Alaskan Sojourn-1

The caravan of stars
Proceeds without a whisper or a sound;
Mountain, forest, river,
All in lull;
Nature seems lost in contemplation.
O heart, you too be still.
Hold thy grief to thy bosom, and sleep!

—Mhammad Iqbal

Excerpts from my journal during a fall 1012 West Coast tour about Israel & Palestine 

PHOTOS

Ferry: Juneau to Sitka Alaska

Sitka Alaska

September 21, 2012, Friday, on the fast ferry to Sitka from Juneau

 Cool, probably in the 40s, foggy.

The Sitka trip offers soft time, time between the presentations I make. The ferry ride is about 4 hours, nothing much to do other than write this journal entry, photograph from the ship thru the fog and as the fog lifts (which presents opportunities for light-based photography), finish the first set of Alaska photos (flight), revise shows, read mail, etc. And then when I can connect with the internet, post the first photo set and do more Israel-Palestine research.

Currently we are in and out of fog. The early morning fog was so thick Elaine worried the ferry might be postponed. Flights are often cancelled. The region is highly weather-dependent, one of its many gifts. I so enjoy Alaska—short term, dropping in to be more directly earth-connected, and then returning to my much-loved city life in the east.

As I entered Alaska after a 12-hour series of flights from my home in Cambridge I slowed down. As I entered the Schroeder home where I will live for 2 weeks I slowed down further (except to revise slide shows). As I boarded the ferry I slowed down even further, and then with the delay to Sitka I am nearly at a standstill. Very calm, tranquil, unworried.

Except for 2 factors: the shows themselves, their quality, how audiences will respond, and T, what I mean to her, she to me.

About one hour ago, the ship shook and shuddered, nearly bounced in the water. Elaine, in the women’s bathroom, emerged to check. She looked shocked. Others stopped their reading and eating. I was standing and instinctively ducked when the ship shook.

We had hit submerged debris that has now stuck in one of the 4 water jets. Trying different maneuvers such as reversing direction, blowing the water forward, the captain attempts to eject the debris. So far, no luck. A long ride made longer. At least he gives us up-to-date and I hope honest information.

September 22, 2012, Saturday, home of L, Sitka

Cool, probably in the low 50s, fog in the mountains, half clear in the town.

I sit at a long wooden table in the spacious second story living space (living-dining-cooking combined) of an elegant 2 story home built high on a hill overlooking the water and mountains. The high plateau was first inhabited by Russian pioneers—white inhabitants, not sure if natives lived here—since the early 1700s.

Our host, L, is a short demure woman, probably Jewish (her mother from Russia), who works as a clinical director, former teacher (so Elaine and L have much in common). Her husband, in Arizona to be qualified for a municipal job, is a company executive. She sculpts, he paints, their house is a model of fine artistry, the building itself and what’s on the walls and shelves.

The ferry was about one hour late because the captain never succeeded to eject the debris that clogged one of the water jets. Subsequently several Sitka residents complained about these new fast ferries, beset with numerous problems, a law suit pending from the state of Alaska against the German company who designed and built the ships.

Last evening we attended a dinner, maybe generated by my presence, altho no one asked me to speak to the group, and one fellow, Don the ACLU lawyer, had no idea who I was or why I was at the dinner. For me the most engaging conversation—all were, it was a politically savvy group as far as I could determine, hovering around a rather dormant peace and justice group that Don and Cindy, our 2 hosts and local organizers—was about the human-non human animal connection. A young woman sitting next to me with an engaging giggle, married to a dour fellow, Beth’s son (one year in Nablus might do that to anyone) works with what she calls “sustainable ag,” meaning good practices agriculture, related how important bonding is to humane slaughter. An odd combo of feelings and actions indeed. I told the Lakota story of White Buffalo Calf Woman as an illustration of human-animal interaction.

Previously Don had escorted us on a walk thru Totem Park, which I’d explored in 1988 as part of my camping-biking excursion during my first Alaskan exploit. Don, Elaine, and I observed spawning salmon, laboring upstream to deposit their eggs in cavities they’d shaped in the sand and gravel, then to die. Males fertilize the eggs and also die. We heard eagles, observed very tall magnificent hemlock and spruce trees with exposed upper roots (they grow on “nurse trees,” fallen trees that provide nutrients while they rot away), smelled the decomposing salmon, and I imagined being an Indian long ago—or just a few days ago.

September 23, 2012, Sunday, home of L, Sitka, Alaska

Cool, probably in the low 50s, fog in the mountains, overcast with altocumulus in the town, rain last evening.

One dream in a period of paucity: I watched a movie which might also have been reality. The filmmaker or protagonist was about to torture a man to death. He used a portable circular saw, AKA buzz saw, and planned—I’m not sure how the audience or I knew his intention, maybe he announced it as part of the torture regime—to begin at feet and slowly move up. He would saw or buzz off the victim’s genitals. I knew also the response of the victim: to absorb it, not be terrified by it. I was both victim and torturer.

Yesterday Don and Cindy took Elaine and me hiking in the Beaver Lake area, driving past the old pulp mill site (which Don helped close down by his revelations about the pollution the mill generated) to reach the trailhead. We hiked into thick forest, trees taller than any in the northeast, up grade to Beaver Lake, around the lake, passing thru a landslide area created one year ago and that was recently cleared using dynamite, into a muskeg plateau where we joked about the word suggesting a beverage, and back. Hard work, hard on my arthritic knees, a few photos.

Don and I reminisced about our Cambodia pilgrimage in 1995. He remembered one of the international walkers railing against the noise in the wats [temples]. He returns regularly and plans a long solo bike ride next year thru much of Cambodia. Re-meeting Don after nearly 20 years is one of the big pluses of this journey. Also connecting with activists. Elaine and Cindy discussed meeting in Juneau to coordinate actions. Another plus of this journey.

Along with what I learn about where I visit. Instance: Sitka is among the 5 most active ports in the entire country, commercial and sport fishing mostly.

In the evening we attended a benefit dinner for RESULTS-The Power to End Poverty, a lobbying organization for progressive causes like micro lending. The keynote speaker was the founder of FINCA, a micro-lending group that postdated the Grameen bank by about 8 years. We ate Moroccan food catered by Ludvig’s, said by some to be the best restaurant in all of the States. I was not impressed with the cuisine, might have made better myself.

I learned that L’s father had been a Jewish army photographer who was part of the liberation of the Nazi death camps. Traumatized and tortured by what he saw and showed, he became obsessed about his experience, put his photos all around the house, and said repeatedly, we can’t let this holocaust happen again.

I asked her what her turning points were, how even tho raised Jewish, she became an activist for Palestinian rights. She admitted to an early fondness for Israel, but as she learned more about its policies, slowly ended her unqualified support. She’s never visited. As Elaine noticed, 2 of the 3 most politically active people we’ve met so far in Sitka are Jewish, L and Cindy. Contrasting with Juneau where none of the activists Elaine knows are Jewish.

One major snag: inexplicably (but this is the way of computers), my Dreamweaver [software for website design and maintenance] won’t work. So presently I have no access to my website, can’t update the itinerary, or post photos. Yesterday I downloaded a copy and hope to successfully install it this morning. All will work out I’m sure.

LINKS

Results, The Power to End Poverty

Alaska Marine Highway System

Tour itinerary

With an Open Heart, Israel & Palestine—Report of a west coast tour, fall 2012

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Travel Journal, North Carolina to Florida, February 15, 2009—day fifteen

Traveling with Machsom Watch, leaving Jaffa-Tel Aviv at 6 am

Entrance to the huge illegal Israeli settlement/colony of Ariel, north of Ramallah

At home in Cambridge Massachusetts I am now recounting my trip to southeast USA with my photographic presentations about Palestine & Israel, in 15 parts, one for each day.

Photos from the trip, In passing: the south :: February 2009

Report of the trip

Photos in this entry from In the West Bank with Machsom Watch and Esti Tsal (November 2007)—part 1

Machsom Watch (Checkpoint Watch), a group of volunteer Israeli women, monitors checkpoints in the occupied Palestinian territories. Esti Tsal led me and a few friends on her monitoring session, meeting us in Jaffa-Tel Aviv, and driving effortlessly into settlements to demonstrate how easy being oblivious to the occupation is for most Israelis.

It is 7 AM on the train home, crossing one of the many rivers in and near DC, passing government buildings, most empty since this is Sunday, sitting in the café car sipping Amtrak coffee, nibbling on dates, Newton fig bars, grapes, watching people come and go with their breakfasts and a tad sore from the night sleeping in the coach which required sharing my 2 seater with a fairly large friendly young man.

