photo workshops in the United States

My teaching philosophy

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Along the Mediterranean Coast: El Mina, The Old Port—2

TODAY: I dedicate this blog entry to the release of colleague, Vittorio Arrigoni, a journalist and human rights defender working in the Gaza Strip, who was kidnapped by Salafists, members of a very small extremist group in Gaza.

Information

UPDATE: He’s been murdered, allegedly by members of a Palestinian Islamic splinter group in Gaza. However, questions remain: who benefits from his death, why was he killed hours before the deadline, and why Vittorio?

Testimonial from Jeff Halper

Vittorio on the right, with Adie Mormech of the International Solidarity Movement, during a meeting with farmers in the eastern buffer zone

Excerpts from my journal during a recent 6 week journey to Gaza—now back home in the United States.

PHOTOS

The ultimate wisdom of the photographic image is to say: “There is the surface. Now think—or rather feel, intuit—what is beyond it, what the reality must be like if it looks this way.”

—Susan Sontag

December 7, 2010, Tuesday, Gaza City, my apartment in Rimal

Yesterday people were very late to the photo workshop, #4 in the 8 part series, despite our new policy [We look only at the photos of those who show up first. Late? Too bad, can’t review your photos.]. 10 AM, start time, no one there. I looked out the window and saw one young man languidly entering the lower entryway, slowly making his way to class. He arrived at about 10:10. He was not one of those with adequate English. This could be a problem. Let’s start, I said, what do you have to show us? Student #2 walked in at about 10:15, another without much English. Luckily student #1 had some good photos from our trip last week to the crafts village, but wished to show us something else, some location, also very good architectural photos. I commented but without translation so there is no knowing how much came or went thru.

~~There were to be 2 more paragraphs continuing this story but MS Word froze, as it’s been doing off and on during this trip. I lost the paragraphs. Are they recoverable thru my personal memory? Let’s give it a whirl. But remember: save more often!~~

By 10:30 all of the 7 of the regulars (out of the initial 12) eventually appeared. Including Ahmed and M, 2 of the more involved and vocal students, along with R. No H today: can’t make it in, sorry, he texted me.

Despite the upsetting beginning—I had begun ruminating, has the workshop collapsed? How are we to make the movie about me teaching if I have no students?—the session turned out very well indeed. R said later, this session was amazing. We discussed beauty along with beauty and horror mixed, depth of focus (only a beginning, more on this next time), backlighting (ditto), showing one’s political and social reality, independent projects, portraiture (the main theme of the morning), exemplary portraits from Dorothea Lange (Migrant Mother with the story of Dorothea’s persistence which resulted in making her fine iconic photo—which none present had ever seen or heard about, a completely different cultural context) and W. Eugene Smith (from his Minimata series, mother and daughter in a tub, resembling the pieta which also was new to my students), and other related matters. Much energy this morning, I felt, even tho all were tardy.

Later from Islam I learned about cases of absentees—Sharek Youth Forum closed by Hamas, schedule conflicts, illness, without anyone admitting the workshop was not to their tastes, or too hard, or too soft, or just not right thing at the right moment. This is the first time I’ve gotten such feedback. And it is because of the Quaker Palestine Youth Program’s IT officer Islam’s devotion to the program. A stellar man.

To the mina, or port, which seemed to excite everyone. Rain had fallen that morning, the first rain of the season. I’d tried photographing and videoing it outside on the my home plaza. Stills failed, motion worked. And I showed both to the students, with the challenge of how can you show rain with stills, and, beyond that, show the first rain of the season? Key questions, I believe, that shed light on the strengths and weaknesses of the photographic medium. These themes, water, rain, challenges, might have helped inspire the field trip. 2 exercises (or 3 if I count the awareness exercise): cardinal direction awareness, in place, one of the 4 directions at a time, scan from low to high, repeat; followed by find a location, make at least 10 different photos from that one spot (I chose the new construction, showing lots of cement and a crane, very unusual for Gaza), and one frame, multiple moments for an emphasis on time (I chose flapping fabric as an illustration, doing this in 2 different locations).

New fishers’ shacks

The sky added to the thrill of the trip, large, roiling, scurrying clouds covered the entire sky. And receded as we worked, always varied, always wondrous. We were well positioned—coastal—to view the entire sky.

We concluded at the breakwater where other students had discovered the huge breaking waves. Here we romped, as if kids, playing, having fun, dodging the water (several were doused). We photographed each other photographing each other and the sea. The port is archetypal for Gazans—its freedom primarily, and the blockage of freedom, knowing the fishing industry, once thriving, is for now dormant, ruined. A complex mixture of joy and sorrow.

Skip Schiel, photo by Mesleh Al Ashram

A personal gain was discovering two men in one of the fisher shacks. I’d noticed a cat eating the remains of a fish dinner. Thinking I was alone—I’d seen no one else in this extensive series of shacks, thought they were all abandoned, perhaps people waiting for the opening of a new set which I also photographed—I spoke gently to the cat. Then I heard soft talking from the other side of the wall. Someone was there. They probably heard me. I looked around, said marhaba, continued on, heard one man say, chai?

Initially I declined, walked on, then thought, hey guy, this is an invite, not only for tea but possibly for photos. So I sat with them a while, drank the tea (la sukkar-no sugar), and was surprised when the host pointed at his friend and my camera, indicating, make a photo of him. Friend demurred, so, miming, I asked the host if he’d allow a photo of himself and off we went. Merrily along with the fishers.

At the end of this session I felt relieved, energized, happy. Truly mubsut-happy. If only they’d show up on time, if only everyone would attend, if only they’d do the assignments, if only, if only. Why worry, revel in the moment instead.

A powerful update from Y about life in Oakland, filled with trauma—and I thought I had a hard life in Gaza!—and the beginning of winter. Plus one dream that I can recall, in a night of solid dreaming:

I was lecturing a group of Gazans, young adults, maybe in a university setting. Our main theme was cross cultural differences, or intercultural understanding. I used the idea of meals as a reference point, breakfast in particular. I joked with them about the words in English and Arabic that describe the same items. The lecture was extremely interactive. It was going well until I noticed a young man, resembling Ibrahem G who in real life I’d met a few days ago while walking to the souk (market), who’s been incessantly phoning me and then because of our language differences discovers I am not very communicative with him, nor warm to meeting him again. He asks me, in the most broken English, where are you, at the katiba (parade grounds)? Where are you!? I tell him I’m home working and busy. I am sure he wants to meet—but to what point? I hate being so distant but it reflects our painful reality. I believe my dream last night reflects my dilemma about Ibrahem, wishing to be close, finding it impossible. Unless of course one of us studied the language of the other.

So an “Ibrahem” type character was in my dream, joking with a male friend, and visibly not paying attention to the lecture and dialog. He was rattling me, distracting me from the event. I just wish you’d go away, is what I thought—and didn’t utter.

Despite his interruption, I carried on. The dream ended as we produced a form of chorus, not using words, but sighs. All together now, sigh.

~~Power off. Kaput. Just off. Computer continues for awhile on battery power, but because my battery is old and feeble I doubt if I have even 2 hours remaining. Plus Internet is gone, since the router is off and there is no neighborhood network I can access. Woe is me. Let’s see how long until power resumes. It is now 7:12 AM. I will open my shutters and let in the faint light of the cloudy morning. Yesterday at the office power was also out. But the generator worked immediately this time and my workshop was not impeded.~~

TO BE CONTINUED

LINKS

As an example of the work done by people such as Vittorio Arrigoni and other International Solidarity Movement workers under the direction of local Palestinian leaders, my blog about a buffer zone demonstration in Gaza

Blog: El Mina—part 1

Photos: El Mina—part 1

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Along the Mediterranean Coast :: El Mina, The Old Port–1

Ban Al Ghussain

Excerpts from my journal during a recent 6 week journey to Gaza—now back home in the United States.

PHOTOS

Distance does not make you falter.
Now, arriving in magic, flying,
and finally, insane for the light,
you are the butterfly and you are gone.
And so long as you haven’t experienced this: to die and so to grow,
you are only a troubled guest on the dark earth.

—Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, translated by Robert Bly

December 4, 2010, Saturday, Gaza city, my apartment in Rimal

That day again, when I contemplate my origins in my father (a tradition I learned from Japanese friends, honoring one’s parents and other ancestors), my mother, my grandparents, my uncles and aunts, my earliest friends and teachers—all to whom I owe my life, character, history, destiny, meaning, problems, not entirely but mostly. I begin my 8^th decade, my 70^th year, looking and usually feeling maybe 15 years younger. Feeling my age and beyond only when ill, even slightly ill as I seem to have been a few days ago, perhaps with flu. Now I am sturdy.

What are my worries, what keeps me from deep sleep thru the night (as happened again last night from 4 until I arose at 5:15)?

the photo workshop, students dropping out, not liking it, feeling they’re not learning enough to continue

losing my flash memory device and wondering about possible consequences because of my disclosures concerning my hidden sexual proclivities

mushies, i.e., shits

dying in my sleep

never finding another true love

broken or lost or malfunctioning equipment

doing a lousy job making photos and the movie

for a few of many.

Islam Madhoun & Ban
(betrothed after meeting thru one of my photo workshops in 2009)

What sustains me, helps me sleep despite the occasional short hours, keeps me fresh thru the day, cheerful despite the odds against me?

walking

meditating

photographing

preaching

friendships

prospects for love and understanding gradually more and more about vexing thrilling topic

excitement at being in Gaza

reading

playing with computer-based tools like software and the internet

my illustrious circle of honorable elders

family

hopes for when I return home.

But let’s not forget last night’s dreams, once again profuse:

With others I was either actually on or watching others on a high narrow rope ladder cross a raging river. A man fell in. I could see beneath the water, magically, that he was quickly dropping to the bottom. Another man decided to rescue him. He tore off his shoes, his pants, stating, my clothing would drown me. He dove or dropped in. I again saw beneath the water as he dove deep and grabbed the victim.

Another: talking with a man who understood about the Wounded Knee Massacre and the commemorative ride in 1990 that I participated in. He quizzed me, how did you gain the trust of the riders? referring to my photography of the ride and location. To answer I elaborated about my father, claiming he was an expert printer of flyers, posters, booklets and the like. How this related to the question escaped me but in the dream it seemed relevant. As I explained my close relations with native people, I experienced again being with them—I was actually with them. One American Indian demonstrated shooting a rifle, as if at the Wounded Knee Massacre 100 years ago himself, or at the siege in 1972 or 1973.