I am slowly mastering the art of sleeping on a train, discovering how to stretch, roll to one side to relieve aches, treat my arthritis with respect and love, not worry too much about not deep sleeping. I’m aware I sleep when I awaken to a dream.

My night seatmate lives in Lynn Massachusetts, grew up in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, moved north for work because he was sick of Florida and now wishes to return home. He’d been visiting friends. He stayed up long past my bedtime when sleeping on trains (about 8:30) to play video games on his tiny $300 laptop. He told me earlier that while coming south by train he couldn’t sleep until he loaded himself with beer.

Advertising subsidized housing, Ariel

Ariel

The off day in Jacksonville turned out to be mostly 1. visiting with Z and his family, including his gorgeous and outgoing kids, 2. taking in the several exhibits at the Museum of Contemporary Art, including selections form their permanent photo collection, 3. appreciating a coffee house and bookstore, also the library with its excellent collection of displayed photos, 4. fruitlessly searching for the Museum of the South which turned out to be a closed storefront, and 5. worrying about when V and M, the two Syrian women who’d become my designated drivers, would return from shopping to drive me to the train station. They’d found a discount outlet for high-end women’s clothing and each bought large basketfuls of clothes. M forgot our meeting time and had left her cell phone in the SUV so I couldn’t remind her.

Z is encouraging me to circulate my slide shows more widely, either by establishing a program which would train people to give the shows, ala Al Gore, or put them into DVD form, also ala Gore. I favor the second, and remember that he’s not the first to suggest this. He thought videoing was fundable, and that as a last resort he might himself fund it. I’m to research methods and costs. The video that folks did in Aiken might be a pilot. I’m eager to consider this possibility; I’m heartened that people suggest it, affirming the value of my programs.

He seems deeply committed to social transformation. We discussed why so many are so mute on this topic, inactive, dormant. His main suggestion was the fullness of time, i.e., people are too busy. He himself works long hours as a cardiologist, then he has his family obligations. I can guess that buying things occupies him as well, the house for instance, that he recently moved into. When driving me in his relatively new BMW sports car—he also had a BMW SUV—he confessed, I’m embarrassed by this car, never thought to consider its gas mileage and now I can’t sell it.

Hawwara checkpoint

Rick, Marty, Esti Tsal

Preparing to leave, the family gave me a large plastic bag of food for the train, fresh grapes, high quality dates (the moist kind), flat bread, rolled cheese, and a large heavy box of Arabic sweets. Plus anything else I might desire and be able to fit into my luggage. I declined. Z also donated about $250, making some $500 from this venue alone, probably my most generous of this trip.

His home: maybe 6,000 sq ft (compared to my 700), or more, a pool, large lawn, long corridors, high ceilings, plenitude of toys and games and food and furniture. He might be embarrassed by this as well. Despite his consumer patterns he seemed to genuinely feel my life style was laudable. He said so, referring several times to my life as a model, my life as a story, which may be the most impressive component in my presentations. Not so much my economic picture but my obvious willingness to face danger to foster justice and peace.

When I use the word shaheed referring to Rachel Corrie and more generally those who die because of the struggle, a martyr, audiences might perceive that Skip Schiel also could become a shaheed. Would this be the ultimate irony in my shows?

Rick told to go back, Hawwara

Once situated in my rented 30-hour mobile home, the train, I began culling from my travel journal, to consider a blog form. Since I’ve made very few photos on this trip (an entire batch perhaps lost to a memory card malfunction) I might use photos from the shows. The simple act of culling is a review, a digestion, a contemplation of what I’ve just done. Culling always raises the questions of relevance and propriety—what fits and how much to disclose? Instance: excising the woman I shared a seat with to Ashville NC when arriving in the south because it is so personal and irrelevant.

After reaching home I will total up shows given, audiences shown to, money earned. And I will delight in deciding how much and how to donate to various Palestine/Israel organizations, Ma’an Development Center tops among them. (Reminding me that I’ve heard nothing from my friend in Gaza in weeks who works for Ma’am, Yusef. Is he alive?)

Examining for explosive belts, Hawwara

I wish I could say more about my impressions of Jacksonville. Big, sprawling, sandy, close to water, both the ocean and a large river. Relatively new, multi cultural, high crime rate, not teeming with cultural amenities. What is its history, its destiny? Would I ever consider a photo project about Florida? Why not? One stream might be retracing the route and experiences of my parents while they honeymooned there. I vividly recall a photo of them standing proudly together on a high rock, both looking so young, elegant, beautiful and happy.

Yesterday was Valentine’s Day. I received one, from the older of the two Z daughters. Cut out from red paper, inscribed to “Mr. Schiel.” But without a declaration of love, which is appropriate. We just met and she is no more than 8 years old. Otherwise, no messages of love. Except one: a bulk mailing from Chris J. Oh well, my reality. And oh well, perhaps today when I open my email I’ll find a little surprise. But then I shouldn’t discount the many recent letters from Y, remaining one of my most reliable correspondents. And then I could inquire: have I sent any love messages out? (I’ve not.)

Esti with the District Coordination Officer

It is now 7:30 AM, just leaving DC, clear sky, sun fully up, cold weather. We are racing thru the countryside just outside DC. Rails better here? Where is Obama at this moment and what is he doing? Since he and Michelle have enrolled their two daughters in a Quaker school, is he tempted to attend a Quaker meeting with his family?

—February 15, 2009, Sunday, on the train, written in and while pulling out of the DC railroad station

This is the last in this series. For a full report.

Machsom Watch volunteers relieving Esti

Machsom Watch

Report of April 4, 2009, 8:25 AM

The traffic of pedestrians into the town is heavy. The narrow turnstiles are crowded and jammed. The Palestinians complain that the disabled crossing is not open and there is no one to talk to about it. The exit from the town is less crowded. The humanitarian lane is open. A man is detained.  According to the DCO representative he tried to cross via the humanitarian lane, he was refused and then tried his luck again in a vehicle. A while later he is released.

The queue of cars leaving the town is quite short. An x-ray machine, a dog handler and a DCO representative are present.  Three lanes are open but the inspection is slow and thorough and the queue grows and grows.

A bus driver complains that at Za’atra only buses are held up for about half an hour for an additional inspection, therefore, most of the passengers prefer to travel by taxi causing the buses to lose business. He claims that it is not fair. And the roadblock is fair?

Three photographers from ‘news agencies’ stand on the traffic island filming the queue of cars. They did not tell us what brought them to the roadblock. In the car park one can buy tea, coffee and non Passover food.

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Travel Journal, North Carolina to Florida, February 14, 2009—day fourteen

At home in Cambridge Massachusetts I am now recounting my trip to southeast USA with my photographic presentations about Palestine & Israel, in 15 parts, one for each day.

Photos from the trip, In passing: the south :: February 2009

Report of the trip

Photos in this entry from New construction at the Israeli settlement of Ma’ale Adumim, January 1, 2008

Israeli Prime Minister Olmert promised at the Annapolis talks and more clearly later to freeze all new settlement construction in the huge illegal settlement of Ma’ale Adumim in East Jerusalem (and at other selected sites). Here’s what is happening: facts on the ground.

End of the southern road, for now, and soon to be home, inshallah.

Last night’s show at the University of Northern Florida, hosted by CAIR (Council on American-Islamic Relations), an Islamic awareness group that apparently has branches throughout the United States, was spectacular. Nearly 200 people, many of them Arabic Muslim, a large contingent from Palestine, about 3 people from Gaza, many children, a group from a middle school with their young Black teacher who is an Iraq war Marine veteran, one of my best shows since I’ve come to know it so well, garnering a large financial contribution. The image was huge, tho faded; the sound clear, tho weak; my energy good, tho radio miked.

An argument broke out between two men about the role of Egypt, whether it treated the Palestinians unfairly. Yes, look at how they control the border. No, they are beholden to Israel because of the flawed peace treaty. Never experienced that particular argument during any of my shows. One boy asked if he could take a stack of Obama cards to distribute in school. Of course, and this ends my supply. Many looked thru the photos and bought some.

One woman, the heavy set woman sitting in front who read Dr Mona’s part, said during discussion, What’s the point of showing this to people like us who know all this already? Why not get it out more widely? I replied that I try, mentioning elder centers and universities and colleges. Later in a private discussion one of the Muslims disputed her, saying, We learned much. (About the American Friends Service Committee, hydropolitics, and perhaps my personal story—yes the history is well known to some, other portions are more unique, but she does raise a point: how to bring something new to an audience?)