These dreams seem unique, unlike previous dreams altho some themes, like Wounded Knee and photography, recur . I suspect one reason I’m dreaming and remembering dreams so well is that I awaken early with my Hour of the Wolf Syndrome [insomnia for about one hour when my thought governor takes a break and numerous streams of thought, memory, strategy, reverie all mix crazily together, a notion based on a Swedish belief in the Hour of the Wolf when magic and tragedy ensue.] This usually damnable periodic sleeplessness might be turning into a gift.

Hesham Mhanna

The outing yesterday to the quay or pier or boat area or port or mina—with Hesham and Rana from the current photo workshop, Ban and Sharif from last year’s workshop, and Islam. We quickly agreed this is the place to go, safer they felt. [I’m uncertain about why they felt this way, perhaps safe from Israeli incursions and shelling, safe from factional violence, and safe from the watching waiting eyes of Hamas.] Islam drove us out to the point where I’d never been before. Someone found a boat and driver for us to wildly ride in. And after about 1.5 hours of photography they were ready to declare, we’re finished. I replied, Oh, I feel we are just beginning. Well, some have Muslim prayers, Sharif claimed.

Language plays a major role in my teaching in Gaza. In a separate workshop that I teach thru the American Friends Service Committee, we are finding adequate translation nearly impossible to do. It requires extra time, a large vocabulary about technology and esthetics, and patience on everyone’s part. One consequence of not having English fluency is not being able or willing to press me for further exercises or lessons. For instance, yesterday at El mina with my group, after one exercise (design with the principle of light on dark, dark on light), Hesham asked me for a more advanced exercise. I offered him the backlight challenge. Choose a subject brightly lit from behind. Use flash to fill in the shadows. Without English he might not have asked me, nor have understood me when I gave it to him. Similarly, Ban asked for instruction in Adobe’s photo software, Lightroom.

I discovered another group of photo students who wanted to have their photos made with me surrounded by the students. They all had single lens reflex cameras; one man was one of my students, either former or current; they seemed to be playing rather than laboring, photographing each other mostly. They delighted in showing me their photos on their camera screens. They asked to join our group and did for a fraction of a second.

I also discovered a family eating along the pier. I snuck a few photos before asking permission. Father said no, waved his finger and smiled. I nodded ok, turned to walk away when he called me back to join them for hummus and fuul, the delicious Middle Eastern fava bean, lemon juice, and garlic dish. No photos but plenty of good food.

Our group agreed to meet again on Wednesday at 1 PM after my workshop to see results. Ban and Sharif will present their work to the workshop group that morning. All this is intended to foster a photographic team that persists after I’ve departed. Good plan, now let’s see if it works. [It seems to not have.]

TO BE CONTINUED

LINKS

My spring 2011 teaching in Cambridge Massachusetts

Photography as a tool for political transformation, a workshop

My Teaching Philosophy

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Along the Mediterranean Coast :: BDS, ISM & the Samouni family

My message is to show as much love as you can to your parents, because I lost my parents and I am not able to care for them anymore.

—Mona Samouni, age 11 years

Mona Samouni with the identity cards of her mother and father soon after they were both killed during the 2009 bombings (Thanks to Adie Mormech)

Kanaan Samouni

Part of the Samouni family

Kanaan Samouni

Missile damage to a home

Excerpts from my journal during a 6 week journey to Gaza.

December 19, 2010, Sunday, Gaza City, my apartment in Rimal

PHOTOS

(Note: BDS = Boycott, Divest, Sanction, a growing international movement, requested by much of Palestinian civil society, intended to end the Israeli occupation of Palestine; and ISM = International Solidarity Movement, a Palestinian-led, non violent movement providing international support to end the occupation and Gazan siege)

2 signal events from yesterday, both connected to ISM, (which I’m much more in contact with than on any other visit to Gaza, thanks in large part to the friendliness and accessibility of Inge Neefs and Adie Mormech) and both surprising. The first was a meeting of local university age BDS activists, a group that has recently formed.

Haidar Eid

We heard from Dr. Haidar Eid, an articulate and powerful speaker and organizer. He reported about a recent Israel-Palestine conference he attended in Stuttgart Germany. Illustrating with examples—such as the authorities not readily granting permission for a meeting site—he demonstrated the reluctance of the German government to criticize Israel. He attributes this to the guilt many Germans feel about the holocaust. Hearing him I recalled the reaction of CW, formerly of Friends Meeting at Cambridge (my Quaker community), who seemed dumbfounded by my stance as a German about Israel-Palestine. Don’t you feel shame at being German when considering the plight of the Israelis?

No, sorry, Chris, I don’t. Perhaps the opposite. I identify with the silent Germans who lived during the Nazi period, unwilling to see and speak out about the truth. That is my legacy.

From the conference report to business for our group about who’s doing what about BDS—website makers, bloggers, letter writers, video makers, connectors with the international community, etc. I suggested the tactic of culture jamming (see link below). Haidar thought it would be premature for Gaza, later maybe. I also suggested hosting a showing of the Itisapartheid contest videos that Rick had suggested I do. This caught fire and we might see some action before I leave. Israel Apartheid Week was also on the agenda.

I felt tremendous excitement during this meeting, the fact of so many that seem so energized working in Gaza to boycott Israeli products, especially when there are so few alternatives here. Some discussion about this, identifying Israel products—apparently a popular one is a fruit drink—and alternatives—fruit drinks are locally manufactured. I think I’m drinking a Gazan product this morning, an overly sweet orange confection.