Fadwa introduced me and like many who do this garbled my profile. For the past 10 years Mr. Schiel been teaching filmmaking at BC and he’s also a Harvard professor, he wrongly stated. People latch onto my Harvard connection and tend to exaggerate. Perhaps I should be more honest and correct them. I don’t, not entirely displeased with the illusion.

Muslim workers at prayer

I’d intended to add to my introduction the recent spate of good news I just received from Anne, about BDS (Boycott-Divestment-Sanctions), throwing shoes, and the like, didn’t have time. But I’ll add it here, summarizing:

1. An audience in Stockholm Sweden throws kisses-shoes at and hit their target,
the Israeli ambassador.

2. Numerous European countries including Spain, UK, and Norway, filed
charges before the International Criminal Court against Israeli political and military leaders, charging them with war crimes.

3. Church of England divests from Caterpillar killing bulldozer business—

http://www.alarabiya.net/articles/2009/02/09/66055.html.

4. Hampshire College becomes the first college institution in the US to divest
from Israel [this is later disputed].

5. South African dockworkers refuse to unload Israeli ships in solidarity with
the Palestinian People and in protest of the most recent genocidal Israeli
attacks on the people from Palestine/Israel. Israel allowed a small  quantity of flowers into of Gaza.

6. Boycott, sanctions, and divestment campaign against Apartheid Israel heats
up. Remember the fall of South African Apartheid. Stay optimistic and hopeful.

[However, just today, April 20, 2009, I heard on Democracy Now that more European nations, led by Israel and the US, are boycotting the UN Durban Review Conference in Geneva because of possible slanderous remarks about Zionism and racism. I’m amazed that this connection is even disputed. Was Iranian President Mahmud Ahmadinejad  a good choice for the opening day’s speaker? I have to wonder.]

Clearing land for new houses

Indeed, despite much dreary news positive news seeps thru. A truce between Hamas and Israel is in the air. How much of a tipping point in the large story of conflict will Gaza prove to be?

Two families from Syria are hosting me, L, single mother of 2 sons, living in a palatial gated community house with a golf course, and her brother, Z, with his wife and 2 girls and infant son. Y is a cardiologist, his house also is huge and feels oddly empty, maybe only because they moved into it recently.

All my hosts in Jacksonville have been uniformly grateful to me for my work, honored to be hosting me, and aware, as Z told me last night, that I’m risking my life pursuing this mission. My life is intended to speak.

Y was curious about Quakerism, asked me a few questions in the car, and claimed he did more research last night on the web. The Quaker connection seems to generate much interest from many, playing off the not fully earned reputation we have. It is a talking point, so with Christians, Jews, Muslims, people of other faiths, some institutional, some not, it helps seed the conversation. And my story concerning my relationship with Quakers is mixed, realistically mixed. A believer, but only partially. A supporter of Quaker’s, only partially. Committed, only partially. I am a human being with flaws—many of them—and a modicum of virtues.

All my hosts are extremely and sometimes embarrassingly gracious to me: feeding me (special lunch yesterday, Syrian), cleaning after me, fitting me into an electronic comfy chair, providing me a private room, shower, etc. All I could hope for, reasonably hope for.

The house is gargantuan, ceilings are high, there are numerous rooms with virtually no furnishings. Few rugs so I walk on tiles. Blank walls. Endless corridors. Extremely fashionable fixtures like toilets, sinks, fridges, washing machines. All this reminds me of some of the houses I’ve witnessed in Palestine—more than ample. Perhaps proving wealth. I’m not sure what generates this ethic.

Waiting for the show to begin, I wandered around the University of Northern Florida campus. It has many ponds, many Canada geese pooping everywhere, a few white birds I couldn’t identify, many pine trees, large buildings, the inevitable campus construction, women in shorts, men in shorts, many wearing flip flops, many people of color. But, once again, I found nothing attracting my camera.

Today: a free day in Jacksonville with L, maybe an art museum, wander the waterfront, try to make some photos, prepare for the train ride which begins at 6:30 pm if the train is on time. Thank my hosts, give them a photo, say bye, see you another time, inshallah.

It is now raining, for the first time on this trip. I will now check the weather report.

—February 14, 2009, Saturday, Jacksonville Florida

Destroyed Palestinian olive grove to make room for settlement expansion

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Travel Journal, North Carolina to Florida, February 13, 2009—day thirteen

At home in Cambridge Massachusetts I am now recounting my trip to southeast USA with my photographic presentations about Palestine & Israel, in 15 parts, one for each day.

Photos from the trip, In passing: the south :: February 2009

Report of the trip

Photos in this entry from Light rail through East Jerusalem

Suppose, without consulting you, without your permission, with no valid legal basis, through your city another city authority decides to remove two of the four lanes of your major highway—to build a light rail system. They say, “No problem, your people can use it too.” However past behavior suggests this is an empty promise. The train may run but you will not be riding it: ultimately. Such is the case in East Jerusalem, nominally Palestinian with illegal Israeli settlements pock marking the city. The system will connect Jewish West Jerusalem with settlements in East Jerusalem.

Light rail thru East Jerusalem: before construction, already jammed with traffic

Now I’m in Valdosta, a fairly large city in the southern section of Georgia. The land has turned to sand, very flat, open, homes in my neighborhood spacious, on large plots of land. I recall this being the way of Florida. I’m with M, from Tulkarem Palestine, and his wife, S, a fiery woman active on many issues. M teaches political science at a local community college, and I believe he said geography also; S has jobs but I’m not sure in what. She’s told me of numerous campaigns she’s been part of or initiated, including divestment thru her Episcopalian church; blocking the development of a stretch of earth along a local stream; and stopping the use of Styrofoam in the schools, using and then discarded by pulverizing the plastic dishware and then flushing it.

She set up a venue for me here in a church owned coffee house, Hildegard’s, perhaps named after the mystic. Downtown, large, excellent electronic facilities including a huge screen, strong sound system, good coffee, the Gaza show last night drew one of my largest crowds, maybe 60 or more. And most were young, college age almost looking like they were out for a date. Valdosta is also a college town, hosting a state university. M had warned me earlier that an event held a few days ago, a forum about Palestine/Israel, had been raucous. A group of rabbis showed up who challenged some of the speakers including him. Nothing like that last night. Despite the presence of several prominent Jews who sat silently thru the show and then left before the discussion.

Questions included how do you speak with someone with extremely supportive of Israel views, and Christian Zionists (fumbling for the answer we finally collectively landed on be respectful and listen), what to do generally in the realm of legislative pressure when the region is so conservative (form coalitions to then visit the legislators), does the Boycott-Divest-Sanction (BDS) movement have any real effect (slowly)? And here I mentioned Hampshire College apparently divesting from 6 companies that profit from the occupation including Motorola, Caterpillar, General Electric and others. When I learned about this yesterday I sent out a notification to my lists raving about Hampshire, suggesting this might be the beginning of a USA wide college based action. (I learned later the college claimed they’d not actually divested from all these corporations, and those divested from were not because of Palestine/Israel.)

I’m coming to know my show. I have nearly memorized my part, Obama. M read Yusef and Belal in his strong Palestinian accent (one of their sons is named Yusef, he hates the name, poor lad, only about 8 years old), S declined to read Dr Mona but we found a portly young woman who read beautifully. The color from the projector was distorted. I didn’t notice this until the photo of the oranges—no orange. They’d turned pale blue. Later, mentioning this to M he claimed not to have noticed. And S stated the many of the photos looked like Van Gogh’s. Perhaps I should set future showings to this off color balance.

I am winding down, not fatigued by this chore at all, but missing my privacy and freedom. Yesterday I had to truncate my journal writing, miss my emailing, jump into the car with Chris and Taylor, tear off to Macon to catch my bus. We were a planned 1.5 hours early so had time to chat with local homeless Black men hanging out at the station. Stephen, maybe high on drugs or booze, a voluble fellow who seemed to love everyone. He asked for precisely $4.13 to buy something I couldn’t understand. His accent was thick. Taylor gave him at least $2.

At a stop for lunch along the bus route I was able to make one of my rare photos: grain elevators backlit, near the parking lot.