Rana Baker

Adie co-led this meeting, and the team of Haidar and Adie is strong. I also felt synergy in the room, people’s energy bouncing off each other, lighting each other’s fire. My photo student Rana attended and contributed forcefully. As did Inge and S from ISM. The group is definitely Gaza-based, Gaza-led, Gaza-inspired, and Gaza-focused. My dear buddy back home, Rick, will be very happy to learn about all this.

Thinking I was done when the meeting ended, I hung around to see if I might visit with Inge and Adie, maybe a falafel in the park in Soldiers’ Square. This notion turned out to be eating falafel on the run, stopping by their flat (not far from my house) to pick up about 5 large bags of winter coats, and deliver them to the Samouni family that 2 years ago had been herded into one building under the promise of safety and then many of them shot. I’d heard about this incident—the horror of it, the duplicity, the savagery, the senseless killing, usually of male family members and including innocent children, before the eyes of the family.

The Zeitoun neighborhood in January 2009
(last photo courtesy of the Independent)

The Samouni family lives in an outlying region of Gaza city called Zeitoun (Arabic for olive) and indeed I saw many olive trees as well as other cultivated plants. My first impression was about all the rebuilding I observed. How much was destroyed? How did people live during the immediate aftermath of the attacks during Operation Cast Lead? Why did the Israelis attack? Where’d the money for rebuilding come from? What do the survivors experience now? How deep is the suffering? How are the children doing?

Zeitoun in January 2009

To some extent I was able to begin answering these questions in a few ways: wandering around, observing, photographing what appeared to my eyes and lens; a formal interview with 2 boys about 10 years old (movie forthcoming); and a long discussion later with Adie who’s done extensive reporting on this affair and promised to send me information (linked below). I expect to research it as well, and perhaps blog and post photos about it, maybe even—because I used the video capability of my still photo camera—insert something into the main movie Tom and I are making. A pity we didn’t have our video team with us.

Trampling on the bedding of the family whose house these soldiers confiscated

Col. Ilan Malka, under investigation for ordering the Samouni massacre
(Photo by Dudu Azoulay)

The boys were very eager to use my camera. Inge had warned me about this. I’d forgotten until a boy appeared with a beautiful Canon Powershot SX 20, a recent model of what I have, the SX 3. Is this his family’s camera? was my first thought. Then I recalled seeing it with Inge, asked her, she confirmed, hers, lent to the boy who was unwilling to share it with others. We photographed each other. Eventually some boys used my camera so the photos from this session are of mixed origin. I noticed an extraordinary one of Inge that I know I didn’t make—I’m still too shy to come in too close, but one of the boys has passed thru that stage.

Kanaan in a tent some of the family lived in
while rebuilding their homes

Inge Neefs, photo by Kanaan Samouni

Adie gave an English lesson, the girls seemed very involved. Inge and I sat with one of the families outside a tent they’d used while rebuilding their home. The woman was especially gracious. She witnessed her husband’s execution, as did her children.

Adie Mochmeh giving an English lesson (while learning Arabic)

I asked Adie, what do you think the Israeli logic was that led to this killing? Hard to know. Some of the men were affiliated with Islamic Jihad but that’s true of every neighborhood. The Israelis systematically bombed, routed families, shot men and kids, destroyed buildings, prohibited emergency services from entering, left people bleeding to death, and commandeered a house and left it with shit on the floor [the mark of the most moral army in the world?] and graffiti promising to return and kill more [I’ve photographed this, heard about it, now witnessed it, assuming it was not implanted by Palestinians hoping to garner support].

Any accountability? I asked. Some very slight, he answered, one court case, probably against a soldier, not an officer.

Israeli soldiers murdered this man in front of his family

Later, reading Adie’s article, thinking about what I’d seen and who I’d met, considering the wanton, heedless, insane brutality by the Israelis, I felt deep outrage—and sorrow. Why this killing and destruction? What effect on the men who perpetrated this massacre, and on the population that supported it, the leaders that inspired and condoned it, the rabbis who blessed it? The city on a hill, a model of a democracy in the Middle East? When I’m home I plan to continue my research and advocacy, in large part, using the Goldstone report.

I was well aware that each person I met and observed had been stricken by the attacks of January 3 thru 5, 2009. What was I doing at that moment, where was I, how aware was I of what was happening in the Zeitoun neighborhood of Gaza city?

I learned someone who’d traveled thru with a circus from the UK had raised money to purchase winter clothing for the children. Some $4000, and Adie and ISM bought the coats, all new, locally at a discount. They were of different sizes, one man with a list distributed them, one woman who’d come with us and who’d translated the interview for me aided the distribution. As we left a woman complained that the coat given her child had a broken zipper. Adie promised to replace the jacket.

The money for reconstruction had come from private Islamic agencies. And perhaps the UN had a role. I assume most of the building material comes thru the tunnels since this is not an official UN project. From what Adie told me I estimate about half the houses originally in the neighborhood were destroyed. Some 5 new ones were going up.

Mosque

Unknown are the after effects of this violence. How do the kids feel about Jews, Israelis, foreigners, Arabs from other lands? I don’t have much insight into this. Perhaps the faces I show will reveal answers. Always faces, especially eyes.