In the car we’d discussed local organizing and their college and career plans (international work I believe, both studying Arabic and the Middle East), continuing the conversation as they waited with me for the bus counter to open. We sauntered over to the local fast food emporium, something like IHOP, for egg sandwiches and hash browns. 4 hours later, the equivalent of a ride between Boston and NYC, I landed in Valdosta and eventually met my host here, the harried S driving a huge van with many bumper stickers. She complained about her eldest son, R, whose room I’m using, “acting out” at school.

M, born in 1959 in Palestine, is on fire about his home, but wishes not to return to his homeland despite most of his family living there. It raises pain, he said, and I told him about Jean Zaru not wanting to travel between Ramallah and Jerusalem because she’d then have to witness the wall and Kalandia, ripping out her heart.

M, Susan, and I discussed how to activate, how to discuss, agreeing respect and good listening skills are vital, as is powerful speech—lessons from the notebook of Thich Nhat Hanh. They conveyed feedback to my show from a friend: Slow down your speaking, Northerner.

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The One State Option for Palestine & Israel Conference + The Harvard-MIT Gaza Symposium

PHOTOS: One State for Palestine-Israel?—a conference

PHOTOS: Gaza Symposium

VIDEO: Conference Summary Statement (DRAFT)

Four packed days about Israel-Palestine, from the scholarship angle, not so much the activist. Two days at University of Massachusetts Boston for the conference, One state for Palestine/Israel: a country for all its citizens? And 2 days at Harvard-MIT for a symposium about Gaza, the 2nd annual such symposium.

Gaza Symposium at Harvard University

I was tremendously excited to be swimming in this heady sea of deep thinking concerning Palestine/Israel. Contemplate this list of luminaries, in one city in one relatively compressed period: Ilan Pappe (Israeli Jewish academic and author of The Ethnic Cleansing of Palestine), Meron Benvenisti (Senior Israeli geographer and former director of the West Bank Data Base, author of Sacred Landscapes), Richard Falk (UN Special Rapporteur on Human Rights in the Occupied Palestinian Territories), William Corcoran (president of American Near East Refugee Aid, ANERA), Anat Biletzski (former chairperson of B’Tselem—Israeli Information center for Human Rights in the Occupied Territories and Professor of Philosophy at Tel Aviv University), and Sara Roy (Senior Research Scholar at the Center for Middle Eastern Studies at Harvard),

Also: Congressman Brian Baird (Washington State representative recently in Gaza), Leila Farsakh (Assistant Professor of Political Science at the University of Massachusetts Boston), Phyllis Bennis (Fellow and Head of the ME Program at the Institute for Policy Studies), Nadia Hijab ((Senior Fellow at the Institute for Palestine Studies), George Bisharat (Professor of Law at the University of California), Joel Kovel (author of Overcoming Zionism and Distinguished Professor of Social Studies at Bard College, recently fired presumably for his political views), Smadar Lavie (Distinguished Visiting Professor International Studies at Macalester College), Saree Makdisi (Professor of English and Comparative Literature at UCLA), Nancy Murray (founder and president of the Gaza Mental Health Foundation, Inc, on the advisory board of the US Campaign to End the Israeli Occupation), Ali Abunimah (Palestinian political activist and co-founder of the on line Electronic Intifada), Andrew Whitley (director of the UN Relief and Works Agency, UNRWA), and people I’d not heard about who were highly lauded by others at the 2 gatherings. Most were academics, professors, authors, and most were over the age of 60, but some were younger; some were activists as well as writers. One, Sami Abdel Shafi, was prevented by Israel to leave Gaza so we could only hear from him via phone link at Harvard’s Law School, of all places.

For the first time dealing with Palestine/Israel I felt I’d entered the realm of metaphysical light—its power of illuminating dark places. Where, I’ve asked, is the wisdom from the Holy Land that will help us solve this crisis?

So number 1 impression was being with peers as we considered the issue that is foremost in my life.

Congressman Brian Baird, recently returned from Gaza

Richard Falk, UN Special Rapporteur on Human Rights in the Occupied Palestinian Territories

Number 2 was the set of insights I gained, new perspectives, questions, and perhaps some loss of innocence and erroneous preconceptions. About one state, its viability, the obstacles facing it, the fact that very few support it, whether key players such as government officials, or grass roots populations such as the Palestinians and Israelis. Hearing from the president of ANERA (the group I went into Gaza with on my first venture there) about the details of the devastation was demoralizing. In fact, about Gaza, the situation is much worse than I expected. No lifting of the blockade and little challenge so far to the impunity of Israel.

However, balancing this, and spoken mainly by Richard Falk, the movement is experiencing a rise in the concept of rights, international law, accountability. A shift from bargaining to demanding human rights—I see the end of Israeli impunity.

Most agree that the global community is now focusing more on Israel-Palestine, that dire as the situation is for Palestine and Israel, Israel has increased the risk to its global acceptance. That is, they are losing credibility as evidenced by the rise in mainstream media attention to the plight of the Palestinians. They are becoming a pariah state, much like South Africa during apartheid.

Professor Smadar Lavie: Israeli Feminism and the One State Solution

Ali Abunimah: Challenging the Consensus Favoring the Two State Model

Third impression might be a confirmation of my direction, Israel-Palestine, especially visiting there—so many called for on the ground visits, get those damned feet wet!—and depicting what I experience, challenging myself and others, staying on the road.

Fourth and related to some of the above is the apparent acknowledgement by major institutions that significant transformations are required to deal with the conflict. So, Harvard, MIT, University of Massachusetts, and the universities the speakers were from are all now wedded in a joint challenge to conventional thought and practice. Not the entire institution, of course, but by agreeing to host the two events and continue employment of the speakers, they are giving a sort of imprimatur to perspectives that challenge the dominant argument supporting Israel.

I assume some if not many attending, especially younger people, students—since the venues were institutions of higher learning—may have experienced mind shifts as a result of dropping by for a few sessions. This is seeding the future.

Professor Ilan Pappe: Proposal For A New Israeli Political Organization: Building A Movement For The One State Solution

Saree Makdissi, giving the Conference summary statement draft

On a more personal note, I felt gratified to have seen a few of my Gaza photos streaming from the screen at the Gaza symposium thru the slide show Nitin prepared. All the other photographers in the show had been in Gaza recently, some during and most after the slaughter, so my photos were more like backgrounders. I felt they held up. And my Gazan friends might be proud that their friend’s photos—and them—were represented.

I took detailed notes during the entire 4 days; what I’ll do with them remains a mystery. I could sort thru them and write them out more fully, I could simply browse them from time to time to be refreshed, or I could store them somewhere perhaps never to be read again.

Another impression is that the twin events served as the Readers’ Digest of perspectives about Palestine/Israel. Not to demean the conference and symposium, not to compare it with what some people regard as the dumbing down of literature by Readers’ Digest, only to suggest we were presented a capsule view of a wide span of perspectives. So that, if interested, we can dig into selected speakers later. I believe plans are to publish a book within the year from the conference and put the papers from the symposium on line.

Talking with Ken B recently to digest the powerful experience he was troubled by the tightness of the conference schedule, allowing little time for expansion of thought by the speakers and discussion by the audience. Everyone seemed rushed, not the best atmosphere for deep deliberation. The symposium was more spacious in time.

I asked Ken what he thought the overarching objective of Israel was in attacking Gaza recently, a question not much dealt with at either event. Is it Israel planting a warning: do not transgress the limits we establish or you (in the West Bank) will be next. Uri Avnery’s analysis of the “boss has gone mad” idea, comparing it to the Mutually Assured Destruction, MAD, policy of the Reagan era, might be germane. Certainly it is more than the prima facie argument of stopping the rockets since there are other methods for doing this, perhaps much more effective and not generating the blowback of the attacks—such as ending the siege. Is it something akin to ethnic cleansing, but instead of removal it’s containment, a thought voiced at the symposium? Is it to cause slow death thru disease and demoralization, rotting from inside the civil and social structures of the Gazans? Is it a playing out of a perhaps millennial-long suicidal tendency among Jews—doing exactly what prompts the outer world’s hatred? The perpetual outcast, pariah, monster? Could Israel not have foreseen the negative world opinion? Is this not mass psychosis?

Unmentioned, burning deeply in my heart during the entire 4-day proceedings, was Fadia Daibes Murad, now dead. I’ve written about her on my blog. I considered mentioning her at some appropriate point but never found it. How many would have known her, or cared? Not more than a handful I surmised. This added to my grief: being with so many knowledgeable and active people about Palestine/Israel, and so few would be able to share my grief. Thank god for the blog and the responses it’s generated, the caring people, both those who knew her and added their insights, and those who didn’t, who took the time to grieve with me.