Conclude with 3 dreams: in one I was with others examining the interior of a destroyed house (looking much like ones I’ve seen in Gaza, but in the dream the location was not Gaza), we decided to leave. I believe we’d entered thru a small opening in the ceiling, a few of us managed to get out thru it, but I was stuck inside. I had no idea where to place my feet. I began to panic. I felt the house might imminently collapse on me.

In another I carried a toddler on my back, old enough to talk to me, mature enough to tease me by tickling my neck. We had to cross a street with heavy traffic. I worried.

And in a third I attended a meeting or film showing about an ex soldier who’d been heroized for his bravery—not in combat but in refusing to wage war. The movie turned into the real thing, him demonstrating his bravery. The audience rose to give him a standing ovation.

So goes my dream report from last night.

Graffiti left by Isareli soldiers

“I speak English”

CODA

From Adie Mormech: Fida Qishta, an independent Gazan documentary maker made a short and very moving film “Where Should the Birds Fly?” from footage she shot during Operation Cast Lead about Mona Samouni and what happened to her family. In it, while walking through the ruins of her home, Mona recited a verse by the Palestinian writer, Lutfi Yassini:

I’m the Palestinian child,

I carried the grief early,

All the world forgot me,

They closed their eyes [to] my oppression,

I’m steadfast,

I’m steadfast.

LINKS

Two Palestinian Stories: Mona Samouni and Dr Mona El Farra by Adie Mormech

Goldstone report (Report of the United Nations Fact Finding Mission on the Gaza Conflict) about the Samouni attacks, executive summary

Jeremy Bowen around the ruins of her house in his BBC documentary “Gaza, Out of the Ruins”

“Amid dust and death, a family’s story speaks for the terror of war,” by Rory McCarthy in Zeitoun, 19 January 2009 21.26 GMT

“IDF Investigates Commander in al-Samouni Gaza Massacre” Tikkun Magazine, October 2010

Culture jamming

Culture jamming applied to Israel-Palestine

Itisapartheid

Israel Apartheid Week

Rana Baker’s blog: “Palestine: Memory Drafts and Future Alleys”

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Detroit-part 12 (Assembly of Anti-Zionist Jews)

Excerpts from my journal while in Detroit, moving backwards (not always), last to first.

About deindustrialization, depopulation, residential and commercial vacancy, corruption of capitalism—and the rise of urban gardens, local resistance and activist organizations—ending with news about the US Social Forum, Allied Media Conference, and the first public national gathering of anti-Zionist Jews in the United States.

In several parts, with periodic photos and videos.

A photographer is not a soldier nor a refugee, he is a spectator who tries to show a situation and if possible, also show how it feels. (emphasis added)

—Bill Burke

June 22, 2010, Tuesday, Detroit, home of KD

As I wrote Y yesterday, responding to her long letter:

The big news today at the assembly of Jews confronting racism and Israeli occupation—you’ve heard about this no doubt on Amy Goodman and Democracy Now and thru my emails today—was the Oakland picket that at least temporarily prevented the offloading of an Israeli ship. Whether it will offload somewhere else or later in Oakland is a question. Observing the growing solidarity between Palestine and workers around the world (including South Africa) is heartening. The Assembly [of Anti Zionist Jews] gave the bearer of the news a standing ovation.

Big news indeed, generating the most vociferous acclamation during of the entire Assembly, so far. I read later that the ship would probably be allowed to offload within 24 hours, which seems a huge mistake of the organizers, maybe result of negotiation, or simply caving in. I posted to my Levant list and others 2 items about this, hearing back from Sahar and Ellen C almost immediately.

Being with so many anti Zionist Jews fills me with hope. Yesterday I wore my Refuser Solidarity Network t-shirt to the Assembly realizing, this is about the only place I know of where I can wear this shirt and shirts like it among communities of Jews where I won’t get yelled and spat at, ostracized, threatened with arrest, or stoned. No one commented on it, which I thought slightly odd.

I missed all the workshops of the Assembly, not by intention, more by sloppiness and laggardliness. I’d intended to enter the spiritual and cultural reclamation workshop but I was late by 1 hour, which would mean missing 1/2, and the room was packed. So later I sat in with a group formed to discuss questions raised by the workshop. I thought this might be an ideal moment to dip into Judaism, learn more.

Initial questions were about definitions of spiritual, cultural, and reclamation, moving to the question of whether appearing spiritual can be a strategic decision, whether being spiritual is necessary to be an effective anti Zionist, and whether we should attempt a reclamation or “clamation.” I.e., claim to be the real or true Jews.

All very rich and informative. My contributions were to suggest the notion that spirituality is the adherence in practice to ancient wisdoms, teachings, principles. I admitted to not being a Jew (could anyone guess?), that I attended mainly to learn, and my spirituality is attempting to ground myself by listening to that still small voice inside. Furthermore, explaining that I make photo presentations about Palestine/Israel to my Quaker community, I believe appearing to be spiritual can widen the audience, that I’ve been criticized for not being sufficiently spiritual, not a real Quaker. When we closed by each expressing what stood out from the discussion, I said one word: parallels.

We’d opened by stating our name and then the pronoun by which we’d prefer used to refer to us. What, I asked, is that second question? Are you a he, she, or it? Oh, sexuality identification. You can call me a he/him. One woman wished to be referred to as it. Is this not a mark of radicalism and youth?

Along with this self-referential question is that of the toilets: maintain gender separation or blur it? Initially blur was the decision so one day I walked into what I thought was the men’s room and found 2 women waiting for the stall. Would I embarrass anyone is if use the urinal? Not at all, go right ahead. Then, due to opposition from the management, the organizers removed the use any signs to reveal the older his and hers. We were encouraged, however, to do what we wished regarding toilet choice.

2 serendipitous occurrences, as often happens at such events: 1^st, meeting a young man on duty as peacekeeper. Wearing a large hoop in one ear, sporting a short black beard, himself short, I learned he will graduate from Hampshire College next year, is part of the divestment movement there, and with his group ponders how to meet the challenge of transience—students leaving the schools that had been the sites of their organizing. No answers, he said, and I suggested that he and they look at other student movements with the same problems, like the civil rights and anti Vietnam War movements. I gave him one of my handbills announcing next fall’s tour, hoping he could arrange a presentation at Hampshire.

The 2^nd occurrence was meeting Tova Purlmutter at the Unitarian Universalist church as I tried to visit the Nakba photo exhibit, organized by Jewish Voice for Peace. She got me in, shared to some small extent my thrill when I saw about 6 of my photos in the exhibit, and as we were parting asked me to contribute something to the auction her organization, The Sugar Law Center for Economic and Social Justice, is mounting in November. A photo from the Gaza series that I’ll exhibit at the US Social Forum. I noticed that Rula Halawani also contributed many photos to the exhibit, my once-colleague from my ill-fated Birzeit University experience.

The curators hope to tour the show, I offered to help find a site in Boston, Alice Rothchild will give a short presentation, Voices Across the Divide, on Thursday using her video interviews with Nakba survivors. Tova informed me that Alice’s mother had done a similar project about holocaust survivors. This is emblematic—a generational difference, a transition of attention, who is spotlighted?

Everywhere I turn I pick up aspects of the new day dawning: Jews and others opening of their eyes to the truths of Palestine/Israel. I can feel the buzz at the Assembly expressing a belief that they are part of an unstoppable movement.

However—and there is always a however—forces on the other side are strengthening and becoming more active. Karen told me about a group with the name of something like Huras, orchestrating defense of Israel. This might relate to the Re-brand Israel campaign that promotes ways of talking to counter Palestinian rights claims. As Tova said, this is a generational phenomenon, the olders being more supportive of Israel than the youngers. As others have asked, what is left if Israel is dismantled as a Jewish-only state, if anti-anti-Semitism in discredited?

Our research shows that Israel’s brand is essentially the conflict, said Ido Aharoni, the ministry official in charge of the program. Even those who recognize that Israel is in the right are not attracted to it, because they see it as a supplier of bad news. The conclusion is that it is more important for Israel to be attractive than to be right. (Anshel Pfeffer writing in Ha’aretz, October 6, 2008)

I am hopeful, not optimistic.

Walking up to the International Institute around lunchtime, I noticed a large “sub assembly” outside finishing their lunches. This, thought I, might make a good video. I’ll just meander thru the various groupings and show the variety of attendees. I did this but 3 times was gently stopped and reminded about many not wishing to be identified as a participant, not quoted, not recorded in anyway that would identify them. Yes, I know about this policy, that those wishing anonymity are wearing orange tags, I said, and agree with it, and I’m trying hard to split my attention between the video making and the needs of others.

Now, I wonder, what do I do to conceal identities but maintain the continuity of a single take? Learn how to blur selected portions of the frame; it’s done all the time. Maybe Tom can help me.

The reasons for the concealment range but are mostly wishing not to suffer should anyone connect them with the Assembly. People could lose jobs, sever from families, maybe destroy relationships. An indication of the power of the Israel lobby and Zionism generally. [I plan to post this once I've blurred certain faces.]

A few observations about Detroit: the word does not mean by the water as I’d thought, but by the strait, it is on the water link between 2 of the Great Lakes, Erie and Huron. In all my Detroit traveling so far, we’ve not passed one supermarket, nowhere to buy more than the rudiments except at liquor stores, a sure sign of desolation. Ditto for parks, Karen confirming my impression that Detroit seems to lack parks, despite the gobs of open space and the legacy of French urban planning.

Rick attended a Bury the Hummer event organized by the intrepid women of Code Pink. They bought a burned out abandoned Hummer in a junkyard, towed it to the Heidelberg art installation, hired a backhoe, dug a pit, dumped the Hummer in it. They did not fully cover it so it will remain a testament to the folly of that insane vehicle, poke jabs at local Blacks who might prefer Hummers, and footnote “the Detroit miracle” generally when Hummers probably were birthed. Now they die, or will soon.

Similarly, cultural jamming. Dunya gave another presentation that went over very well with the Assembly. They cheered at most instances of jamming—subway ads, bus shelter ads, slide projection, etc. [Recently, September 2010, she sent information about cultural jamming in Emeryville CA alerting people to Hewlett Packard supplying Israel with electronic surveillance equipment used at the checkpoints [including a video that seems to have temporarily disappeared from YouTube.]

Joey phoned, Y wrote, Lynn wrote on my wall, all wishing me happy dad’s day, but nothing so far from Katy. Which doesn’t alarm me, I trust her love remains firm despite a slight oversight. I will not de-home her.

As I sat in front of the Detroit Institute for the Arts, just outside the International Institute where the Assembly is based, I wrote Y, pleased she’d written me such a long loving letter, and eager to reply. She is house-sitting for me while I am here in Detroit. Yesterday also I land-mailed the card I’d written with well wishes as she travels west, a minor twist on our old tradition of offering to each other a short message of inspiration as one sets off on a journey. Collecting these might provide a cross section of our relationship.