Despite this pain from Fadia’s death, from the agony of the troubles generally, I felt healing and inspiration—for me, for others active in the movement, and for the people of the Levant.

I invite those who attended either event to post their interpretations here.

Gaza Symposium

One State for Palestine / Israel: A Country for All Its Citizens?

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Travel Journal, North Carolina to Florida, February 12, 2009—day twelve

At home in Cambridge Massachusetts I am now recounting my trip to southeast USA with my photographic presentations about Palestine & Israel, in 15 parts, one for each day.

Photos from the trip, In passing: the south :: February 2009

Report of the trip

Photos in this entry from Bureij refugee camp in Gaza, May 2006, part three

How’d I end up here? An apartment I’m sharing overnight with 3 students from Georgia State College and University (a name I asked about without getting a definite answer, an enigma), after a Gaza show to about 40-50 mostly students and a few faculty, on my way south, further south, tonight Valdosta Georgia, then Jacksonville Florida. Inexorable progress, true at least for this tour.

The show went very well, despite arriving just 10 minutes before show time without sufficient time to put out photos and literature and collect my energy. Questions about Hamas, secularization, USA response, Christian Zionism, action. I’d prepped the audience for the first time with a strong dose of history, which seems to have helped. That history with its inherent fascination conveys some of my motivation for dwelling on Gaza, besides my friendships, the AFSC, the horrors, etc. No hostile remarks. Indeed I seem to be encountering a strong willingness to see Israel-Palestine thru the lens of Palestinian oppression.

Ragdha’s family and compound in the Bureij refugee camp, Gaza Strip, May 2006—brother

Sister

Earlier and thanks to Dave and his friend C (now with tenure as sociology prof at University of South Carolina Aiken), and the blessings of her department chair which would ward off complaints about my perspective, I showed a brief version of Gaza during the noon hour. I’m learning how to shrink the show, starting later after the titles, concentrating on personal stories. This leaves about 10 minutes for discussion. An older man quizzed me about “collateral damage”: Doesn’t war entail the injuring of innocents, the unfortunate injury? Implying that Israel is not culpable for its infliction of suffering on civilians. I replied that the use of white phosphorus, the apparent deliberate targeting of UN facilities and schools and medical institutions, the attacks on the so called “safe house” soldiers forced residents into, plus any number of other killings as at demonstrations, strongly suggest the motivation, at least at times, is to destroy all Gazans, ultimately to drive them out—or create “ethnic containment” to be contrasted with ethnic cleansing. Ultimately for what purpose, I need to ask: the withering away of the Gazans?

I turned the question to others who seemed to concur. Later, a woman approached C to complain about my show, threatening to write or phone the department chair. Ah ha, C had wisely prepared for this!

Truly, I relish the controversy. I feel confident that my arguments and evidence will stand up against criticism. And now I must guard against smugness, another affliction I find common among Quakers. The thought that I have the truth, all those opposed are wrong. I must cultivate humility and good listening skills. Always listening for the heart of the matter, what causes the heat: Fears that Jews will be attacked. Cognitive dissonance from awareness without admission. Culpability. Shame.

Sister

Brother

A attended the Aiken show, good to see him; he treated C and me to Thai food.

Two folks I think from the university videoed me, promising to send me a copy. I gave them a copy of the show. This just after Dave and I had discussed putting some of my presentations on tape. Others at various venues have asked about this. I might be drifting toward this; the requests are a good sign that someone appreciates my work.

C is a sweet soul generous, compassionate, knowledge, soft. I enjoy knowing her, staying with her, her home immaculate, her office a shit heap. She told me about her semester on ship, teaching sociology as the 700 students cruised around the world with stops in places like Namibia, South Africa, Bahia in Brazil, and other conflict spots. She suggested to me that I could join such a program as an instructor. Maybe for later, for my retirement.

Mother

Father

Dave, who drove me from Aiken to half way to Milledgeville, meeting Chris and Caitlin for the rest of the ride, is as always energetic and faithful, maintaining his strong belief in social change. Despite some of my earlier misgivings I think we’re becoming buddies in the struggle.

During this ride thru the agrarian countryside of South Carolina and Georgia, my phone rang: R from Cambridge, checking in. We chatted about civil disobedience; he asked me about my latest exploits with women, I joked with him about S, being stuck in the car with her and two other women in the night, lost, in the vacant country, and so maybe we should consider a motel room, shacking up. He confessed that he is living vicariously thru me. He also wanted to tell me about the nation-wide Israel apartheid organizing he’s doing in Boston, and that he is planning to attend the one state conference at end of March in Boston. We might do this together. Rick, a radical Jew as I term him to his face, is one of my best buddies.

Ragdha

Brother and sister

During my infrequent and short rest periods I do email, revise the schedule on my website, read computer news and mail, take care of occasional business, revise a show, walk, chat with hosts, snack and nap.

—February 12, 2009, Thursday, Milledgeville Georgia

Breakfast

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Travel Journal, North Carolina to Florida, February 11, 2009—day eleven

Bureij refugee camp, Gaza Strip, May 2006

At home in Cambridge Massachusetts I am now recounting my trip to southeast USA with my photographic presentations about Palestine & Israel, in 15 parts, one for each day.

Photos from the trip, In passing: the south :: February 2009

Report of the trip

Photos in this entry from Bureij refugee camp in Gaza, May 2006, part two

Now that Fida [director of the AFSC youth program in the West Bank] has taught me the characteristics of a refugee camp I can pick out the vertical construction, narrow passageways, poverty, and preponderance of kids. I’ve not yet seen raw sewage in the streets, one of the conventional images of the camp, nor piles of garbage. Thanks to Ragdha’s brother, Mohanad and younger brother whose name I’ve forgotten, I saw more of the camp, street life and family life. We visited the family of 2 brothers in a different family, 1 of which had been shot 3 times during the various intifadas. He proudly showed us his photo album of images made while recovering in hospitals in Egypt and Saudi Arabia. Mohanad explained that sort of international support has dried up. Someone shot now earns little outside help. More

After a long, nearly long lost and losing drive from Athens Georgia to Aiken SC, about 4 hours driving in the dark, under a full moon, thru the empty countryside, thanks to wrong directions derived from Google maps by 3 young women of the Georgia State University-Athens. Pulling in at 1 AM, C hosting me but now long asleep, me waking 5 hours later feeling fully refreshed. But will I crash mid show today or tonight, falling sleep at my computer switch?

Went like this, yesterday: show at Emory, the Candler School of Theology, the show Bethlehem, slotted into a 50 minute lunch period. Hate that. I just started the show and quit it at the time-defined moment but it felt not only abruptly truncated but deflated somehow, with minimal energy—the part definitely not standing for the whole. Students were more or less mute. Beth, my host, confided that the student body tends to conservatism, and that there is a strong presence of Christian Zionists. She explained that she’d hoped I’d help light a little fire. I doubt I did, if anything I smothered whatever embers might have been aglow.

The woman introducing me, who’d picked me up from K and B’s, a poet, told me about her recent experience in Palestine/Israel and the general region. In Palestine don’t drink the tap water. Enter Israel, drink the tap water. Enter Bethlehem, don’t drink the tap water. I asked her to read her poem during her intro. Encapsulating, the part standing for the whole, one of the main points of my work on Palestine-Israel, this might have been the major “take away” of the event.

Later, Beth Corrie—Corrie? Are you related to Rachel? She’s my cousin, first cousin, 8 years my junior—explained to me that the student population, all graduate students, are new to activism, or haven’t yet reached that stage. Also activism waxes and wanes in Atlanta, is slowly recovering after a recent peak.

I pumped her for data and stories about Rachel and here’s what I learned: Rachel had been precocious in art, able to write a better poem at age 4 than Beth could as an adult. She danced, made puppets, drew, wrote. Thus, Beth thought, she had an inordinate level of compassion and sensitivity. Her mother, Cindy, started an alternative grade school that Rachel attended, and in this context Rachel attended the conference about poverty that she spoke at—age 10.

Cindy and Craig, her parents, quit all they were doing after she died, Cindy her various jobs, Craig his insurance business, to devote full time to circulating Rachel’s story. Each family member was affected by Rachel’s death, each moved slightly or dramatically forward in social activism.