I wrote about the bus ride, quoting my journal, then added:

I think you would have appreciated the tour I took a few days ago via the Allied Media Conference, the east side of Detroit, beginning with an abandoned auto factory, moving to a controversial new industrial site which displaced many residents and was billed as providing many jobs (not yet appearing), and ending at an urban garden named Freedom Freedom (I’m not sure why the doubling), built cleverly on abandoned land. Nearby we visited a scrap art installation that has been 2 times destroyed by the city and remains opposed by many in the community. Later I’ll send photos and video from this tour.

She’d written:

Happy Dad’s day, dear Skip

I remain happily here in your home–a hot thundery day today with high humidity–so I have the big fan on exhausting all the indoor hot air. did some watering to supplement the showers that came with the passing storm and will tie up tomatoes.

And besides writing about the Buddhist day of mindfulness, she added:

One more special thing–quite by chance I crossed paths with George C while walking to Sparks St. We had a little chat (not much time) and i told him–as it seemed overwhelmingly true in that moment–that he is looking more and more like Gandhi (the nose, the mustache). He was touched. And I noted that there was a speck of orange dust on his nose, which I asked his permission to dust off while we were talking (granted). I said George–this looked like pollen, have you been walking up this street smelling the flowers? He admitted to having stuck his nose into a lily and we both laughed at the delight of it. The little orange speck was quite becoming, like the touch of red people wear on their foreheads at Divali. So that was a very good encounter–so appropriate. he is such a lovely guy.

[George is one of the few in my primary community sharing my passion and activism for Palestinian rights, a tight bond.]

And now I’m back to work on my papers for Tufts–in your lovely workspace. thank you skip–and blessings on your journey.

If there is any “shopping bag” (like the one from Atlanta) at this SF [Social Forum—we’d attended that together], please get me one if you can.

We continue to feel the love that is part of friendship, committed by not being committed—filial rather than erotic, romantic, “in love,” or partnered.  Perhaps something more enduring. Agapic, magnanimous—for the other, rather than primarily for the self.

Karen and I are getting along well, she a distinct blessing to my experience. We dined together again last night at the Cass Café, continuing to flow naturally together. We wrote on one email to Anne, me asking Anne to guess who I’m with. She seems deeply interested in what I’ve been doing and thinking, asks many questions about the immediate and the historic. Outside the International Institute she introduced me to a tall young man who turned out to be the man assisting me with participation in the Palestine tent, Andrew. Last night we were lost together in Detroit, trying to get home after the fireworks, which we watched from the top of a parking garage at Wayne State University. I feel in a couple with her and that she shares this. We make decisions together, laugh together, are a compatible team.

However…

If only, if only…

Rick, very astute on these matters, always loving to hear me expound on my latest heartthrob, suggested we might make a couple. I shook my head, no Rick, my buddy, I don’t think so.

LINKS

“Cost-Cutting Detroit Will Close 77 Parks,” June 25, 2010

Assembly of Anti Zionist Jews

Allied Media Conference

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Detroit-part 10 (US Social Forum, hydropolitics, & Grace Lee Boggs)

Excerpts from my journal while in Detroit, moving backwards (not always), last to first.

About deindustrialization, depopulation, residential and commercial vacancy, corruption of capitalism—and the rise of urban gardens, local resistance and activist organizations—ending with news about the US Social Forum, Allied Media Conference, and the first public national gathering of anti-Zionist Jews in the United States.

In several parts, with periodic photos and videos.

INVITATION: MIDWEST PHOTOGRAPHIC PRESENTATION TOUR ABOUT PALESTINE & ISRAEL (Oct 12 – Nov 7, 2010)

…Detroit’s notorious devastation is not a natural disaster but a man-made Katrina, the inevitable result of illusions and contradictions in our insane 20th century pursuit of unlimited economic growth. [In a new documentary, Requiem for Detroit?] we witness autoworkers reduced to robots producing Henry Ford’s Model Ts—and then struggling to reclaim their humanity through sit-down strikes or battling Ford’s goons at the overpass. We meet Southern blacks who relish the “freedom” of Northern cities but also experience the racial tensions that exploded here in 1943 and 1967. Cars that grow the profits of the auto industry speed by on freeways which destroy neighborhoods to provide escape routes to the suburbs. Neighborhoods are turned into war zones as the drug trade replaces jobs that have been exported overseas.

…The new American Dream emerging in Detroit is a deeply-rooted spiritual and practical response to the devastation and dehumanization created by the old dream. We yearn to live more simply  so that all of us and the Earth can simply live. This more human dream began with African American elders, calling themselves the Gardening Angels. Detroit’s vacant lots, they decided, were not signs of urban blight but heaven-sent spaces to plant community gardens, both to grow our own food and to give urban youth the sense of process, self-reliance, and evolution that everyone needs to be human.

That’s why growing numbers of artists and young people are coming to Detroit. They want to be part of building a City of Hope that grows our souls rather than our cars.

—Grace Lee Boggs

June 24, 2010, Thursday, Detroit, home of KD

Yesterday at the first full day of the Forum, I attended a morning workshop whose leader had written me in the spring with a specific invitation to join a conversation about arts and activism. At that earlier point they were contemplating using the panel format but yesterday’s workshop was entirely and blessedly different: very interactive. We first walked slowly and then hurriedly in the group tightly packed, loosening up, avoiding bumping while making some contact. Then stop and reach out to someone nearby, touch their shoulder, say who you are and what you are bringing, doing, hoping, etc. Then in a circle one person begins a game by saying, all my people who are photographers doing social justice work, or the like, prompts all who are doing this to scoot across the circle to exchange places. We stood shoulder to shoulder. One is left out who then announced, all my people who are making murals. Etc.

Small groups, large group, and other devices brought us together as artists or near artists working for transformation of systems. In my small group I met 3 young black people working in their Chicago high school to foster deeper food awareness. Beginning on Earth Day and lasting an entire week, they focused on food—buying and eating healthfully, and tending the earth. The themes of the small groups were stories of success, lessons learned, and challenges faced. Our group spoke about breaking the quotidian trap, finding a wider audience, generating media attention, making the work more collaborative, and using the values of a group we’d like to penetrate, like the Tea Partyers, and then subverting or transforming those values, as one in our group did about single payer health coverage.

Rather than attend the first of 2 afternoon workshop sessions I wandered around the huge hall housing table displays. Each stop I made of about 6 was a mini workshop, tailored precisely to my needs, one on one, and highly engaging. I met a representative of Friends of the Earth US, the Palestine center from Chicago where I remet Jeff from the International Solidarity Movement who I’d first met in Palestine 3 years ago, an online Palestine store, an anti-racist org, a group fostering awareness of democracy in college age people, the Christian Peacemaker Teams, and the American Friends Service Committee where I learned about a program on later that week that they sponsor about Palestine, and many others.

Gaza, August 2009

I’ve not found yet a space to hang my Gaza photos. Checking the tent area early morning with Rick, Grove, and meeting Dave Matos, my tour organizer, we all were disturbed by the tent’s distance from the main events, and that they had no walls. There is an emigration from this area, nearly 1 mile away, which is not a scenic walk, to Cobo Hall where most events will be held.

The final workshop, attended with Ridgeley from Waltham, a gutsy feisty woman on the Israel-Palestine topic, was about journalism in Israel-Palestine with representatives from the Electronic Intifada. Departing from the popular education model favored at the Forum, 2 young women, one a writer, one an editor, spoke mostly about the work of Electronic Intifada, and principles of good journalism. They began by having us brainstorm topics for stories, I suggested comparing Wounded Knee and the Nakba. I thought then we might work one thru but instead we examined selected stories Electronic Intifada had published.

Not bad, but most of the material I knew and felt confident many others did as well. Yet, the 2 hours were useful.

We took the evening off; I missed the 95^th birthday party for the preeminent Detroit based political organizer, Grace Lee Boggs. Y is tuned to the Forum thru Democracy Now, wrote me to not miss the Boggs’ party. It started at 9 PM, Rick and I wished to be home to rest and plan our workshops for today. I also wanted to do my laundry.

James Boggs & Grace Lee Boggs

On the way home we shopped for food in our neighborhood, more than an ordinary event. To locate a major food source is a chore here; we’ve seen nothing in all our driving around Detroit. We heard about one, some 1-mile north of home on Wyoming St. It is adequate. We are now well stocked with food, including some of my necessities like peanut butter, yogurt (no large containers, only the small heavily sweetened portions), bananas, cottage cheese, cheese, bread, etc.

I worked on my Hydropolitics of Palestine/Israel workshop plan last evening, tuning it to the Forum workshop context. Awakening around 2 am, I had a rough time falling back to sleep. Once again, the Hour of the Wolf syndrome kept me awake while flooding me with new ideas. Among them, mentioning to my upcoming Hydropolitics workshop Detroit’s founding along the strait between 2 major rivers, the name Detroit itself expressing this idea in French—along the strait.

Another storm hit us last night, with wind, lightning, and thunder, plus driving rain. Much like the storm I suffered while busing back home last week. For this entertainment we’d assembled on the front porch, mostly out of the rain, exclaiming our joy at the fireworks.

In the first of 2 dreams last night I was tending a little girl, whether Katy, my daughter, or Eleanor, her daughter, is not clear. We’d been at some sort of gathering, talked as adults together, ate lunch provided by others, and then headed off on a walk. We came to a median strip, took a break, when I noticed P, Katy’s mother, moving toward us. Guess who’s coming to meet us? I said, with much excitement. Eleanor turned her head, saw grandma, began running toward her when Eleanor fell down and furiously vomited. P and I were alarmed. The dream ended.

Eleanor

In the second I was with a woman with whom I’d established cordial relations. She did not resemble any of the women I know. She was pleasant, moderately attractive, without much frisson but possessed enough to generate my interest. We sat near each other at a table with others, found ourselves peering deeply into each other’s eyes as a signal of recognition that we had become a couple. We also rubbed knees together, another sign known only to us. The dream ended. Both dreams ended inconclusively, as the majority of my dreams do.

These 2 dreams represent two points of my passions: grand parenting and adult love. Also the two themes mix—my relationship with a little girl as another type of love.

TO BE CONTINUED

LINKS

Electronic Intifada

US Social Forum

Grace Lee Boggs, Living change: A collection of writing by the Detroit activist and educator at Yes Magazine

Grace Lee Boggs interviewed on Democracy Now by Amy Goodman

Joanna Macy writing about tar sands oil (May 25, 2009)

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