Beth is on the faculty of Candler, working with high school youth bringing them on campus for an early experience in seminary, and teaching a college course that is something about conflict resolution, I believe. She has her PhD and must be now about in her mid 30s. She hosted me. She chose an 11 by 14 photo of kids playing in Beit Lahiya, because, she said, It feels hopeful. She offered me the going price, $20—I gave her the photo, both to thank her for her hosting and to honor her for her relationship with Rachel (and all the information she gave me).

Too bad my Bethlehem show was so weak, and the discussion vapid. No one stayed later to discuss, even tho we offered pizza. I had to whisk out of the room so another group could use it.

The evening show went better, Gaza to about 30 mostly students at Georgia State University in Athens, a huge campus of 30,000 students, the campus reverberating with the din of construction. Here I was hosted by S, Palestine-American, part of a student activist group about the Mid East. She was most gracious and thoughtful, picking me up from the half way point that Beth dropped me at, treating me to Thai food in the lazy college town with many bars, then driving me thru the night to meet Dave in Washington Georgia. I’m so sorry, she said, when realizing someone had made a huge mistake in directions, and she was not carrying a map.

S’s family, with roots in Palestine, is more immediately from Jordan. She returns there regularly. Never to Palestine. Her friend,  the ever laughing and rasping, A, is also Palestinian, but her family is from Syria. They had many in-jokes to share as we drove and ate, laughing regularly. One stream of jokes was about their over attentive parents. When telling these jokes, they would feign an Arabic accent. One joke was about the word crackers, the name of S’s dog. Why crackers, daddy? It was the first word I learned in English.

Ha ha.

They were very worried driving with me thru the night, and not happy about driving back without a white male in the car. One wore a hijab, S is dark skinned. Thus the worry.

Riding with them to meet Dave I received the feeling what hanging out with a young woman that age—S is 21—might mean. As socially engaged as they are, S at least, they talked endlessly about food, shops, styles, etc, a step, a small step, from high school banter. Not for me.

Some of the more vexing questions from the shows: one state vs. two states, inside information about Hamas, election (yesterday it happened in Israel, outcome unknown to me at this point, I’ll soon check), action ideas, Boycott-Divest-Sanction campaign, local campaigns, but nothing about Rachel, nothing about me personally. At a recent show one young man later asked me privately how to prepare for a career in photojournalism like mine. Answer: practice photography incessantly and learn all you can about your area of concern.

I met JM at the Athens show, an older man wearing a suit, but very astute about the Israel-Palestine issues. And active. He bought a photo, snatched much literature, talked to me at length later about links with his church community, the Presbyterian mission group that I think I heard about in December on the tour south.

It’s all about networks.

Y wrote a long loving letter about her recent medical issues. She mentioned in her letter not trusting me with confidential information like this. She wrote about my grand daughter E’s love and hate of certain words, and how this drives her mom K nuts. But, Y, the writer, said: not to worry, it indicates that E is thinking about words. Maybe you and I could make a list of words with the feelings attached. Y would have made a fine parent, and, given certain adjustments on both our parts, a fine life partner.

Driving to Aiken last night with Dave, he was excited about tour prospects, namely Florida and other regions of the south. He suggested cuts I could make in Bethlehem, apologized for squeezing me into a narrow time slot for today’s show at the University of South Carolina, Aiken, and for spotting me in such widely distant regions, like Aiken. Confessing, I wanted you here in Aiken. He also suggested we make a DVD of some of my shows, maybe like Anna Baltzer’s, or maybe like Al Gore’s Inconvenient Truth. I lean toward that general idea if it can be more than me sitting calmly like Anna presenting a tepid show. Something with chutzpah.

One of my biggest fears on this tour is forgetting to pack something vital when I shift locations, such as my computer or the adapter or my wallet or my notebook. So far, nothing of note left behind. But, ejecting from the car yesterday afternoon, between B and S, I must have left my Popular Achievement cap in B’s car. Then arriving in my room last night, as if in a dream, there was a pair of what I think is my underwear, left here from my first tour in summer 2007. An equal exchange?  The cap is no problem. I borrowed a replacement from Dave and have multiple Popular Achievement caps at home. So far I believe I have my computer, adapter, wallet, and notebook.

—February 11, 2009, Wednesday, Aiken SC, with Dave’s friend C

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Travel Journal, North Carolina to Florida, February 10, 2009—day ten

At home in Cambridge Massachusetts I am now recounting my trip to southeast USA with my photographic presentations about Palestine & Israel, in 15 parts, one for each day.

Photos from the trip, In passing: the south :: February 2009

Report of the trip

Photos in this entry from Bureij refugee camp in Gaza, May 2006

Yesterday [May 19, 2006] Marwan [from the Gaza Community Mental Health Center, a friend and colleague of the woman, Ragdha, who invited to her home in the camp] picked me up from my flat. We sped south thru the city, about 5 km to the Bureij camp with his 2 boys, one crying the entire trip. More

Netzarim Junction, once a notorious Israeli checkpoint/strangulation point

In the streets of Bureij refugee camp, Gaza Strip, May 2006

Two dreams: in one I was with a woman I’d just met and we’d decidedly come together, with some intimacy expected. We laughed, spoke deeply, sat next to each other, and found some strong affinity. But then I might have reached too far: I nudged her under the table with my leg, a form of caress, and she looked horrified, moved away. Was this the end of our dalliance?

In a 2nd dream, possibly related, I was either reading something a well known Israeli activist had written, or was actually helping him write it. He confessed that he’d … someone, a woman, using a term that I can’t now recall which we understood to be code for attracted. I was puzzled. Wasn’t he happily married? Had his wife died? Had they separated? Was he engaging in adultery?

Yesterday’s 2 shows, Georgia State University and Kennesaw State University, went very well. About 10 for the first, 60 for the second, the first in a medium sized room, the “Lanier Suite,” in the student center, and the 2nd in a large auditorium. Both Gaza shows looked and sounded good, and I do believe I’m perfecting my acting-performing style. It’s as if I’ve learned the script and I’ve polished my act.

The GSU showing, attended by an equal mixture of white and black people, was sponsored by the newly formed Progressive Student Alliance, organized thru the good offices of the local American Friends Service Committee, thru Tim, the peace action man. The students seemed well versed in the history and general reality of Israel-Palestine, indicating by their questions their comprehension and passion. One Black man in particular asked me about the role of the French and British. I misunderstood, thought he’d asked about their contemporary role, and so I went off the mark in detailing their current roles. He corrected me by mentioning the word Balfour. We then discussed the onset of Zionism and the breakup of the Ottoman Empire, a direct precursor to the current debacle raging in the Mid East.

Three AFSC staff attended, B, with an alluring mouth, but suggesting she is demoralized, depressed, hopeless, L, who read the Dr. Mona part in my show, and R. I learned later that E, who’d volunteered to read the parts of Yusef and Belal, is a history prof there and faculty adviser for the group. He seemed moved to tears during his reading. After one of his long silences while reading I offered to find someone else. He soldiered thru, and later bought 2 of my large photos.

I think this show resonates with college students. The AFSC’s Popular Achievement program is college and high school students, and Belal, Adham, and Yusef are roughly the age of this audience. Plus Rachel Corrie. A captivating linkage, perhaps.

The evening show brought out a rabbi who’d been at other similar presentations. He questioned me on my interpretation, laying out the case for Israel much as Dershowitz does. Rather than debate him I asked if anyone would like to respond. And a man with roots in Gaza did, cogently and gently. I wonder, however, if I’m ducking my responsibility by using this deflecting technique. My intention is to engage more members of the audience in conversation, turning it from them to me, to them to them.

I noticed that he’d not seen what I’m sure I showed and seen what I’m sure I didn’t show. Instances: he said I’d not said that Egypt sealed the border after The Great Breakout of January 2008 when Hamas broke thru the barrier between Gaza and Egypt—I had. He said I’d not shown the fighting between Fatah and Hamas—I had. He asserted that I’d not admitted that rockets target civilians—I had and shown a corpse from such a rocket attack. As if he came with his own presentation embedded in his mind and projected this over what I showed. A powerful form of self-deceit that I’m sure I myself suffer regularly.

The second man responding was also from Gaza. I’d asked during my intro who’d been to the region, who might be Palestine, who from Gaza? And the 2 had self-identified. I learned later that Mai Carter was in the audience, about to publish a book about Israel-Palestine peace and justice groups, probably arriving late and leaving early so I never had a chance to thank her for helping me find venues. I’ll do this by email.

Community water, probably not safe to drink without treatment

A major highlight was fostering the meeting of a Muslim and a Jew with promises that they might more regularly attend each other’s events and might collaborate on a joint event. The Jew, a young man, very sweet and loving and humble, told me he was with campus Hillel, the Israel advocacy committee chair. He spoke with the 2 men with relatives in Gaza. I thought of my meeting with Alex during the vigil for Gaza at Harvard’s graduation, the two of us calmed down when Hilda intervened by asking if we’d read Sandy Tolan’s extraordinary book, The Lemon Tree.

The main links currently that help find venues seem to have come thru AFSC, showing once again the power of community.

C hosted the first show, a very young shy woman, slightly overweight, wearing boots, short skirt, low bodice blouse with bulging breasts. She was one of the main initiators of the Alliance.  T hosted the Kennesaw show, a philosophy prof, tall, with long hair, stately, handsome, teaching a philosophy of peace class that drew many of the students.

The entire day unfolded mysteriously. To the last minute I wasn’t sure where to go, how to get there, who’d meet me. Everything worked perfectly—from meeting the bus to the Atlanta Marta station at the last minute, finding the venue at GSU, arranging the equipment, resting at the AFSC, eating there, finding a ride to Kennesaw thru Tim at the AFSC, a young energetic peace builder with a knack for community organizing, meeting a young sparkling Iranian woman, Ozzie or Azita, riding with Tim to Kennesaw, meeting T at Kennesaw, then riding home with G who hopes to start a small business combining peace building with tourism. Providence ruled mightily.

Students at GSU, reinforced by Tim later, told me about plans for local BDS, Boycott-Divest-Sanction, campaigns. Apparently the CEO of Starbuck’s is a major supporter of Israel, recently devoting one day’s profit to the state. Home Depot’s CEO purportedly does the same. There’s a local linkage between the police in Atlanta and in Israel, sharing technology and techniques. This needs to be revealed. And of course there’s Motorola and Caterpillar, which most people tuned at all to Palestine-Israel seem to know about. This idea of linkage and BDS seems to be mainly what grips students. It recalls the anti-apartheid days and the campaigns against clothing produced in sweatshops.

Manager of an athletic club, now largely unused because of the tightened restrictions preventing teams from playing outside Gaza

I wrote M a relatively perfunctory letter (compared with the volumes I once wrote), acknowledging her writing about Bread and Puppet Theater and insomnia (forgetting to mention her loving how well her nephew performed in a play) and not asking a single question (such as about her survey). I think this is an improvement and shows I’m making progress toward slicing away, distancing, erasing her from my obsessive focus. Indeed, I think of her only during a rare fleeting moment. I am an enigma to myself: how I seem to forever remain at the stage of pubescent adolescence, unable to manage my emotions. Is this contorted loving related to secondary trauma? Will I succumb and become helpless and destitute, or will I survive and finally grow up, settle down, raise a family?

Too bad I don’t have more down time in Atlanta. Walking briskly from GSU to AFSC with L and B, I remembered my few days here 2 years ago during the US Social Forum, how hot it was, how I was coming to terms with separation from Y, meeting her new man friend D, living at the Atlanta Buddhist dojo, walking thru poison oak with D, suffering for weeks later. And beginning the first of my 3 southern tours. I remembered an earlier trip, in 1999, in Atlanta for about one month as I prepared for a 4-month sojourn thru the south volunteering my photography and retracing parts of the Pilgrimage of the Middle Passage in reverse.

I’d like to visit First Iconium church, renew my friendship with its pastor, Tim McDonald, chat with Utsumi and Denise (the monk and nun who I think are at the Oak Ridge pagoda now), and wander around the neighborhood of Southeast Atlanta. But especially, explore Sweet Auburn once again, the homeland of Martin Luther King Jr.

Alas, today I leave for Athens Georgia. Someone is picking me up at 11 this morning, driving me to Emory (I must rehearse the Bethlehem show, which I’ve not shown since December). Then the Athens show this evening and staying somewhere yet a mystery to me. Tonight I meet Dave M, tomorrow in Aiken SC, then back to Georgia and eventually to Florida.

Shop, empty shelves because of the blockade

Proprietor of the shop showing his credit ledgers—”If I have the items they want to buy and they don’t have the money, I always extend credit.”

I often think of my dad in his business travels. How long was he away? Did he miss his son and daughter and wife? What did he do on those trips? Was he faithful or was he more like me, independent and yearning? I recall appreciating his absence, since we had a troubled relationship. I remember mom taking Elaine and me to a small neighborhood restaurant on Stony Island Avenue (I could probably find the building now, long changed). I’d eat the same meal each time: hot turkey sandwich, probably accompanied by powdered potatoes. Unlike my father I have no one waiting for me to return, other than perhaps Kate and Ella.

The weather has been seasonably mild, chilly at night. Last night was full moon, the sky was hazy, occluded. Full moon means my moon-mother returns. At this moment, Y is either asleep or preparing for her upcoming trip to Ethiopia. I hope to see her before she leaves. Soon I will hike over to the community room for wifi and email and webwork, then pack, then leave.

B and K have been generous hosts, B preparing me yesterday with maps and directions for my uncertain journeys, K giving Gail directions last evening. Each day I march with a new parade of people, each with their own story, each solidly or tangentially linked to Palestine/Israel and me.

—February 10, 2009, Tuesday, Atlanta, with B and K

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Travel Journal, North Carolina to Florida, February 9, 2009—day nine

At home in Cambridge Massachusetts I am now recounting my trip to southeast USA with my photographic presentations about Palestine & Israel, in 15 parts, one for each day.

Photos from the trip, In passing: the south :: February 2009

Report of the trip

Photos in this entry from Death & Mourning in Al-Bureij refugee camp, Gaza Strip, January 2008

While in the area south of Gaza City we heard shooting, Awni rightly concluded this was from a funeral. He’d heard Israelis had recently invaded Al Bureij refugee camp, some Palestinians killed, and guessed the funeral was in Al Bureij. We reached the camp moments later to join a huge throng of men of all ages—women don’t attend these events unless immediate family in which case as either they with the family lead the parade to the cemetery or ride in cars to join the mourners for the burial—and eventually Awni dropped me off with Adham to join the marchers. More

As if a rampaging dream factory, my mind last night seemed totally focused on Gaza. Each time I awoke to pee, every 2 hours or so, I dipped into yet another dream about Gaza. All were benign, none violent, some ominous. In one I was helping decide how a group could get into Gaza. In another, Ibrahem appeared. I do not remember any of them in detail, not even my feeling state.

A pleasant uneventful train ride from Greenville SC to Atlanta (later, checking my notes from July 2007, I confirmed my suspicion that I’d departed from Greenville for Boston, the end of my first southern tour in 2007), about 3 hours, $30, sleeping part of the way, reading, writing, arriving to meet B and drive to his home, meeting his wife K, who heads the local library system, settling in with a light breakfast of grape juice, oatmeal with raisins, and hot cocoa. Then Atlanta Friends meeting which I could barely remain awake for. Despite what some commentators thought was a gathered meeting, I found it tepid and boring, with the usual platitudes. Only one message remains for me, a song sung by an extremely obese woman with tears in her eyes—about what I do not recall.

Then my turn: the Gaza show to about 10-15 listless souls, one of the dreariest presentations yet. Maybe my sleepiness, maybe their disinterest, maybe my condemnatory attitude about Quaker silence. Perhaps I stifled them with my introduction: berating friends for their silence. But I did extol or try to redeem Quakers by mentioning our Cambridge meeting deciding to sign the Interfaith Peace Declaration and donate $10,000 to the Gaza Community Mental Health Program. The press of time weighed on me as well, B informing me earlier, several times, that 1-hour is about the upper limit.

A question from audiences that repeats is how much support does Hamas get by Gazans? And I have to honestly answer, I’m not sure (nor is anyone probably). Hamas was elected because it’s honest and helps people and may be more effective that their rival, Fatah, in ending the occupation, not because of their platform that calls for the end of Israel by violence. Chagrin at their tactics, extra judicial executions for one. Waxing and waning depending. Now I’m not sure. Hamas claimed victory because it survived the recent vicious assault, Israel claimed victory because of how much of Hamas it destroyed.

Later at the community dinner, I chatted with J and A, who I know from 1999 when, on a small pilgrimage I’d designed in the south after I’d skipped out of the Middle Passage Pilgrimage , I’d visited them in their home, using their computer. They were both curious about Israel-Palestine history, A asking me to sit with him to lay it out. Before I got very far others sat with us and the conversation shifted.

Does your community ever have programs about Israel-Palestine? I asked A.

No, too controversial. And we have many Jews here. Instead we talk about where to put the compost pile. And similar topics.

I thought, Here I am, an unusual resource, why not persuade me to give an informal show?

Well, the food was good, the conversation engaging, and the wifi worked so I arrived early for the community dinner, stayed late.

The setting is a co-housing project, very large, some 60 households. Folks formed it I believe it in the early 1970s, with significant help from Atlanta Friends meeting (Quakers do education and housing very well, political work poorly, in my view.) Sited in a mixed income, mixed race neighborhood (Eastlake), with few Quakers now living in the co-housing, it has turned into a gated community. B explained that to gain financing the funders required gates. Pioneers thought they would accommodate the funders and then remove the gates. Too late—others moving in demanded the gates remain. Residents have not reached a compromise about when the gates might remain open, like on evenings and weekends. So we have a gated community.

Surrounding this community the homes tend to be rougher, smaller, and crime is a significant factor. People like B, who has retired from what I think was a job with the state to become a full time activist, have not been able to effectively link with key elements of the surrounding community, such as churches.

While sitting on the porch of the community center I noticed a few Blacks, and while walking to the center, more African American children, but very oddly, none appeared at the meal, except for a Black woman I’d seen at meeting, who seems to be a guest.

B and Kathy have a relatively small home, 2 levels, downstairs with the guest room where I stay, my own toilet, a sitting and dining area, and a small kitchen with minimal counter space. Upstairs they have at least 2 bedrooms, another toilet and maybe either a 3rd level or another room. They did not raise their kids here, 2 sons and 1 daughter. (Their screen saver is a photo of one son with his wife, each looking longingly lovingly into the eyes of the other.)

The immediate neighborhood is fenced in, access controlled by the gate and a locked door. Houses conjoin and cluster. Kids abound, playing safely throughout the acreage. There is a small pond, a stream, a field which they rent out to organic gardeners, other garden space, woods, and surrounding this, the scary (to some) neighborhood that is excluded.

With B’s advice I walked the area. A long walk, more than 3 miles, till my knees ached and my left foot began a rare blister thru my sandals. Around the golf course, past elegant and expensive homes, and into the dreaded neighborhood of relative shacks. Rich and poor, nearly side by side. White and black, neighboring unhappily.

My plans for the next few days are set for shows, but not for transport and hosting. I wrote Dave and local hosts last night, hoping for some clarification this morning before too long. How do I get to the next site, Georgia State University, and then to Kennesaw State tonight? And tomorrow’s sites? All this—I’m sure, I’m certain, I have faith—will become clear later.

Appearances at universities and colleges sound good, but occasionally this means a student in a shriveled organization has booked a small room, done minimal publicity, able to draw only a tiny audience, which may or may not be receptive and eager. I shouldn’t be too dire: occasionally many attend and the reception is solid. I have yet to garner a major official booking at a university or college. Oddly enough, if I were to generalize, so far the most enthusiastic and engaged audiences have been elders at retirement communities. Are they among the few populations that have the time—and energy—for difficult topics?

I’d been curious about Jimmy Carter’s book tour: what is the book, and why the tour? What is his primary message? I found an interview with him that revealed: he is hopeful, with the Obama administration and what he knows of current Israeli politics, that peace is possible and could arrive soon. I am skeptical. And said so in a posting I sent last evening to my lists, linking to his interview, questioning his assumption that the 2 state solution is the most viable plan and the most accepted. I added a note about my tour.

Not mentioned in the interview was the upcoming election in Israel. Signs are not sanguine. An extreme right wing government might assume power, led by Bibi Netanyahu and with the extreme right wing Lieberman in the cabinet.

B and K seem to be a happy couple. They range around each other in love and admiration and understanding. They are yet another model of success as a married team. They look approvingly at each other, fill in blanks left in stories told by the other without interrupting or contradicting. They are a team, a 2-some, a unit. As I’ve felt only piecemeal with my 2 main partners, X and Y. So again I wonder—why does this seemingly universal knack for couplehood appear to be absent from me?

Planning to review and download all my photos from this trip, mainly from the mountain waterfall walk with David, I discovered an error message: Card is not formatted. I couldn’t access the files. Something electronic snapped, maybe a directory. I’d just been photographing yesterday on the local walk and all seemed to work well. Can I retrieve files with special techniques and software? I should have followed my discipline and downloaded more frequently. I plan to do a web search today when I get access. And save the card till I return home. This could be a blow, but not a serious blow—I’ve done little significant photography on this journey.

As I write, 7:20 AM, the sky is glowing bright orange. Squirrels and birds forage. The temperature is mild. Sunset is dramatically later than Boston at this time, and sunrise also. We are further west. The moon has been full. I’ve greeted my dear mother Pearl regularly. I hope she is proud of her son and forgives me all my many transgressions.

—February 9, 2009, Monday, Atlanta, with B and K

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Travel Journal, North Carolina to Florida, February 8, 2009—day eight

At home in Cambridge Massachusetts I am now recounting my trip to southeast USA with my photographic presentations about Palestine & Israel, in 15 parts, one for each day.

Photos from the trip, In passing: the south :: February 2009

Report of the trip

Photos in this entry from Gaza Visits the Israeli Consulate in Boston, January 2009

“Dying” in the lobby of the Israeli Consulate, 4 arrests for nonviolent “divine obedience” to the suffering of the Gazans

It is 5:11 AM, the train I ride seems about 1/4 full, mostly Black people, and only a few awake like me. Martha who married a Gazan man 7 or so years ago after meeting on an Internet Christian chat room hosted me. Very generously and graciously since she had short notice and we’d asked her to drive me to the station for the 5 AM train.

Driving to the station last evening to try to buy a ticket I noticed I’d been here before. Maybe on the first south tour, June 2007, ending the junket in Greenville and boarding a train home.

Pulling into Martha’s neighborhood I thought it recognized it as well. Later, walking, I concluded I’d not been here. I surveyed the neighborhood, an old mill workers’ residential area, with rudely built homes, and a factory, once a mill, which now seems to house a medical supply company.

I met Martha 2 years ago on my first swing south after the US Social Forum. She struck me as slightly odd, marrying a Gazan, passionate about the Palestinian cause, and totally ineffectual. Or so it seemed to me. But she came thru for this act of hospitality.

Earlier David B took me out for a long romp thru the woods around Brevard, high into the mountains for a look at a place called Three Falls. The day was warm, the trails relatively crowded, the falls partially iced from the recent frigid weather. Ice means white, water means black, thus, the falls were outlined and highlighted. Making a set of splendid photos, perhaps.

During the hike and while driving David confided to me more about “the deep hole I’m in.”

So we shared tales, me about X, Y, and M (leaving out F and Z) and he about his wife and his new woman friend.

We connected. As I do with most people on these trips, finding a piece of me that is in them, a piece of them that is within me. And they leave pieces of themselves with me, and I of myself with them. In this way we begin a conversation, interchange information, ideas, emotions, and build community. It is an unforeseen offshoot of these tours.

I believe I’ve truly advanced from an earlier stage of obsession over certain women. I’m not writing endlessly long letters—actually and in my head— to such as F and M. I allowed the last letter from M to mellow in my mind and heart, glancing at it from time to time, in no rush to answer it. Maybe I’ll let it mellow (or molder) for weeks. Maybe I’ll never answer it, just let it drift into oblivion, yet another of the 1000s of unresponded to messages from the heart.

Last night as I lay in the high bed Martha provided for me, after a shower, after washing my laundry (noticing I’d lost my blue Hike underwear, the type of underwear I love best), after eating fake fish and left over roast (without the meat) I realized thinking about the Gaza slide show: I’d left out a key part of the Gazan history: the Hamas takeover, both thru the election and the coup. So I simply opened the slide show and inserted the history. Without photos, unfortunately, because I have scant Internet access where I am now.

~The train is cruising breezily thru towns, often directly down the town’s vulnerable middle, and the southern countryside, North Carolina to Georgia, a 3 hour ride, soon in Atlanta. Others remain on the train and will this evening be in New Orleans. The whistle blows, the car rocks gently side to side. I await the opening of the lounge car so I can purchase coffee. Or maybe I’ll nap, last night was a short sleep.~

—February 8, 2009, Sunday, aboard the train from Greenville to Atlanta, the Crescent, NYC to New Orleans

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